Mediocre TV

I am no fan of BET; in point of fact, I have long since boycotted their station and I am kind of peeved that this one of the only stations that so-called “represent” Black culture. Of course, this is all a large sham because although BET was originally founded by an African American, it is now one of the numerous networks owned by Viacom. Viacom also owns MTV Networks and under this auspicious umbrella reside other networks like Nickelodeon, Comedy Central, CMT, TV Land, Spike, Logo, and VH1. In other words, Viacom has cornered the market on networks that cater to all: children, urban and suburban America, rural America, African Americans, straight men, and the LGBT community, be they young or old. And BET and CentricTV represent the black side of things.
In spite of the fact that I can pleasantly reminisce with the classics that are shown on CentricTV (In Living Color still remains a perennial favorite), I have turned my back on any program that is featured on BET. Like my fellow UMCP alum Aaron McGrudor, I see very little that can pass for quality programming on their station. But a few weeks ago, I started seeing advertisements plastered on Metro bus billboards advertising this new show that was premiering and I will admit, I was a bit intrigued. First and foremost, the title of the show caught my eye; Reed Between the Lines is clever word play that no English major can resist. Second, the show features Malcolm Jamaal Warner, who deserves to rebuild some sort of fame other than Theo of The Cosby Show. Granted, he had a show a few years back with Eddie Griffin, which although it felt like just a flash in the pan, lasted for four seasons and 89 episodes from 1996-2000 on UPN (which is probably the reason it only felt like a flash in the pan).
I like Malcolm Jamal Warner; I think he is an underrated actor who has never fully been realized beyond the 80s sitcom era. And this is not even including the fact that he has been linked to another underrated long-standing veteran of television and screen, none other than the incomparable Regina King. Other than his acting chops, Malcolm has other talents as well: he has his own production company, his own jazz band, plays the stand up bass, and sometimes delivers the spoken word. He has a certain charm and quiet sophistication about him, with his chocolate skin well-accented by the beard he sports and deep melodic voice.
I was excited to see him foray back into the acting world, even if the show was on BET, so I decided to lift my self-imposed ban on the network. Admittedly I was skeptical about Tracy Ellis Ross, who I have the exact opposite opinion about than I have for Malcolm. While I respect her lineage, I have never been fond of her as an actress and as a result have been one of the few black women in America who just refused to watch Girlfriends for any length of time. In my mind’s eye, I had trouble thinking that they would have any type of chemistry. But Fox News channel, not to be confused with Fox 5, featured both Malcolm and Tracy on their morning show, and the two assured us that they have chemistry and that we should stay tuned for the broadcast back-to-back premieres starting at 10pm, right after the BET Awards. And I, like a good little lemming, followed suit.
Malcolm Jamal, as I knew he would be, was fantastic. While I’d call him more the straight man in every comedy series but The Cosby Show, he’s an actor that knows his cues and lines and executes them with the accuracy of a well-trained thespian. In addition, his facial expressions add emphasis to whatever he’s saying. Really, how can you not love him?
But the show overall, for lack of a better word, sucked. The writing was not bad, but if the show is branding itself as a comedy, I think that they should have counteracted Malcolm’s character with someone who has a little more of an ability to add some slapstick. Tracy Ellis is not a comedienne to me. Or even really an actress. She just kind of plays—well, herself—in every role. I personally would have rather seen someone, or more accurately, anyone else play Malcolm’s wife. My vote is for his real-life girlfriend to usurp the role. It is not uncommon for show executives to change, replace, or just plain omit characters in mid-stream. Some prime examples of this come to mind. In The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Vivian’s character was replaced after several seasons. On My Wife and Kids, the brown-skinned oldest child was replaced with a lighter version somewhere around the first season. And in Family Matters, the poor youngest daughter was just omitted altogether! Now I’m not saying that’s the reason she ended up becoming an adult film star, but I’m just saying, wasn’t that kind of mean?
But I digress. I still advocate for Regina King to take over Tracy because she can act, and no one expects her to be other than a finger-snapping woman that will whip your ass with a wet towel like she did in White Christmas. But I think she could pull off amazing humor just because that is generally not expected of her. I even would vote for someone like Raven Symone, but my coworker nicely reminded me that since Malcolm played her step-uncle in The Cosby Show, it would border on incestuous. Can you think of another actress that’s good with comedy? As I ponder this question myself, I think I have come up with the answer: Kim Coles!

What I LOVE About My Son

This entry probably seems like a no-brainer to you gentle readers out there. After all, I’m a parent, so there should be an endless stream of things that I love about motherhood and about the little individual that emerged from my body. And to an extent that’s true: I love him endlessly. But let’s face it: at this age, there are indeed still limited things he can do, even though he’s crossing barriers and boundaries each day, and with each passing day, I am in awe of the discoveries he makes. So this list is by no means a true definitive of everything, but just some general observations.
• The fact that when I’m lugging him around, he grunts like he’s doing the heavy lifting. It constantly amuses me to hear him do this when I lift him or when I’m walking downstairs. I realize now that these grunts are in fact the rudiments of language, especially since he employs them in his booster chair whenever he feels that I am not feeding him fast enough.
• His own personal discovery of the mood swing. Gratification or dissatisfaction is almost instantaneous, except in those rare cases when he is actually sick or hurting. I am extremely grateful that he was never colicky and remains what I refer to as an easy baby: feed him, burp him, change him, and lie him down and you have successfully alleviated the crankies.
• His lips—I’ve tried to figure out which parent he most closely resembles and hands down, it’s his dad. But he has certain features that are mine, like the ears. But his lips are perhaps a combo of his parents. But at any rate, I love them. They represent the most mobile part of him since birth, whether they’re drawn into a smile, that little oh of concentration when he’s reaching for something, or when they purse when he’s trying to figure out whether or not he likes the latest food introduction.
• His eyes—right now they’re so big and trusting and full of innocence. It’s so interesting to watch how they’ve subtly changed throughout his brief eight months here. While there is still a strong spark of innocence, it is now mixed with intelligence and recognition as his little mind constantly improves and captures nuances. It’s different parts amusing, fascinating and scary to watch him as his gaze fixates on an object, and now that he’s mobile and his pincer grip, he just goes for whatever is in his path, or makes a path to it.
• In the beginning stages of his life, it would be a wonder to see how at the end of a long crying spell or cleaning up seemingly endless cycles of puke and poo, the gummy smile he gives erases all. Now that all of that endlessness has ceased and he’s starting growing two bottom teeth, it’s fun just to watch him smile, scream and giggle as a reaction to me. It is truly a mood lifter to know that I have his rapt attention, and that for the most part, I am one of the most important people in his world.
I fall more in love with that little person every day.

Decluttering My Life Part Deux

I really thought I had only skipped one week, but here I am THREE weeks later, saying Oops! I will blame it on my return to busyness (coincidentally the title of my next blog entry). It seems as of late, I’ve constantly been on some quest to declutter my life. I find that now that I have started teaching again, there is a need for a higher level of organization. In the three weeks since classes have started, I have seen my desk look like a mini tornado blew through and scattered all my papers in a jumble all over my desk; I can only see the outskirts of the wood pattern that I have. And my new supervisor, who is the person formerly known as my partner-in-crime co-worker, politely commented on its disarray. Although I had placed it on my agenda to take care of the issue at some point in the near future, my supervisor’s suggestions encouraged me to be proactive and not just continue to wait until items piled up and festered and I was no longer able to find anything. So I started from scratch and started in the corners and recesses of my office.
• Step 1: the cabinet above my desk. The cabinet has doors, so messes are easily hidden and ignored. I threw two boxes of cereal that had been in there since last year, and then got rid of a lot of unnecessary papers that I had hauled back into this building from our temporary location. I placed all my giveaways in a stacked order to easily access them for class.
• Step 2: the bookshelf behind my desk. First, all the leftover folders from previous students had to go. I kept a few that were really nice for myself, but the majority of them are going to be placed on a giveaway cart. Second, I arranged all my colored paper into one stack. Third, my class papers that I use on a regular basis were placed into on big pile and I will buy some accordion folders to truly file them. Fourth, I had to box many of the novels that had started to stockpile on the shelf. Fifth, I am emptying out some binders that I find I no longer need.
• My desk: this is of course the last area I am tackling as it is where there I don’t know where to put them items have ended up. So far, I still have old leave slips to sort through and the papers from my various classes to sort. I have an array of folders in which to put these items, so I feel pretty confident that it can be done at least by the end of this week.

