2006 Blogs - March to April

http://www.tagaminetwork.com/blog/2006/04/bread-and-wine.html

Thursday, April 13, 2006
Bread and Wine

And a hefty chunk of an index finger.

My right one, to be exact. So, it's not so bad, considering I am sinister, in the eponymous definition, but it is a pain, considering it took me more than a few minutes to type this, due to a clutzy band-aid protruding from my pointer and hammering at superfluous letters. Damn you, 3M! Damn you for making such a nice, cushy barrier for my boo-boo. After all the years my grandmother put in to your company... And all we got was a lousy lifetime supply of Scotch tape.

You like that? Yeah, pretty good stream of conscious nothingness. And I'm not even drinking. Not yet. I was starting to drink last night, but only got a swig in before I sliced a goodly portion of my finger on a nice, German-engineered bread knife. So much for me going in for the whole we-are-the-(white, EU) world combination of a barollo, a baguette and some gouda.

I am torn these days. The serotonin levels have crept back up, thanks to Mr. Sunshine showing his bloody face for a day, and 'bout time, you weak bastard. It was 70-something here in the 510 area code, and there was nary a cloud in the sky, so me and the munchkings hauled it to the park on Hearst and Milvia in Berkeley, partly because the kids' grandmother works nearby at UC Extension, and partly because the swings there kick arse, because they are rigged so high, you don't have to push anyone far to see little faces grin in delight. Also, lastly, and perhaps most importantly, there are rarely canine things sniffing about and marking their territory, which gives the whole place a good (clean) vibe. You can call me a dogist or whatever, but go over to Willard Park and try to avoid the stench of dog crap and urine for 30 seconds. If you can stomach the fumes and still manage to awkardly frolick in the tot land area with your knee-high wards, then you can get all up on me with your very telling "Dog is my Co-Pilot" bumper stickers. You freaks.

Anyway, oh, hey! Another aside! What IS my problem... Hm. I am torn. And not too organized, by the looks of this post, and so, therein, perhaps, lies my rub. I am torn, because I am feeling a story bubbling up from the slime, and I'm having a hard time shaping it. I am not even sure what I want to focus on, in terms of a plot, but these characters are talking pretty loudly in my head, kind of like the barkers at a carnival. Weird. I may have to start using this blog for some drafts, soon.

Unless it rains again tomorrow. Then, all bets are off. I'll probably just eat another container of ice cream and lie prostrate.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 9:50 PM
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Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Eleven Months: The Minxie

Hey, little girl.

I can hardly see your face these days, for all the snot you're generating. It's the teeth, oy, the teeth, that are making your face a gooey mess. You have four, now - well, the fourth one is poking through, methinks, and more are coming; I can see the raised gums on either side of your bottom two teeth.

You are shaping up to be a grand mimic, just like your brother before you. You like to repeat: "uh-oh," and the beginnings of words like "juice," and "bottle." You are also trying to communicate in different ways, like when I give you one of the blankies, you grin wildly, snap it up, hug it, and squeal with a big "Ahhhhh!"

You crawled like a crab in all your naked splendor last night after your bath, and pushed yourself up off the floor with your two hands to stand for five seconds or so, and your face wore a look like you weren't sure you were even accomplishing this feat (twice!). You then had to turn to your brother, still making waves in the tub, to make sure you had him as a witness to this.

You are also perfecting your wave, and try it out randomly on strangers (but never on mommy or daddy) when you're out in public.

You are also sleepy these days, probably because there are sharp fangs edging down on your gums, and probably also because there hasn't been sun in more than a month. Problem is, your brother, god help us, is pooh-poohing naptime these days, working on the fibs that he has to go potty, and his plaintive cries usually rouse you prematurely from your own restorative slumber. Don't worry; there will be plenty of time to get him back. I have every confidence in you.

You are minxish, yourself, and like it or not, the name is staying. You have developed a taste for grinning a little too cunningly when you see an escape route, usually when we're changing your diapers, or when you see something interesting to explore (which is pretty much everywhere). You react by throwing yourself into conniptions (though no bawling, I give you that) while in our arms or while you are on the floor and are trying to wrestle yourself from the clutches of The Diaper.

You are so happy to be alive, and so, as much as I roll my eyes whenever you wriggle away, I'm just grateful you are a baby who is getting so much out of life.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 1:13 PM
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Funky

I'm feeling out of sorts today.

Probably has a lot to do with the fact that it's rained here for the past 36 days, with little hope of dry weather in the next week, and probably has something to do with the news I just received from a friend who said a mutual acquaintance of ours is splitting up with her husband after he was caught cheating with a 20-something hoochie.

