in which there is much ranting about Heroes

December 23, 2008 – 12:02 am

We started watching Heroes a couple of years ago, and at first we were just gobsmacked by how good it was. But the latest season just blows, and after re-reading the TWOP recaps of past episodes, I’ve got some things to talk about, y’all, and it ain’t pretty. Also: SPOILERS! Read More »

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almost a week late, but who’s counting?

December 18, 2008 – 10:57 pm

My very small child is a somewhat less small child now, and I’ve got to say, I’m a little melancholy about it. Not that I want to stunt his growth or anything. What? I totally don’t, and categorically deny any rumors to the contrary.

I don’t miss all-night wakeups, endless nursing sessions, teething, drooling, or spit-up. I don’t miss his frustration over not being able to walk - which, if you recall, he got over pretty damned early - or talk. I don’t miss having to lug the stroller with us on every outing (although, let me just say, if we’d gotten an Ergo sooner my life would have been SO MUCH EASIER OMG). I don’t miss poopsplosions or chewed-up books. And I really, really don’t miss being pregnant.

And yet.

ho ho ho baby love hand

But my big kid (he’s three! Seriously. I would not kid about a thing like that) is pretty cool, too. He likes Doctors Who and Horrible . He enjoys pirate songs on YouTube. He’ll say “That’s pretty weird” when confronted with things like Hamster on a Piano. He thinks birthdays are the greatest thing ever, with Christmas a close second. He won’t get out of bed in the morning until we “Guggle some more!” And he’s, you know, crazy handsome.

grin Cutting out cookies grin

A friend on Facebook said “You know, you two really have a responsibility to the world to have another child. I mean he is just so cute.” She’s right. He really is.

Happy (belated) birthday, kid.

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a very cranky christmas

December 11, 2008 – 11:04 pm

Giant Yodel

Giant Yodel.


Giant Yodel the tree skirt

Giant Yodel: the tree skirt. It eats you, starting with your bottom.


Cranky Mama gets her craft on, just in time for the holidays.

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meme

December 5, 2008 – 7:59 pm

6 random things

newborn me1. If I’d been a boy, my name would have been Jeffrey David.
2. My parents were sure they were having a boy. So sure, in fact, that they hadn’t discussed girl names.
3. I was named after my father’s dead ex who was stabbed to death by her boyfriend while on the phone with her alcoholic mother. Why my own mother went for this, I will never know. Perhaps after the 70s-era C-Section she was disinclined to be picky.
4. My mother claimed she wanted to name me Alison, after the character in The Magus, but it’s my mother, so: grain of salt.
5. I would have like to have been named Alison. Also Sara, Julie, Susan, or (briefly) my old middle name, Diane.
6. When we got married, we both changed our middle and last names. So there! (I have the same first name as always, though…clearly I didn’t think that one through.)

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december already

December 1, 2008 – 3:34 pm

Apparently it’s December, if the calendars can be trusted. And I say, why not trust the calendars? What did they ever do to you?

My kid is inexorably, adorably inching closer to three years of age, a time when he will miraculously be capable of rational thought and self-sufficiency. I am very certain I will not be disappointed when, in a little less than two weeks, he wakes up and makes me a full English breakfast complete with espresso just the way I like it and a tiny bouquet of freshly-picked flowers. Because, three. Three will be my salvation, people.

But since he’s still two, the kid has been making the most of it, transforming from relatively easy-going (if stubborn and opinionated) toddler to Oh My God I Don’t Know How You Can Scream For So Long Without Taking A Breath (And Other Stories). We’ve got the old standbys of Meals and Bedtime, taken to new extremes (will not eat anything but granola bars! Refuses to sleep before midnight!), as well as some new and exciting triggers such as Cannot Possibly Hold Hands With Mommy If Daddy Is In The Same State and Diapers: Not For Changing. I would make a comment about the end of my rope, were I still able to remember a time when I had rope to measure.

Kids: you totally want one!