Dedication Drama

I’m finding that as a parent, there is very little that is simple about having children. My original plan for Ayden was to have him officially dedicated back to the Lord before he reached six months. But instead of having it done at the church we attend, I wanted to keep the dedication in the family and have my uncle perform the ceremony. This would have required a little bit of traveling to my uncle’s church in Virginia. And again ideally, I wanted it to be during the summer, since this is when the two of us have the most time.
Let’s just say, we got two out of three of our requests: Uncle and summer. The dedication is the last possible Sunday before the start of the summer. Coincidentally, this is also the month my uncle is on vacation from his church, so the dedication will be held at our home. How many people can say that they get a personalized dedication of their child at their home? While our home isn’t entirely put together, it will satisfy the curiosity of some of my family and friends, and allow more people to come. The goal was to keep everything as simple as possible. So instead of keeping everyone here, the idea was to go to Cracker Barrel, where there is homestyle cooking with really that kind of Sunday dinner feel. In addition, for a select few, the plan was for them to return back to the house for some dessert and drinks.
The downside is that while we have more control over our guest list because of the locale, there is still the limiting factor of how many people to invite. Even at the smallest number, I was only able to whittle it down to 30 people! This is with inviting no uncles and aunts with the exception of the uncle and aunt that are helping with the ceremony. So much for simplicity. Looking at the time, I realize that it may not be realistic to invite people back for dessert since it will be kind of late, and duh! I teach that Monday, starting at 8am and not ending until 9:30 at night! What tha heck am I thinking? So in my mind, I’m thinking that perhaps I should do some kind of cocktail evening on Saturday. But there’s a snafu there too in that my youngest, newest godson’s birthday party is going to be that day. So I’m going to be EXHAUSTED by the middle of Monday night.

But is that the end of the drama? No! For his dedication, he has to be dressed in all white. And I wanted him to be in the cutest dedication outfit possible. But I have standards, and my SO (significant other) had pretty much the same idea. The criteria: no ruffles, no lace, no suspenders, and no, absolutely NO bonnets! You would not believe how hard those criteria are to meet and here’s the reason. Apparently, in the early 20th century, the only outfits available were gowns, and with gowns came bonnets. It wasn’t until late 20th century that boys started to get their gender identification from birth. So in my internet searching, I found a plethora of pantaloons, suspenders and bonnets. I wanted Ayden to have a hat, a regular hat. Finally, after searching I can’t tell you how many sites, I found what I thought to be close the perfect outfit: short pants, vest, bowtie and a jaunty newsboy hat with a brim. Ironically enough, that boy’s outfit was located on a website called Pink Princess! What tha heck! So I bookmark the page with the intent of buying it with the gift card I was to receive from the credit union for buying the car. I receive the gift card in the mail the next day, and I’m ready to rock.
As for the shoes, my SO found those on Footlocker, which is great since I acquired a Footlocker gift card from a lost-and-found item that had not been reclaimed for almost two years. The great part about the shoes is although they are white, they are essentially tennis shoes, and versatile for other outfits. So his part turned out easy.
Now back to the outfit. So when I went back to the website and added the outfit to the cart, it was nicely sold out. Again, what tha hack!? What am I supposed to do now? So it’s back to the internet drawing board. And lo and behold, I find his outfit on a site that I’ve used a few times before. Why this site didn’t show up in my original search, I have no idea, but I find two possibilities: a diamond vest and a jacquard vest. While I like the jacquard vest the best, I like the hat on the diamond outfit better. But the diamond outfit has a matching diamond cut cuff. Not feeling the cuff, I sent the choices to the SO and he felt the same. Just to be certain I couldn’t get everything I wanted on the order, I called my website and asked there could be any substitution. Of course not. So I read the reviews and the outfits run small so I decide to go 9-12 months with the jacquard, and I hit another “What tha heck?!” moment. The jacquard only came in two sizes: 3-8 months and 3T! But at least this time, I have a backup, so I order the diamond cut. C’est la vie.
Now I just have to play the waiting game as the items start to come in. Why Amazon? Why have you forsaken me and not had all these things available?

The Newest Obsession

I can usually blame any obsession I have on someone else. After all, it was their fault I got hooked on said obsessions in the first place. You’ve already read about my newest novel quest obsession (I’ll provide an update for that later.) “What about your obsession with strong drink?” you may think to ask and I will readily tell you 1) that is more of a hobby, and 2) my DBBF is to blame. I will however, say that it is a hobby in which I don’t frequently indulge anymore. Case in point, I have a bottle of Reisling chilling in the refrigerator, a bottle of Shiraz on the top shelf of the pantry and another bottle of Moscato Rosé on the middle shelf in the pantry. Not to mention the various assortments of liquor that is available for margaritas, rum punches, and martinis. The point is that all this has remained untouched. Two years ago, the three wines alone would have been gone within a week. The real point is that I’m a responsible mommy now who wants to be highly aware for her son in the event he wakes up in the middle of the night for any reason. I can’t do that plied with alcohol.

But the obsession that I am talking of now is with the Food Network. For years, my cousin has been telling me about Food Network and HGTV and how she watches faithfully, naming chefs like most people would sitcom characters. Up until I started watching, the only cooks I was familiar with were Paula Deen, Rachel Ray, and Julia Child. Yes, I’m telling my age with Julia Child. These cooks were only familiar because they’d made it to mainstream TV. And there was that chef that used to come on every week in a five-minute segment for local television in Virginia. I’d even heard the name Bobby Flay bandied about but I was never sure of his occupation.

This obsession is not as easy to assign blame to as any of the others, primarily because there were so many people talking about Food Network and HGTV. In addition to my cousin, I would come to work and everyone in the office would be talking about a show on one of these stations like it was The Office. “Did you see that cake?” Or “I really loved the way he laid that mosaic tile.” These phrases would be said in whispered and awed tones, and I’d sit there, wondering what in the world these people were talking about and even at times looking at them as if they were a little crazy. I mean, to get obsessed over as groundbreaking a show as Survivor was understandable, but Cake Boss? Really?

I was once relegated to watching mostly movies and select television series. I had this whole “thing” about watching too much reality TV. I figured that Survivor was the original reality show and that all the others were imitators. So, other than catching a few episodes of The Bachelor because it came on right after another of my favorite shows went off, I stayed away from reality TV.

But then a strange thing happened.

I started dating.

My significant other (and I know you’re still wondering about the whole “I’m engaged news) is a consummate channel flipper. I used to think I was such a TV junkie that I could watch a test pattern, but I came to discover that I’m rather discerning in my tastes. I don’t like crime dramas, and other than Grey’s Anatomy and now Private Practice, I try to stay away from the medical dramas. Of course the SO is a big lover of Criminal Minds, but in between, he’s always looking for something “good” to watch. It is in this spirit that I discovered the Food Network. One night, he turned it to the show Chopped. I did not know I could get so into a competitive cooking show! Now I record it, and on those days when I watch marathon sessions of it, I end up dreaming about the show; I kid you not, night before last, I kept dreaming about nopale, a cactus used in Mexican cooking, because it was one of the ingredients. The show really does not only provide some culinary knowledge, but some cultural and vocabulary knowledge as well. For you Family Guy fans, take for instance, the word Quohag: I recently found out it’s a type of clam; no wonder the bar is named the Drunken Clam. Those Family Guy people are really clever—sick, but clever.

At first, it was all about the ways in which these cooks could transform weird ingredients that were thrown at them. But after a while, it became more than the cooks or the recipes on there, because I found myself slowly but surely liking the judges. At first I didn’t want to like them because they sit there all stoic and judge people, and on the show, some of them can be downright mean. But then I figured out who the host, Ted Allen was (Queer Eye for the Straight Guy). And then, I developed a favorite: Aarón Sánchez, Latin cuisine authority. And it was all downhill from there. Next thing you knew I found myself liking the two most-frequent female judges, Alex Guarnascelli (I spelled her name right without needing the internet!) and Amanda Freitag, then Chris Santos. I’m still not a huge fan of two of the judges, but that will remain to be seen after I do my latest obsessive research. This latest obsession started because I decided to watch Aarón’s new show, Heat Seekers. Basic rundown of the show: two guys travel the country looking for the hottest foods in America. Rarely do both of them finish a meal. But the point of this is, I got to see a whole new side to Aarón: a lighter side and I got thinking, what if they all have this lovable lighter side? So now, besides watching Chopped and Heat Seekers, I have now signed up at FoodNetwork.com and saved a few recipes and read a couple bios of the judges, and will commit myself to watching at least one episode of their show to see what their personality really is.

Damn…another project!

But as for the need to watch Food Network, it must be some sort of rite of passage that goes along with being a homeowner. Or maybe parenthood. The home ownership theory would also explain why that same cousin also watches HGTV. But even though I am a proud new homeowner, I am also proud to say that my obsession has not yet taken me to HGTV, although I can see it coming because already I have been to Lowe’s one too many times this summer.

As to the other obsession of completing the series of books that my former dean belabored me with, I have made some progress. Again, this is probably going to be a SERIOUS project from here on out, so I decided to be somewhat systematic in my approach. First, I looked online to verify which books were indeed in a series (even though I didn’t exaggerate in the last blog about these when I said that almost EVERY SINGLE ONE was part of a series. Let me give you a rough idea of the volume of books my former dean has given me over the years. We found out in passing conversation that we enjoy the same specific genre of romance fiction: 18th century England. And I inadvertently mentioned that after she finished, she could pass them on to me. What I didn’t know at the time was that she reads roughly two novels per week. Of these novels, about 50% of them are period romances. Keep in mind also that when I’m working and teaching, I have NO time to do any leisurely reading and now I can rarely leisurely read at home. So I have garnered quite a collection of books to read.