Not going into details, except to say that there is a small child involved, so why the HELL would that guy do that?!? I can't speculate, because I don't know the details myself, but it makes me feel horrible, just the same. And, for the record, I don't feel any danger at all in my marriage; I just feel sad that something is broken now, and that a little child (who I 've met) is going to suffer the most, likely.

Bleh.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 1:08 PM
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Funky

I'm feeling out of sorts today.

Bleh.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 1:08 PM
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Saturday, April 01, 2006
Month 27

DSC00660
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.
You are sleeping as I write this, your long, dark eyelashes feathering down onto your cheeks, your binkie half out of your mouth.

Yes, we still let you have your binkie, but only for naptime and bedtime. Enough about that.

I haven't written an update on you for a long time, little boy, ecause I can hardly keep up with everything you are doing these days; it's like you're a computer that just got a kicky new processor AND about 500 GHz of new hard drive all at the same time.

You are stringing together sentences all the time now; no one-word comannds from you, no - you give out full and detailed demands for gummy worms, big blankies that must be made into tents draped over couch cushions, and requests to "watch Thomas a little while" before naptime or bedtime. You are Verbal, for sure. And if we don't respond to you right. this. second., you repeat the request over and over like a needle stuck on a record, only your skips get louder and more plaintive each time, as if to say I AM TRYING VERY HARD TO BE POLITE HERE, BUT I MAY LOSE IT IF YOU DON'T RESPOND TO THE ASKING FOR A COOKIE THING, LADY.

It's going to break my heart when you learn how to pronounce certain things the right way. I love to hear you say "Sirpm Top" for the "Sir Topham Hat" character in Thomas the Tank Engine (though I have to tell you, I loathe Thomas and all its permissive prankishness, as though it's telling preschoolers everywhere it's okay to be petty and mean, as long as you apologize in the end), and how you pronounce almost all "l"'s like "w"'s.

You are still lovey and huggy, and you still come to me for comfort. You know I'm going to enjoy that while it lasts, because I also noticed you are developing the scowl/sneer look for when you're disappointed in me (see above entry for how your requests and demands). The best part about this past month, though, has been watching you develop more assertiveness, in terms of dealing with other kids. Before, you merely let kids just take whatever toy you had in your hand, and then gave me the saddest look, but now, you silently hang on for dear life to the toy you play with in public places, and if they still take it from you, you now attempt to get it back, again, silently, gently, but firmly. I love seeing this in you. You're going to be alright.

Ah, you're waking up, now. I'll have to write more later.

Love you.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 3:45 PM
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Thursday, March 30, 2006
Giddy

How funny is this: I felt naughty tonight because I went out and met my husband at a fundraiser for the Fox Theater.

The shindig was held in the lobby of the theater, and the event had wine (although one woman was a nazi about giving out the booze) and munchies, which was good, because I was sipping up a storm.

This kind of deal would have made me cringe, in another life. Frankly, fundraisers and networking clatches make me twitchy to this day, but for some reason, tonight, it felt alright. I got to see my husband, who is working his arse off (literally) these days, and I got to talk to an acquaintence who is hilarious, and kiss and say "hi" to a few of the usual suspects. Did I mention wine and food I didn't have to cook? I did, didn't I...

And yet, driving home, I found myself laughing in my car, thinking, not of some funny anecdote told to me on the sly while I swigged syrah, but of my 10-month-old daughter eating in her high chair, pinching up food with her hand as she struggles to master the pincer grasp, and going "MMMMmmm" over and over again. With gusto.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:29 PM
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Friday, March 24, 2006
Negative

I need to go bed, but soon.
And yet, I just had to write something out in all capital letters:

I DON'T HAVE THE MUTANT CANCER GENE! YOU HEAR ME, WORLD?!? NOT HERE. NOT IN MY DNA, THANK YOU. GOOD NIGHT.

I got the call yesterday from my doctor, who left a message on the machine that I feel compelled to keep for the rest of my life.

I had gotten the bloodwork done Feb. 7, but it took this long to process because ... yeah, you don't even need a drumroll; it was the insurance paperwork that needed to clear through before they'd perform the test. Hearing Dr. Bruce's voice say: "It says here 'No mutation detected'" just got my shoulders to drop about a foot. I hadn't realized just how long I was carrying this little medicine ball of anxiety around with me, until I heard my primary care physician speak.

And yet, at the same time, I felt a twinge of guilt, that the BRAC-2 mutant strain - which, if it had been detected in my person, would have meant I would have a hereditary predisposition to both breast and uterine cancers - was not there. That meant my mother didn't pass it on to me.

But it also means that my mother suffers alone, and for that, I felt a twinge of guilt. And I know if she reads this, she will have to fight an urge to call me and say "Don't be silly." And it is silly, because, believe me, I didn't want her to pass it on to me. But still, a (small) part of me felt bad that I got away clean while she suffers.