Which of course means I saw the cutest siblings out the other day, a brother and a sister around 8 and 10, horsing around at the crosswalk but then putting their arms around each other while they crossed the street. Just for a second, but long enough for me to think I want my kid to be a big brother. Because he’d be pretty awesome at it, probably. (Never mind that I couldn’t stand my sister when we were kids and we didn’t get along until she was probably 16 and I was 20…) I have to keep reminding myself of how much I loathed being pregnant and how nicely having one kid fits into our lives, because otherwise I’d be all baby crazy again and no one wants that.

And, seriously, could I handle another round of the Terrible Twos?

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things what are obvious

November 14, 2008 – 11:49 am

So, hey, funny thing: turns out after stopping my meds I’m depressed again! I know, right? NO ONE WOULD HAVE GUESSED THAT THIS WOULD HAPPEN EVER.

To be fair, I stopped the meds, like…three months ago? Four? So it’s not like I’m in withdrawal or anything. In fact, despite all the haters screaming about how hard it is to get off Wellbutrin, I had no problem whatsoever. Yay me! Except for the part where I’m all “nothing matters and I might as well jump off a bridge.” Again. Not that I’m going to jump off a bridge; that implies a certain amount of motivation, which I am totally lacking at the moment, but still. The sentiment! The sentiment remains the same, and has come creeping back rather predictably after a year-long medically-induced hiatus. (At the moment I can’t even remember why I stopped taking the meds, but I’m sure I had a good reason. Something about not being able to get excited about anything, I believe…oh the irony.)

Howev! I’m feeling better about the writing thing. I recognize that attempting to write a novel in 30 days when I’m already ridiculously overextended is…well, ridiculous, and sets false expectations in my head, and isn’t actually indicative of my abilities as a writer. Doesn’t that sound rational and right-minded? (It’s a trick.)

In other news, we’ve all been sick with a nasty cold for the past week, which does little to improve my mood. Currently there are things in my lungs, and I do not like to have things in my lungs. As a side note, it is not a good idea to obsessively watch medical dramas while ill. I mention this as a public service to my readers. (Also: it’s never lupus.)

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na? no.

November 8, 2008 – 11:42 pm

Someone should keep track of all my NaNoWriMo puns. Seriously. It would waste a good five minutes and give you something to do on a Saturday night which does not involve miserably hacking up bits of lung, which is what I’m doing. Oh, I know, waaaah. (Note to those who haven’t noticed yet: I get cranky when I am sick.)

But the last three days of fever and sore throat aren’t the reason I’m dropping out of NaNoWriMo a mere 8 days in. No, it’s much more prosaic than that: I have too much work to do. Work + active toddler + more work + housework = no time. Oh sure, I could something out to make time for writing. Let’s see: sleep? Well, I’m already knackered all the time, and despite all my best efforts I seem to prefer sleeping as long as I can rather than dragging myself out of bed while my angelic offspring slumbers. So that leaves either work of housework. We know what happens when I do not clean the house (SPOILER: the cleaning fairy isn’t real, and by the way, neither is the Easter Bunny) so that’s out.

So I could cut out early from work in order to write, quit maybe the part-time freelance gig I added on a couple of months ago during a particularly worrisome point in our financial cycle, but therein lies a funny realization: I’m unwilling to risk insolvency to further my writing career.

Huh. When did that happen?

The depressing part, of course, is that this means I Am Not A Writer. Which in turn means I wasted a crapload of time wearing lots of black and cramming together enough bad metaphors to fill not one not two but THREE mostly-unfinished novels, the latest of which I was really excited about, damn it. Er, plus the one I’m supposed to be writing now, which I’ve been planning for the past two years, which is even more depressing when you think about all the other things I could have been doing when I was scrabbling down notes and marking articles on Wikipedia and generally being way, way too full of myself.

I don’t know. I mean, I know failing at NaNo doesn’t mean I can never write again, but it’s a pretty good indicator of my commitment level. The way I look at it, I can either be willing to make sacrifices in order to be a writer, or I can quit whining about never having enough time to write. And I’m not sacrificing anything, am I?

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