Having systematically approached this project, I printed the booklists of the authors my former dean favored. This was about a 20-page generation, so I decided to consolidate those twenty pages into a Word document which now only encompasses three pages (I kept some of the some of the authors’ original pages). On those three pages alone, I have counted a total of 70+ books, and I have only read about five of them.

As I do this project, for the most part I am not reading every single book written by these authors unless it is specifically part of the series of books that I already have. There are exceptions to this. Two of the authors consistently lace characters throughout all their books. For this reason, their series will be one of the last tackled. I’ve decided to start with the smaller, easy to complete series first, and then move my way through the more complex, completing each in the series as I move forward.

A big help to my project has been Amazon.com; it is very convenient to be able to pick up books for as little as $3 and get them shipped to you free in two days. But an even better route that I have recently discovered is Google e-books. Yesterday, I’d finished the first book of one of my series and was eager to move onto the next. While I had purchased the book, it was still in the package from Amazon on my coffee table. So, just out of curiosity, I typed the title in the Google search bar and lo and behold! The entire text was there. How awesome is that! Now I don’t know how many books I’ll be able to access this way, but I am sure going to try that method before Amazon.

It's a Reunion!

This week’s blog posting is a little early. Does that mean that you will get two in the course of this week? Quite possibly, but I won’t make any promises. It’s actually an odd thing for me to actually blog on Sunday, but I’ve been enjoying just a leisurely day of sleeping in, having a good breakfast, enjoying multiple cups of coffee, and spending some quality alone time with my son while the rest of the house slumbered. Now my son is also slumbering, I have enjoyed some leftover fried chicken, and the sound of the gently beating rain which seems to have dissipated some of the heat and feeding our newly seeded lawn. So Sunday turns out to be as good a day as any, especially in light of the fact that these leisure days will soon be far and few in between with the start of a new semester. Besides, I just had to blog about the events of yesterday.
Yesterday, I and a few select classmates celebrated our 20th year class reunion; it’s been twenty years since high school. As usual, I dragged my modern-day DBBF along as we have a pact to go to one another’s reunions (hers is always way more lively and maybe that’s because I can act up and have people wonder if I went to their school). Although only a small gathering of folks showed up, it was nonetheless a decent enough time; I ended up staying for three hours, which was about two hours longer than I thought I would after being told that only 14 people actually paid to come. Once there, I saw people that I literally had not seen in person since June 13, 1991—graduation day. Granted, there were three people I’d seen within the past five years, a few I’d seen at the ten-year, and most of whom I’d befriended on that great and wonderful world of Facebook.
I’ll admit that for the 10-year reunion, I was a bit trepidacious about attending. Prior to the first of our reunion, I associated high school with the worst time of my life. I somehow had managed to repress almost any good thing that had happened in high school. But the 10-year reunion gave me a chance to put any and all of my childhood trauma from high school behind as I realized that most of the people I graduated with were people I known since the age of five, and after you’ve known people for a period of 15+ years, they become some integral part of your subconscious dysfunctional family. So I looked forward to the 20-year, and with the advent of the social network, I just knew that there were going to be more folks at the 20 than at the 10, especially when a lot of people recently joined this year in what I assumed was anticipation of the day.
In true anticipation of the day, my DBBF and I had a drink before making our way inside, then hit the bar after we got there, and took a break to get a little more. There were some pleasant surprises. I found out that one of my classmates has been living in Bowie for about seven years, and I was totally oblivious to that fact. I found out that another found out he was a daddy after 16 years. I got to observe at least four sets of besties reunited from high school. I enjoyed some drinks with my besties past and present. I also found out I wasn’t the only one to fortify myself with alcohol beforehand.
The truth is the older I get, the more I realize that no one REALLY liked high school all THAT much. Probably one of the most shared sentiments among my classmates was, “I couldn’t stand most of the people in high school.” We all had our own particular hang-ups; the person you thought had an easy or great life thought the same thing about you. The true testament of how much people wanted to escape Lancaster and all of its claustrophobic charm is evidenced by how far most of the people moved away: although a few remained in the county, locations of some of my classmates include as close as Richmond, northern Virginian, Maryland like me, North Carolina, or as far away as New York, Georgia, Colorado, and California.
What I also realized was that the class of 1991 has a special penchant for cynicism and sarcasm. At first, I thought it was just me; then as I talked to my closer circles of friends, I thought it was just the old birds-of-a-feather-flock-together syndrome, but as I looked at more and more of my classmates, I realized that all of us had that bordering on snarky attitude. I can truly say that out of the 14 people that showed up, I could only associate two with being truly NICE and sincere. And that’s not to say that the rest of us are bad people, but we all have a toughened by the tides attitude.
But walking away from the reunion, hair so windblown that not one curl remained, I can say that I had a great time with those folks and that I look forward to our next one. Maybe we can plan ahead for a 30th reunion to be held at a place that isn’t necessarily Lancaster—a destination cruise perhaps.

Working Girl

In the past few weeks, it feels like I have been working harder than I did during labor. The summer is almost over and with it, the pressures of making sure I’m prepared for my foray back into the classroom are mounting. I am almost to the point where I have to give up my leisure reading, which in itself has become a daunting future project, thanks to my illustrious former dean. How, you ask? Well, let’s see, in my Declutter My Life Saga, Part II (which I will blog about later), I decided that I was going to get rid of all the romance paperbacks I accumulated during the past year that my dean donated to me. So I picked up one, only to find out that it was part of a series. Now, most of the romantic novels that are series are wonderful enough to stand on their own, but ever since reading Julia Quinn’s stories about the Bridgertons, it’s been so much more fun to read them in sequence. What started out as merely fun has now turned into some sort of obsession with order. I feel like I’m missing something if I don’t start with number one.

My former dean cared nothing about that. This is evidenced by the fact that EVERY SINGLE BOOK she gave me is PART OF A SERIES! As a result, I have #1 and #3 in one series, but #3, #4, #5 in the next; one series actually has just the 8th of 10!

So what did I do? I went to the individual websites of each of these authors and printed the pages of what I have and what I’m missing. In essence, what started off as a simple leisure project has turned into work!

I fully intend to email my former dean for these titles before I submit to Amazon, since she buys according to what author she likes. Okay, I may be partially truthful in that because if she takes too long, it’s off to the Marketplace for me; luckily, I can find paperback romance novels for as low as a penny (for more on my Amazon habit, see my “Addicted to Amazon” blog. (On a side note, I love that I have learned how to hyperlink items!) I definitely think Amazon should be paying for services since I am always touring their greatness to everyone.

In addition to my own self-imposed work, I have been working diligently trying to get a vehicle. My mate seems to think that I’ve been lollygagging in this area and being completely casual, but it’s been the opposite: I have gone into freaking RESEARCH OVERLOAD scouring the internet for vehicles with Carmax, Cars.com, Autotrader, Enterprise, United Buying Service, not to mention all the local dealerships form Ourisman to Eastern’s, where your job’s your credit (every time I say that, their stupid jingle pops into my head). Oh, and don’t forget the outside research you have to do on a car: the free Carfax report (if the dealer provides it), the Kelly Blue Book value to make sure you’re not getting ripped off, and the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety to make sure that you’re not basically in a piece of aluminum foil with wheels. Add to this bit of work that the credit union with whom I have an account is DRAGGING their butts like a dog with worms across a carpet. It’s been a MONTH since my collision. A colleague of mine got into an accident a week after I did and got her new car last week! All this is extremely poor timing because I’m coming up on two consecutive weekends that I am supposed to be traveling to my hometown: the 1st is for my 20-year reunion, which I have been looking forward to since last year, and the second is for my mother’s and godson’s birthday next week. I will say that in all this GEICO has been stellar and at the risk of sounding like a walking advertisement, I will encourage anyone looking for new insurance to try them.

Unfortunately, this vehicle is taking so much of my time and attention that I am finding it difficult to concentrate on the other tasks at hand, and these tasks are two monumental items. The first is seeing to my son’s formal dedication. Now, in my head when I found out about the existence of my son, I already betrothed him back to God, much the way Hannah did in I Samuel 1:21-28 (see, there goes that hyperlinking again!). But I want to do it with a pastor’s official blessing. That pastor happens to be my uncle and the dedication will be at our home, with a dinner afterward. But I have yet to send out the email invitations, or even draw up a sketchy guestlist.

The other event is my own impending nuptials. I decided to take the leap of faith and jump of the broom. More to the point, he asked and instead of my usual “not just yet” answer, I said okay. At first, to me it was only semi-official because all we did was discuss the ring; there is not currently one on my finger. What made it real is going to premarital counseling. I won’t go into great details about it right now because that is a whole other blog all to itself, but just know it’s coming soon.

On top of all this, there is my actual job. We’re doing restructuring of items, norms, and attitudes. So things are happening at a fast clip. Add to that the fact that this week, I’m subbing a class for a colleague for two and a half hours three nights this week, and you’ll see that I’ve had a pretty full agenda. I don’t talk to anyone or hang out with anyone or have the time, energy or resources to otherwise let of some steam because I am budgeting to the very last penny to free up resources. That’s why this weekend is so important; I get a chance to just BE, with the added benefit of hanging out with chicks I haven’t seen in years. By the way, 48 hours before I get to do just that.