And then, after I felt all that (in the nanosecond after I heard the message), I enjoyed a solid night of relief, knowing that my daughter wouldn't get this gene mutation, either.

Carly, we dodged a bullet. Sleep tight.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 10:58 PM
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Saturday, March 18, 2006
What's Another Word for Dolt?

After a dinner date I had with my husband and one of our good friends, it became glaringly, embarrassingly clear to me that I have yet to regain any of those IQ points I lost between my maternity leave for 2003 and, oh, today. My friend - let's call her Tara, since that's her name - was chatting me up about her talks with other moms, and how they feel like they lost the cognitive skills that made them a formidable contender in any snotty coffee clatch/cocktail hour/dinner soiree that forced visitors to one-up everyone else on the latest book read, latest military coup one is appalled/elated with, etc.

It's true, I don't have that knowledge at my fingertips, anymore. It's sleep deprivation, pure and simple. Well, it's sleep deprivation, plus lack of alone time with which to ponder, peruse and otherwise piss away time (and by that, I mean that of course I am jealous - I vaguely remember having time to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, finish a book, pluck my eyebrows, write crappy novels during the month of November). These days, I can recite to you the lexicon of "Snow!" and "Five Little Dinosaurs," but ask me about what's happening in the world, and I struggle. I recall the salient points, sure, but I have neither time nor energy to argue any fine points about - erm, anything.

I don't pity myself, because I am having a blast (though I wouldn't mind another 70 or so extra hours of snooze time. However, I would like to sharpen my conversational/cognitive skills, so I decided to take a freelance gig with my old paper for a subject I would have normally cringed at, had I still been regularly working there.

But should I be embarrassed to admit I am actually enjoying myself, writing a BJ piece? I am. I enjoy it. It's over in a week, which probabl helps with my overall attitude towards it, but yeah, I enjoy talking to people about something other than my kids. I can yammer on about them until sthey close up the joint, but still, it's not all of who I am, and so, I am enjoying exploring some other sides of life through this interview/writing process.

Not getting into specifics in case this blog is found by one of the interviewees. I'm sure you understand.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 7:51 PM
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Thursday, March 09, 2006
Month 10 - The Girls Stands Alone

DSC00603
Originally uploaded by Rubberpants and Erpy.
Happy ten months, Little One.

Do you realize you are edging toward toddlerhood, and do you realize that I have been cuddling and kissing you relentlessly while I still can? In a few short weeks, I can tell you will be taking your first stpes, and then it's all over for awhile, as far as me getting a chance to carry you around or just have you snuggled in my arms while you settle down or drink a bottle.

For now, I am reveling in you growing and babbling and crawling toward me and using me as a jungle gym. I am watching the moments as they happen, and I am aware of the fact that the moments will be gone right .. there, there's one gone.

This last week, I watched you figure out that the sticks we use in music class are really for banging together or banging on the ground, rather than as a couple of chew toys. I watched you levitate in time to the music while sittiing on the ground. I listen to you try and match both your brother's babble and the volume. I watched your hair grow and start to curl around your eyebrows a mere two weeks after I cut the bangs. I watched your eyes turn even more green-blue. I watched the first three of your teeth pop through your gums all at once. I watched you eschew baby food in jars for bite-sized big people food at all meals. I watched you grow out of shirts and pants.

I watched you sleep.

I listened to you say "mama" for the first time when you weren't upset or humgry; you just wanted to find me, so you crawled around on the floor and called out for me, and then grinned your still (nearly) toothless grin when I popped my head from around a corner.

I watched you put a crayon in your hand and try to make lines on construction paper (though you still prefer using these objects mainly as chewing devices).

I watched you finger paint for the first time, then watched as you got anxious and tried crawling up my legs with hands full of green, blue, red, and purple glitter paint.

I watched you figure out how to open a book and (sometimes successfully) turn the pages. This led to me watching you (finally) get really excited about all the books you see your brother with.

I watch you watching Kane, and how you are memorizing his every move. You adore him.

And I adore you. I never thought having a daughter would be so much fun. I thought I wouldn't be able to contribute to your happiness, because I wasn't a typical girl, and I didn't like typical girl things. But you, by virtue of your brother, I think, aren't a typical girl, either. You prefer trains and trucks and things that make noise, over dolls. That's not to say you don't love your Grover and Cookie Monster plush toys in your crib; I hear you talking to them when you go to bed and night, and when you wake up in the morning sometimes. You also love Kane's stuffed cat, and grab it and shove its face in your face as you smile.

You growl like .. well, like everyone else in the Tagami family. To hear it coming out of your little cherubic face is hilarious.

You give me reason every day to smile and thank whatever it is that brought you here.

posted by That Chick Who Cleans Up Around Here @ 12:50 PM
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Thursday, April 13, 2006
Bread and Wine