The Weight Is Over!

Yes, the play on words is entirely intentional. My weight is over the prescribed limit that I ever thought I would see. Part of it was indeed due to pregnancy, when you are expected to gain a few pounds. But I will tell you that I followed doctor’s orders to the letter and did NOT gain more than the 18 pounds he allowed me. So the question is why I am I so…and let’s call a spade a spade here…FAT now?
There are two really poor excuses but good reasons why. One, when I started dating my future hubby, I stopped almost all semblance of sensible eating as he wined and dined me. We went to posh restaurants far and near, and indulged in every type of meat, starch, dessert and alcoholic beverage you can imagine. So it’s no wonder that the 30 pounds it took me THREE LONG ARDUOUS YEARS to take off through Wasa crackers and Bally Total Fitness came back like a charging rhino in heat—with another rhino! So to put it not so gently, I was fat before I even got pregnant.
The other reason (excuse, whatever) that I am so fat now is called postpartum. Some people get postpartum depression. But not me; instead, I came down with an extreme case of the postpartum gimmes. Gimme some cake; gimme some alcohol; gimme some tuna, of all things! All the things I was restricted to when I was pregnant and breastfeeding became non-issues the moment my son got addicted to Enfamil®. As a matter of fact, one of the first meals the nurse gave me was a tuna fish sandwich, and it was the BEST TUNA SANDWICH EVER! For those of you who have read my O Marvelous Caffeine! blog, this freedom from restriction is not new to you. But it is why I gained postpartum weight.
Now of course, my challenge is once again to lose weight. In the more immediate time frame though, I think my primary goal will just have to simply not gain anymore weight during the course of this year. Having my son and the new commute and the new house and the soon-to-be new car plus a new teaching schedule in the fall will severely hamper the time I have to get physically fit by means of exercise, so I will have to rely on curtailing my calorie intake. I said this to myself even as I grabbed the cake donut from 7-11 this morning. Apparently though, God with His infinite sense of humor decided to help me keep my word because when I got to work, I promptly picked the donut bag up upside-down, thereby making the donut roll under my chair. So all I had left to eat was a very healthy banana.

Laconic vs. Verbose

As you’ve seen from reading my many blogs, I have a way with words, sometimes too many ways. Now with the magic of Facebook, I find that I have an appropriate venue for those little blurbs of life that occur all too frequently, but not frequently enough for me to open a Twitter account (but I won’t rule it out for future use). Most of the time when I post status messages on Fb, they are just clear enough to be witty, but often vague enough that if you haven’t been keeping up with my posts, you’d be lost. Such is the case with one of my last status messages where I just put “car totaled,” lamenting that my car was counted a total loss by the insurance company. In this case, I should have been a bit more verbose and explained that it was a singular car accident, not two subsequent ones. If you read my post from last week, you’ll know the cause and part of the outcome. But I will briefly list some of the damage to the vehicle to give you an idea of just how blessed I am:
• Bashed-in hood and grill, to the point that my front license plate is in the shape of a U.
• Airbag deployed
• Dashboard and steering column separation
• Engine damage; fluid spillage
In my very first accident, someone told me that any accident you can walk away from is never that bad, and I’ve been fortunate enough to escape virtually unscathed. At first, I was merely paying this saying lip service but the realization is that people get killed every day by other vehicles. There are constantly stories on the news about fatal car crashes or pedestrians being struck with a force hard enough to knock off their shoes. But I reacted well enough not to hit any other cars or any other people on foot, and for that I am grateful. But pray for me, gentle readers, so that I will never be blessed in this manner again because collisions are scary! No matter how minor the damage to your body, your mind is affected; when you close your eyes for the first few days, you relive the impact. And you’re paranoid in any vehicle, even when you’re not driving, often pumping imaginary brakes while holding onto the door handle until your knuckles turn white. But the best cure is always to get back behind the wheel.

At-TEN-tion!

The great, and admittedly sometimes annoying, thing about writing is that once you start one thing, loads of ideas come forth. And so this is one of many entries that I plan to work on today, or at least for the next half hour or so.
But as for the title, this is something I need to pay more of. To give you an idea of why I say this, let me start off with some recent current events in my life. As many of you know, last week I was involved in a car accident—of one. And inevitably, when I tell people this, the first question that they ask is naturally, “What happened?” The long and short of the answer is that as I crossed an intersection, I bumped a curb and could not un-bump it. This resulted in my first hitting a speed limit/snow emergency route sign, followed closely be a utility pole. Though the entire experience was terrifying, the worst part of it was the panic that I might have caused injury to my son. This fear caused me to leap out of the vehicle, sans shoes (they had flown off upon impact with the pole) and run frantically out to get him. The electrical systems in the car had shut down so I could automatically open the door and had to reach across the seat to get to him. With God’s mercy (I say this now instead of luckily), there were an abundant amount people (they are euphemistically called good Samaritans thanks to the Bible) who came to my aid and helped me/stayed with me while the paramedics, police, and fire engines were dispatched. Can I remember any of their names/faces? No, but I am so thankful that they were there.
I’m using this blog as a catharsis to make full confession of the fact that I was not at full attention that day. Don’t get me wrong; I was not physically doing any activity that took my attention from the road: I wasn’t texting or talking on the cell; I wasn’t putting on makeup or drinking a beverage; I wasn’t fiddling with the radio or any of those other things that are commonly done behind the wheel. I even had both hands on the wheel and was listening to the Yolanda Adams show as I do every morning. And if you were to ask me, I was paying attention to the road.
Here’s where I went wrong: I was occupied with my thoughts. That morning, I was thinking about the next day when I would go visit my mother, and I was thinking about how much it would cost me. So in a sense I was there, but I wasn’t there. One of the things that I have constantly been lecturing myself and others about is being PRESENT. There’s a clichéd saying: the past is history; the future’s a mystery…the present is a gift. That means when you’re driving a car, you should be driving the car, and paying attention to the road and how many cars are in front of you or behind you; in what proximity these cars are; or in my case, how close you are to a curb. And then I took this meaning beyond the car accident and the revelation of WHY I was in the car accident dawned upon me. When we travel long distances or to unfamiliar places or when we use someone else’s car, we tend to be more cautious because we’re conscious that we not as familiar with that road or that vehicle. But statistically, people get in more accidents closer to home; I am living proof of that as I have been in three vehicle collisions close to home, two of which were less than a mile from where I lived. And when we have someone else’s stuff, we ought to take care of it like it’s our own stuff, and vice versa. We should be taking care of “our” stuff like it doesn’t belong to us. The rental car that I have been provided is spotless; nothing is left in there because I know I have to clean it out and return it in good condition. Yet when I had to clear my vehicle at the scene of the accident, there was enough stuff to put into four garbage bags, and most of the stuff was trash or papers that could have just as easily been thrown away.
I say all this to say that it is with the familiar that we tend not to be as vigilant, and my advice today is that we should be ever vigilant even with the familiar, especially since we are guaranteed none of it. Everything is temporary, and even above that, all this temporary stuff is not ours to begin with. So my morning prayer today had to include an apology to God for not taking care of His stuff.
So pay attention gentle readers.

W. Bruce Cameron: One of My Blog Inspirations

At first, I almost decided to do a movie review as my blog entry. This is something I like to do occasionally when a good movie stands out to me. I used to submit reviews to the NYT when I went to the movies, but when I watch them on DVD, I would just write them and save them. But thanks to the venue of Facebook, I can now share them with my 394 friends (or at least those who choose to read this). But I will save the review for later, as I found a more interesting topic in my inbox this morning. So, in spite of the fact that I skipped last week and completely ignored yesterday’s deadline, here is today’s blog.
I don’t feel quite so bad about my lack of consistency after reading W. Bruce Cameron’s subscription newsletter where he apologizes by saying
“I did notice that I neglected to send a few columns there for a couple of months. This is after shooting off my big mouth about how I was going to be reliable and always send them out and I had a new system. Frankly, I’d fire myself, but I can’t find a replacement who will work for the same pay.”
I will freely admit that he is among one of my great inspirations to write this blog, and he is very funny on a consistent basis. For those of you who don’t know who he is, he was the source of inspiration for ABC’s sitcom “8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter,” one of John Ritter’s last performing roles (RIP Mr. Ritter; you were classically funny). He is also the source of possibly one of the greatest email forwards that has been circulated and re-circulated for as long as I’ve had a desktop PC and that is “The Chili Cookoff” where he…well it’s so dag-on funny that you will have to read it for yourself, so I will now shamelessly and freely advertise and solicit for him by saying in order to share in my laughter, you can go to http://letters.webvalence.com/listmgr/subscribe?lists=TheCameronColumn and subscribe for yourself. He promises not to be overly intrusive and will only disturb your inbox twice a month; not bad for a good humorist. And he gives you “The Chili Cookoff” (the original) as part of your reading pleasure. You can also Google it, but you will more than likely get the modified version with the character of Frank. Again I will mention that he is where I ascribe to be and hopefully keeping up with his column will keep me on the straight and narrow path to writing.

The Life of a Homeowner

Almost belatedly, I realized that it is Thursday, and that I gave myself a deadline to complete blogs weekly on this day. I’ve actually been a busy bee this week. Last week, I told you my schedule and honestly, I’ve been keeping up with it…kinda, sorta. My blueberry coffee routine has been going pretty well, except for the day I was running late, and the day they hadn’t brewed any. The daily chatter is as usual on point. I’ve been doing a work project almost every day this week. I’m up to Chapter 6 on my first text. My summer leisure reading is going at an excellent rate; I stand to finish one novel before I leave work today. I will admit to not being fully consistent to any of these activities, but more or less, I’m attempting to develop these habits. Of course, the easiest to accomplish are the leisure reading, the chatter and the coffee. I drink coffee almost every day, regardless of the flavor. I find it gives me a much-needed caffeine boost in the morning. I do limit myself to just one cup per day, even though I used to do two or more. After a while, I found that more than one cup will give me the jitters, so I generally don’t drink more than one unless I’m eating a nice breakfast.
Other than that, what have I been doing? House stuff mostly. Being a new home owner (gosh, I love the sound of that—the attainment of the American dream of land), I find that there is always some project to do, especially when you’re just moving in. This week, I decided to tackle the task of washing some clothes and getting my son’s room together. My plan in getting his room together is that at the end of this month, we’re going to start phasing him into his room, with the hope that at six months, he will be fully transitioned in his very own crib and I can take his cosleeper, soon to be just playpen, downstairs to the family room. Keep in mind, this is the adult vision; my son may have another plan in mind. Also, my plan in getting his room together is so that I can stop plucking his clothes out of the plastic storage bins that they were packed in when we moved. So needless to say, but just worth saying anyway, is that the first piece of furniture that will be in place is a chest of drawers. This chest of drawers has for the better part of five months been stored in its original box. This, along with his crib, is one of those pieces of furniture that must be assembled. I don’t know about you, but I actually relish the thought of putting furniture together. There is something so rustically charming about “building” your own furniture. Granted, I’m not doing anything like chopping, whittling, and sanding the wood, and the package contains the exact number and type of screws and bolts that you need, along with a detailed set of instructions, but there is a certain joy of at least pretending that you are a pioneer. I’ve actually “built” quite a bit of furniture in my day, and I can say that there are at least three pieces (including the chest) in the new home that I have—okay, okay I’ll use the proper term—assembled. I will, however, allow his dad to assemble the crib, not because I don’t want to do it, but because I don’t want him to feel left out of the whole experience of flexing his inner caveman and using tools. He’s already feeling sensitive about not being the first man of the house to light fire (another primitive caveman need carried over into the 21st century). I tried to console him by saying that lighting up a small travel hibachi is not the same as actual grilling, but he would not be moved and quite simply told me that I would not understand until I became a man. Little does he know that I believe I was one in my past life (that statement is not to be taken extremely literally because I am not at all certain I believe in karmic reincarnation).
So anyway, I’ve been putting together his chest, and clearing out a few boxes and bags at a time with the faint hope that most of the house will be in some kind of order by the time the Christmas holiday arrives. While I would like the other occupants to get on board and help me in my hope, part of me again wants that satisfaction of doing most of it myself, and “assigning” them tasks to accomplish. But men and women do not move at the same pace; women expect an assignment to be done when it’s assigned; men tend to take the assignment they receive from that woman and do it in some other time than the immediate. This is a communication that is as old as those cavemen I was talking about earlier, so I don’t have a clue as to when they will “get around to it.”

Getting Routine with the Routine

So, blog readers, I have decided to be something that I have not been in quite some time when it comes to this blog, and that is consistent. As a matter of fact, I have committed myself to a consistent schedule when I am at work. I would like to do the same thing at home, but my son pretty much has reign of the clock there, and therefore my time. And while at work, I need to feel in control of something.
So here’s my routine in a nutshell. Arrive in the morning, cup of 7-11 blueberry-flavored coffee in hand. Log onto computer. Cut on heater; put on sweater. Shoot the breeze with partner in crime and find out what’s on the day’s agenda. Perform said actions as relates to work. At hourly intervals, take a five-minute break to tone and strengthen arms. Around lunchtime, go over textbooks for the fall with the goal of completing at least one chapter per day; this will in turn make it easier for me to develop my syllabi and writing assignments for the semester. After about an hour of this, continue working and make sure I get a cup of hot water and/or hot tea. Late afternoon, go to front counter with leisure reading while I wait on patrons. Prepare to leave by grabbing my purse, makeup bag, doing a key check and a cell phone check. Turn off heater. Remove sweater.
On Thursdays, this routine is about the same, but instead of leisure reading, I’ll replace it with write a blog. I’m actually imposing my own weekly deadline of 4:00 pm. I’m proud of myself because today I looked at the calendar and actually remembered to start before my first warning went off at 3:00. So this little ditty will be posted earlier. Yay for technology.
Keep your fingers crossed, gentle readers, that I can keep this up.

De-Clutter

So last year, I made a goal to de-clutter my life. In this de-cluttering, I was going to tackle my home, my room, my desk and my car. I am proud to say that this is a goal that I have accomplished. Even though this goal was met by force on most occasions, the point is that it’s done! Let me further explain what by force means and how each de-cluttering came about.
The first thing to get de-cluttered was my car. January of last year, I finally had to let go of my Honda Civic that I had proudly kept for 10 years. We’d had a good run and got to explore many places together, but after 175,000 miles, I knew it was time to depart from Greylan (my pet name). So I went to Carmax and traded him in, still receiving $2000. You can view my “Out wth the Old” dedication album via Fb. This of course forced me to clean him out at the spare of the moment when I drove off the lot with my new vehicle, Oliver Black (named in part after his first detailer), a Dodge Nitro. It’s really rather a funny story how Oliver and I got together. I was scoping out cars in January and found two possibilities: Oliver and another type of Dodge vehicle. I had them both shipped to the dealer and was waiting for them to arrive when…Snowmaggedon hit and stopped all traffic. My poor prospects were literally stuck on the road and I was only able to view them after everything had sufficiently thawed out to make roads passable. So Oliver and I never got a chance to play in the snow. Nevertheless, we have had fun. Within the next few months, he and I had driven up to Jersey, over to Deep Creek Mountains in Maryland and down to Salisbury and Virginia Beach. And while he’s slowly accumulating stuff, I do make an effort to clean him out once a month so as to avoid the clutter trap with the new vehicle.
My desk was also the result of being forced to de-clutter. As you know, I had a son this year and that required me to take some time off from my job. And as a condition of my leaving, my boss told me that I HAD to clean my area. So once again, I found myself gouging out spaces that had old papers and books and every other thing imaginable. I even wrote an article that drew an ironic conclusion that I was turning into my old professors. And while I claim that my desk is nowhere near as bad as it was before I endeavored to clean it, I can tell that I am back and am starting to accumulate items little by little. But, as with the vehicle, I attempt to clear the clutter on a regular basis and not re-collect junk.
Finally, there’s my home environment. I have lived in the same place for almost 20 years, and after dating the man I’d eventually have a child with, and subsequently having that child, I was once again forced to take serious inventory and de-clutter again—this time an apartment and most importantly a room full of stuff. In the final days before moving, I began referring to my room as the “Room of Doom.” Prior to no longer residing permanently in the apartment, I’d essentially used the room as a walk-in closet/dumping ground for all my books, magazines and papers, and OMG was it a lot to clean out. In my next blog, I will detail some of the treasure and trash items I discovered that had been collected from years past.
Overall, I’m proud of my de-cluttering process but alas I am not done yet. With the consolidation of two households, and all my stray junk, I have some hefty decisions to make in the coming six months. My goal is that by Christmas, most boxes should be reasonably discarded and that we should be working primarily with only Rubbermaid® storage boxes. I will try to keep you abreast of the project as it progresses.

The Big Chill

I love my job; I really do. I think that in today’s economy, everyone who has a job is grateful for just being employed. To extend that gratefulness even further, everyone who has not been devastated by a tsunami, flood, earthquake, fire, or Arnold Schwarzenegger has something to be thankful for. And in these times of social media and losing employment because of an indiscriminate remark or photo, it is especially prudent to watch what one says about one’s employer.
But there is one thing about my job for which I am ungrateful, and that is the temperature. Many of you who work out in the elements and lack air conditioning will call it insane to rant about this wonderful modern convenience that we call central air conditioning, but there comes a point when even modern conveniences can go too far (a topic we’ll revisit more in the future).
For me, that point is when it’s a beautiful sunny 90-degree day is beaming at you from picturesque windows, and you are hunched over a heater with a long winter sweater. That point is when your head is so cold that you feel the freezing of your hair follicles and want to pull the hood of the sweater over your head in a Grace Jones fashion statement, even when said sweater does not come with a hood. Most severely, that point is brought home when you realize that your joints are aching and your sinuses are throbbing.
The irony is that this building was newly renovated in the fall of 2008 and this pre-existing problem was supposed to have been fixed. I think that it is unfortunate to suffer from brain freeze that is not self-inflicted through the quick sipping of a Slurpee®. So I’ve decided to come up with several alternatives to combat the slow coagulation of my blood into icicles.
My first solution is to layer up with even more warm clothing. So instead of picking out that cute summer blouse, I opt for a sweater. Sometimes I get clever enough to layer my look with the summer blouse and the sweater, but let’s face, in the morning, it is enough to get out the door with pants on that are only moderately wrinkled, much less putting the planning into more than one layer of clothing. But pre-family, there were summers where I decided that a scarf would add to my warmth. Then I coupled that with a pair of mittens. And while I was at it, I figured I toss in a pair of earmuffs. The problem with this solution is that I look insane. And since part for my job requires exposure to the public, my boss vetoed the idea, especially when I tried to wear all three.
My second solution is to drink plenty of hot liquids. Now I can just justify that daily hot cup of blueberry-flavored coffee that I stop by 7-11® to get on those muggy summer mornings. I am even thinking of trading in my 12-ounce cup for a thermos, so that I can prolong the enjoyment of that flavor. I also have a large stash of tea in my cubicle “pantry” as I like to call it. But I recognize that I cannot drink purely hot caffeinated drinks all day long because they will inevitably give me the jitters. So I have trained myself to enjoy a steaming mug of hot water. The problem with this solution is the increasing frequency of bathroom breaks. This has turned me into the cuckoo—as in the one that pops out of the clock; I amazingly have to pee in hourly intervals. And now, my job has opted to renovate the bathrooms in my building one floor at a time (which were surprisingly NOT included in the initial renovation), meaning that I now have catch an elevator up to the second floor for much needed relief. So far, this has not resulted in my hobbling to the elevator like a deranged duck when my bladder cannot wait for the rest of my body—but then again, I’ve only been back at work for three days.
My final solution is going outside to thaw out at regular intervals. I like to coin this practice taking air breaks. Here’s my theory: employers legally allow smokers to go outside and take a quick puff at regular intervals during the day. But what about non-smokers? Shouldn’t we be allowed that same privilege? The only reasonable answer is yes, and I fully intend to take advantage of this opportunity. I also decided that it would be a good idea just to leave the building for a half hour and take a brisk walk around outdoors. The major drawback with this system is two-fold: one, constant in-and-out exposure to the elements gives me a head cold, and two, even if I were to take those brisk walks, I run the risk of sweating, which could again result in catching a cold.
So my final desperate solution is to sit here, closely snuggled up to the heater, hoping that the passing patrons don’t mistake me for an ice sculpture.

The Return

Well, it is official; I have returned to the land of the living workforce. In truth, I’m not sure what I expected when I returned. I suppose part of it was the expectation of a little more fanfare. It was all too easy to fall back into the work routine. In my head, I suppose I envisioned food, drink and general merriment and noise coming back with almost an open house atmosphere as people stopped by to say hello and welcome back. After all, I’ve been gone for the better part of three months. But in truth I am sitting here doing less than what I’ve been doing all the time I’ve been off, especially in these last couple weeks So I find myself sitting here feeling quite lethargic, almost to the point of abject sleepiness, so much so to the point where I am actually sitting at my desk dozing as I try to write this blog.

Then I came to the realization of what was missing. One, the time during which I returned is our quiet time; students have finished their research papers, exams, and semesters, so this place is a barren wasteland with no students. On top of that, I also realized that I didn’t tell many people, “Hey I’m back,” save my immediate office mates, so that canceled the idea of the open house. Second, the last time I returned, it was for an OCCASION, and that explained the lack of cake, cookies, and pastries (I did manage to scrounge up a cereal bar).

Finally, the biggest reason that there was no fanfare or big hoopla was this: there is no Ayden to complete the occasion. Yes, my son has become the mainstay show stealer each time I came to visit during my prolonged absence. And don’t get me wrong: unlike the past two days where I’ve been so absorbed with working on packing and the house that I’d been too busy to miss him, today I have thought about my little one a whole lot, even though I had a great opportunity to chit chat with my partner-in-crime at work.

So what has this industrious worker been doing to keep herself busy? Well, I just mentioned talking to my partner in crime. Truthfully, she’s probably been used to not talking as much for the last few months that it will take her sometime to get used to the morning routine again. I also brought in those boxes of books and sorted them. In addition, I also went through a lot of my emails that I didn’t want to sort through at home. Though I still have 249 in my inbox, it’s a far more manageable number than the almost 400 I had when I came in this morning. I feel confident that I can knock that out by the end of the week. So I’m kind of proud of the progress I’ve made.

The 17th of May

Tomorrow I return to work and you would think that I would have some sort of separation anxiety from my son. But I have eliminated that by taking him in two days early. And honestly, I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to contemplate the fact of missing him. Besides, I have total confidence in my caregiver, who happens to be a close friend of mine whose children and child youth programs I’ve worked with on many occasions. Plus, she has a Master’s degree in Child Psychology and is CPR certified. So, I have no cause for worry since I know she will treat him like a member of her family, as she and her mother have always treated me.
But don’t think that while my son was at daycare, I just stayed at home and whistled Dixie, came home and went to sleep. I’ve been hard at work—and at this point, I need to backpeddle just a bit. Two Wednesdays ago, my mate and I purchased a home together. It’s our first one as a couple and my first shot at home ownership. I was actually able to convince my DAD to move in with us. It’s been my dream for a while to be able to take care of him. I want to leave care of my mom to by brother, but somehow I think she will ultimately become my responsibility too, although I refuse to have her live with me.
But I digress. As you can imagine, there is a lot of work to be done to move ONE place, much less consolidate two apartments into one. Surprisingly, my dad has not accumulated as many possessions as I thought; in fact, it is I who has the most accumulation among the four of us (Ayden comes in at a close second). What I’m attempting—and I do say attempting—is to throw away some of the accumulation. There have been several days of straight packing at both places. Day 1: shoes and purses. The easiest thing to say is that I have a lot. Two tubs of shoes and one tub of purses later, I’m feeling pretty good, even though I have four or five loose purses and about a dozen pair of shoes.
Day 2: packing my glass artifacts. I am one of those people who believes in having a glass for every occasion. That means white wine should be served in white wine glasses; margarita glasses should be for margaritas, etc. So you can imagine how many glasses I have. Keep in mind I made sure that both apartments had these components, so we’re basically looking at a minimum of eight glasses in many cases. Luckily I have a corner curio cabinet to absorb some of the cabinet space these would take up. Oh, did I mention my souvenir shot glass collection? Every new place I go, I buy a shot glass: Atlantic City, Vegas, Puerto Rico, Cancun, etc. And while I’m not exactly what you call a world traveler, I have been a few places. Getting the plates out of the way and working on packing bathroom items, toiletries, and perfumes/lotions. I got that out the way with relative ease since Dad took the brunt of that cleaning out of the way. All I had to do was sort through what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to chuck. Basically, anything that was old was thrown out.
Day 3: Incense and candles. No bull. I like the decorative element. I also like the look of them when they’re lit. Plus, they’re practical. And honestly, almost every time I go out of town, I end up buying scented candles to enhance the smell of my hotel room, and I almost always forget to pack them. So I have a full packing box for each place. Paperwork, office and my computer station. That I had a hell of a time with because although the desk area seemed small, I had a lot of stuff packed in there, and most of it needed to be sorted and packed individually.
Keep in mind that in each of these days, I was dividing myself among three places: the two apartments and the home. While I hadn’t moved anything in the house, one of the main things I wanted to was to get in there and CLEAN IT from top to bottom. This meant using almost a dozen different cleaning supplies: carpet freshener, window cleaner, paper towels, toilet bowl cleanser, floor cleanser, a Swiffer duster, towels, sponges, Scrubbing Bubbles. And I’m spraying, and I’m wiping and bending and stooping and climbing and SWEATING for a few hours at a time, getting a little done each day.
Day 4: Tackling, as I named it today, the ROOM of DOOM. This is by far the hardest task because before I moved from my Dad’s I was essentially using the room as a walk-in closet. There are clothes EVERYWHERE imaginable. Some I can wear, some I can’t, some (like my bathing suits and workout clothes, I no longer have time to wear. In addition, the room ended up also being a large book repository. Okay, to be honest, book, magazine, and writing repository. So today, I continued the task of attacking the room in phases. The easiest way is to break a large task into manageable chunks. So today’s tasks along with sorting the books was to pack the covers, sheets, towels, and other linens into one large bag; jackets, coats, and winter hats into another; and to tackle my photos. I still have one bathroom and the kitchen to clean at the house, but this is the only day I did not go to the house, because after I stopped at Dad’s apartment, I decided that today was a good day to do laundry back the other apartment. I had $16 on the laundry card and laundry that needed to be done, especially Ayden’s, since he goes through a couple of outfits and receiving blankets per day.
Tomorrow: I go to work for the first time in four months. I miss the girls and the melee, and just the general atmosphere of the college. After all, it has been my second home since 19. Also, in the evening, I have to go meet the Terminix representative to see if he can give a better estimate than the Orkin man. So after I leave work, I plan to swing by and get Ayden. With any luck, I can maybe take some of Ayden’s or my clothes over and fold them to make effective use of my time. It will also depend on Ayden and how he feels because for the last two days, he’s been conking out early due to his new routine.

What a Difference... (Original Author Date May 3, 2011)

…a few weeks makes! I’m still no expert at this whole parenthood experience, but my son and I have settled into a comfortable routine. Our morning typically starts at around 4am; he wakes up, gets fed, and goes back to sleep. Then at 6am, he’s back up again for another feeding and stays up for a while; sometimes only an hour and at other times, he’ll stay awake until 11am and go down for a brief catnap. Then it’s back up for a while by 2pm for his afternoon nap and I usually let him sleep until around 4.
We even have a little TV routine going on. We get up and watch a little of Fox 5 Morning News, fall asleep, wake up for Wendy Williams at 10am; have a free period at 11, where I’ll either take a shower and bathe him, or watch Dr. Phil or some other show of interest; at noon, we usually watch classic Looney Tunes, followed by Tom and Jerry at 1pm, and round out the afternoon with The Talk (admittedly, it’s usually just me watching The Talk).
It’s funny that in a few weeks our entire routine will be shaken up and changed. I will be returning to work on the 18th of May.

Misadventures in Mommyhood: What We Wouldn't Do

Motherhood is a series of ups and downs, of crises and triumphs, and most of all trial and error—lots of error. In fact, if you’re not ready to make mistakes, then you are definitely NOT ready to be a parent. Many times, we go in with so many preconceived notions of what we will and will not do, when in fact, a lot of things are out of our control. For instance, I said I would most definitely do my best to avoid giving our son a pacifier; it now takes up permanent residence in his cosleeper. Fortunately (or unfortunately for us, depending on the perspective), our son has never quite taken to the pacifier to comfort himself. If it’s not his bottle, he doesn’t want it, and his impending decibel wail lets us know that.
I also said I would try NOT to make this entire blog about him, but as you see, I’ve failed miserably in that respect.
He has permeated every corner of my being, even my dreams. I go to the store— any store—and there is inevitably a purchase just for him. The person who despised laundry does his without fail or complaint every week (although I still do not show the same enthusiasm for my own). Even the majority of my successfully completed reading has been every kind of baby blog, journal, and book imaginable.
It’s really a joyful experience, and I’m doing my best to savor these moments—these smalls triumphs, not only in my evolution to mommyhood, but also to his development as a fully functional human being.

Misadventures of Mommyhood Milestones

Three very important parenting milestones occurred this week. First, we decided as parents to impose a strict bedtime of 8pm on our son. The only problem with that is that our son was the only one who didn't seem to get the memo on his bedtime. In fact, on Day 1, he seemed to decide that he would do exactly the OPPOSITE of go to sleep. To him, his bedtime was 8pm, 8:15, 9:23, 10:45, and 11:13! On top of that, he wanted to be HELD constantly all through the night. It wasn't until around 3am that he decided to settle down to his usual 2 hour feedings. It was torture. Now after four days, I can say that we have successfully put him down for bedtime at 8pm; now if only we could get him to go back down at 11pm.
Which led to our second and third parenting milestone: cereal and a baby monitor respectively. We decided that a little rice cereal in his milk was in order to help bring him to an earlier bedtime. After putting a half-teaspoon in his 2.5oz bottles, we put him to bed by 9pm the next night. I’m not sure how successful the rice cereal is. There’s the old wives tale that he could get a little rice in his formula to help him sleep more. But there is also the current research that says that his digestive system may not yet be able to fully handle cereal. I tend to believe the latter in this case since the last few nights we have been experimenting with different cereal dosages and our son has stayed up at those different intervals. Maybe we’ll forgo the cereal for a couple more weeks.
Finally, I set up the monitor, doused the lights and the telly and for the first time, he slept out of my sight. Now, to me, monitors are supposed to make you less paranoid, not more. But inevitably, new mommyhood syndrome strikes again as I found myself doubting the capabilities of the monitor, even though I had thoroughly researched the product. I had the volume on the parental unit turned up to the fullest and the sensitivity level up to the highest level as well. I even found myself knarching once more the first night after going to bed with the cosleeper. For a couple of weeks, I had actually been able to rest while he was resting and all of the sudden after buying this contraption I wondered if I should keep the monitor on all night, even though I was right there. So it was back to square 1. I can say that after three days, I’m a little more comfortable with relying on it, even though some of my paranoia comes slightly to the surface as is expected with any mommy. On to the next adventure.

Misadventures in Mommyhood: The Cosleeper

The co-sleeper is one of those inventions that is meant to make life easier for new parents, especially mothers. This nifty little invention supercedes the basinet. The basic design of a cosleeper is that it has three elevated sides with a lower side that nestles right up against the bed allowing the mother easier access to the child for changing, feeding etc. It provides the convenience of having your child by your bed without actually having him or her IN your bed.
Kudos to the inventor of this device. The particular model of cosleeper I have handily is part of a 6-in-1 play yard that includes a changing table and a nightlight (that I just discovered) along with an MP3 input. What they don't tell you about is the inevitable connotation behind the cosleeper and that is while the child doesn't sleep with you, you inevitably end up sleeping with him or her. In the extremely early stages of motherhood when you find yourself knarching (see previous entry), and some part of your anatomy ends up in the cosleeper with your child. Most times, it's just a hand to comfort him or her with your presence, or to comfort yourself with multiple checks to ensure that your newborn is still breathing. But I assure you, the hand is not alone. There has been many a night when I find myself situating my pillow on the edge of the cosleeper, effectively placing my head in and camping out there. Yes, it creates the same neck cramp as the knarch, but it does reduce the incidence of whiplash.

Mommyhood Vocabulary

Knarch-noun: the instinctive leaning or craning of a mother's head and neck toward her child. This condition does occur rarely among fathers but is definitely most common for mothers and most frequently when child is an infant, but can also remain throughout early childhood and adolescence. Side effects may include neck cramps, whip lash, leaky breasts.
Intransitive verb: -ed, -ing: to lean or crane head toward child.
Active usage of this verb will occur in later posts.

O Marvelous Caffeine!

Last week, my girlfriend asked me if I missed being pregnant, and my answer was irrevocably no. Let me amend that…NO! Besides the obvious weight gain, there is once again the theme of restriction. “You shouldn’t lift that…eat that…drink that.” The cool thing is that there was an allowance of moderation for each item. Understandably, I had to give up alcohol, even though many people said that the occasional glass of wine was okay (other than tasting a sip, I did not take advantage of this indulgence).
I also had to restrict my tuna and deli meat intake. What’s funny is that I don’t eat much tuna or many coldcuts in the winter, but in the summer, I love a great sandwich/sub and macaroni and tuna salad. My moderation is that I could have four ounces of tuna a week, so when I really wanted that tuna sandwich, I got one (Facebook friends will recall the tuna fish sandwich and ice cream sandwich post last summer).
The final restriction was that of caffeine. It was recommended that I could do no more than 8 ounces per day. In the beginning, I restricted myself to one dose of caffeine per week, but it seemed the closer I got to the deadline, the more caffeine I craved. Maybe it was because the further along I got, the more fatigued I felt. So I would drink either a small cup of coffee, iced tea, or soda. For the most I did well on the soda front, because I mostly craved fruit-flavored sodas (Strawberry Fanta was the main one).
Here’s what’s funny: immediately after I delivered, the first meal I ate was a tuna fish sandwich. I swear, it was THE BEST TUNA sandwich ever! But that could have been because I hadn’t eaten any solid food for the prior 17 hours, but I also hadn’t had any tuna in months.
The alcohol was my second indulgence. I was more cautious in the beginning since I attempted to breast feed in the beginning (that lasted all of three weeks). But I enjoyed a glass of red wine and we cracked open the bottle of Cuervo 1800 Anejo that we purchased in Mexico last year for an awesome margarita.
Finally, I enjoyed my caffeine again. Coffee, tea, and soda without restriction! And it was good. Today for instance, I had coffee and Coca Cola, and yesterday, I bought a gallon of iced tea from Popeyes and drank two glasses! And I love southern style iced tea. At the risk of getting the jitters, I may enjoy some tea before I go to bed. But then again, that margarita sounds like a good idea.

The Latest Misadventure in Mommyhood

Well, a lot of things have happened since my last entry. The first is that I actually gave birth to my first child. Okay, that is the only thing that has happened but it has encompassed SO much. I was actually debating renaming this blog site to “the Misadventures of Mommyhood” but as the days, months, and years go by, I’m hoping that the summary of me will not JUST be mommy. But for now, most of my blogs will inevitable settle around my son and all the things we will learn together.
I have developed that distinctive mommy love of my son. But there is one important side effect that gave me the sudden epiphany that he will be an only child. I can deal with the every two-hour feedings; I can cope with the projectile pee, poo, and vomit that comes with an infant; I can even deal with the lack of personal hygiene that causes me to walk around the house with unkempt hair and no makeup (not even my trademark eyebrows).
What I’m having the most difficulty dealing with is the sudden lack of mobility. I struggled with this a little when I was pregnant, since people automatically try to treat you like this delicate flower (“You shouldn’t be carrying all those heavy bags” or “You’re not going to be able to travel like that while you’re pregnant.” All of which was total bumpkiss by the way.) But now, I feel almost incapacitated; worse yet, I have a feeling of being tethered, kind of like an eagle tied down with a rope. My late uncle and aunt (rest in peace Uncle Charles and Aunt Resa) used to always tease me about how I was just quick to get up and go and how if I ever got a man, that get-up-and-go would be suppressed. I bet they are in heaven getting a kick out of the fact that the man that finally did it is actually my son.
Realistically, I know it won’t always be like this and that in reality, I’ve only been doing this mommy thing for three weeks and thereby this feeling will fade, but today the reality came crashing down as I prepared myself and my son for a doctor’s appointment scheduled for 1:30 in the afternoon. Granted, I didn’t exactly do the most accurate planning and time management, but I thought I was doing okay until the last half hour. Then I realized I had to get dressed, get him dressed, do a last minute feeding, put on his snowsuit, put him in the car seat, put on my coat, grab my purse and diaper bag, secure him in the back, and then roll out. And it was at that moment when I had him, the diaper bag, and purse, and was locking the apartment door that I came to the realization that this part was more difficult than all the sudden bathroom urges, the carpal tunnel syndrome, the swelling, and even the labor and delivery. This is what I dislike about mommyhood. No longer can I just run into a store, or anywhere else, quickly when I have him. I thought about the task of simply going to a 7-11 for a cup of coffee and it put me in an unpleasant frame of mind.
I believe in the adage “this too shall pass.” But the thing is I’m torn between the passing and relishing the goodness of enjoying my son in all his stages, because he is truly a blessing and a miracle.

Addicted to Amazon

For some it’s food. For others, it’s alcohol. For still others, it’s as detrimental as crack. I’m talking about addiction. For me, (although some will argue that food is one) it is definitely fast becoming Amazon.

I can’t begin to tell you when the addiction first began, but I know that I have ordered books from them for years, and that to date, I have at least seven shipping addresses on file, three for me, and the rest for gift recipients. Then gradually, the book ordering gave way to ordering CDs (a logical step), and then I went to ordering EVERYTHING else.

Last year, I ordered well over fifty items from Amazon, ranging from the usual books to key chains, to paperweights, to my proudest accomplishment, a floor lamp. Oh, did I mention that I also ordered my son’s (it still feels weird to say that) baby furniture from Amazon?

Even after all that, I still was not ready to completely admit my addiction—until just now. Why, might you ask? Because now Amazon is offering the option to buy back textbooks. (As I write this, I am browsing my shelf to see if there are any that I want to sell back.) It doesn’t matter if you bought them from Amazon or not. It doesn’t matter if they are no longer used by your institution or instructor. If they are on Amazon’s list, you get credit! This credit goes toward your future purchases.

Here’s how it works. You log into Amazon under their buyback store and look up your textbooks by author, title, or ISBN and see if it’s eligible. If it is, there will be a list price. Once you finish, you click complete, and the site will ask you if you’d prefer a UPS label or a USPS label. You pick your choice, and the site provides you a PREPAID shipping label that includes the approximate weight of the package, along with a packing list that you include in the box (that you have to find). Take the box to the place you choose and mail it off. Within three to five days, you receive an email confirming receipt of the books and the credit that’s been applied to your account. This credit is automatically applied to your next purchase.

It’s that simple.

So, does anyone have any books you want to send to a worthy cause? (Me.)

"I'm What?"

Here I am at 36 weeks along and I am finally starting to get EXCITED about the fact that in a few weeks I will be a mommy. I have to tell you that this whole journey has been somewhat surreal. In finding out about this life-changing event, it was fairly shocking although my body was telling me, “you know something is different.” As I’ve recounted to the multitude of people who have asked me how I found out, I’m a pretty regular type. I have to eat at the virtually the same time everyday to avoid the crankies; you could tell time by my bathroom breaks; and I have an almost dead-on accuracy of the day my cycle is supposed to appear. So by the 7th of June when good ole Aunt Flo hadn’t shown, I started to get a little anxious. When she didn’t arrive in the second week, that anxiousness started to escalate to something close to panic: to the point where after a swim, I cut my usual hot tub therapy short because of the precaution against pregnant women.

How I truly found out was very comical. After cutting off my hot tub therapy, I was determined to find out, for better or worse, although some innate part of my psyche knew. So I got dressed, left the gym and headed for my local CVS. The CVS I chose was by my apartment and when I made my way to the aisle where the pregnancy tests were held, I discovered a locked case. After asking a sales associate to page someone with a key, I waited patiently by the cabinet…and waited…and waited. No one came and after five interminable minutes (my imagination would like to say it was more like fifteen), I left the CVS, sans test.

It was around 8pm and I was faced with a choice: travel to another CVS or go home and try not to panic. I chose option two, and went home and sat in front of the television. Then I said to myself: I would like a drink. And since this could very well be my last drink for several months, I’m going to enjoy one. And so I opened up a vodka cooler and sipped it to my heart’s content, and savored like it was the best drink on earth (in all probability like a convict on death row). I had two more in the fridge, but they would just be for my DBBF when she found out the news (in truth, I think my father raided the refrigerator and pilfered them). Yes, I had relegated myself to the reality that I was destined for motherhood.

Let me just take a commercial break here and state that I seemed to be the only person who did not want to admit that I would be a viable candidate for motherhood. I’d listened to countless relatives and friends tell me how great a mom I would be, but personally I was happy at the notion of being the eccentric aunt/cousin who had forgone children in exchange for traveling around the world and seeing the great mysteries of earth. I mostly remember my aunt telling me how I was already motherly toward all my younger relatives, and that one day, they would all be jealous of my child. (I only wish she would have lived to see the day when I had a long-term relationship and a child.) But I was happily steeped in the delusion that I would never have kids of my own.

Back from the slight digression. The next day, I went to work as usual and resumed this major shifting and shelf reading project that we had undertaken. However, the constant unknown factor was making it difficult to concentrate and less than an hour later, I found myself later, I found myself downstairs, asking my boss to excuse me for a few minutes while I stepped off campus. Being that it was 10am, I’m sure she thought this was odd, but she didn’t say anything other than okay. So I hopped in my truck and zoomed over to the nearest CVS, which was only a block away, and this CVS did NOT have their tests behind a cabinet, so I grabbed a two-pack of digital Clear Blue Easy that had gave the read out of the word Pregnant or Not Pregnant—believe me, I didn’t want any confusion with those dumb little plusses or minuses—purchased it, then hauled ass back to my job, where I went to the private bathrooms on the second floor and positioned the stick just so to catch the flow of urine (I would end up doing this several times in the upcoming months).

Now for another digression. I would like to say that there is no time that I feel more penis envy than when having to accurately pee in and/or on something. It really is a messy affair for us women. First, we have to gauge the strength of our pee to know exactly in which direction it will flow. The inevitably leads to us at some point to peeing directly on our own fingers. So men, you’ve gotten off pretty easy. There will be more gripes of your easy life in future blogs.

Let me confront the first fallacy of pregnancy that I was able to discover: those commercials where they tell you that you can find out your status in as little as two minutes are completely bogus. A more accurate time frame is 30 seconds. Yes, within thirty seconds (the time it took me to de-pee my fingers on toilet paper), I found out the news that would be the first step in changing my life forever.

Needless to say, the thought of doing any more constructive work for the day was out. I went back to my desk and just sat in stunned silence for most of the day. At least I assume that’s what I did because I recall very little of that day five minutes after the news sunk in.

It's a New Year and...

...on this note, I figured I'd start with a new blog. The only problem is I just can't seem to get/hold it together long enough to get the blog going. Don't laugh; I actually set this space up sometime in the summer, and this day, January 13, is the first day I've actually written in it. Yes, I know...sad, but I think I have perfectly good excuses for all my procrastinating.
1. In Fall 2008, I started grad school and it pretty much superseded any writing, reading, and most other pleasures I used to enjoy (except for cocktails and karaoke).
2. Also in Fall 2008, I started teaching as an adjunct. Keep in mind that this was in addition to my full-time day job and blended with grad school, but slightly staggered to keep me somewhat sane. I gradually moved from teaching just one course to whetting my whistle with two, and eventually three (after I completed grad school).
3. In addition, in Fall 2008, I actually began a long-term relationship, which is surprisingly (to me if not others) time-consuming. I am happy to say that I am still in that long-term relationship and that we are expecting our first child in less than a month. which is yet another reason, I've been so defunct on restarting my writing life.
But 2011 is the year for no more excuses, among other things. I will make a conscious effort (already this has hints of deja vu) to at least blog once a week, if not more.
There I think I will leave you with that. See you next week (if not sooner). (Geesh that  makes me sound smug; I hope I actually follow through).