26 September 2006

Bad Mommy

I totally forgot about the checkup I scheduled for the youngest.

There is nothing worse than looking up at your Outlook notes and seeing: "You should be at the doctor's office in nine minutes, and you have no prayer of making it, because you are on the north side of town, and the doc is on the south side."

Crap, crap, crap.

For about 30 seconds, I was delusional enough to think I could make it. Then I gave up that delusion, and called the doc and rescheduled for next week.

22 September 2006

What, exactly, are you on?

Fashion designers, I'm lookin' at you. What in the name of
  • Michael Kors
  • is going on?

    I've seen the Getty Images of the fall shows, and I'm NOT impressed.

    This is not the '80s.

    I've already lived that. The skinny jeans, the shorts with tights,
  • bubble skirts
  • . . . that looked silly on me in junior high and high school.

    I'm sure as hell not going to my next power meeting in ANY of this stuff.

    Seriously, if you are going to redo an era, can we do
  • this
  • .

    20 September 2006

    My hometown's 15 minutes of fame

    Over. Thank goodness.

    I'm happy the child was found, safe, sound, and unharmed.

    And I'm forever grateful that now CNN, FOX NEWS, et al have departed, and will no longer be showing the place I grew up as the land of rubes and idiots and hicks.

    Some of them, are, sure. But most, not so much.

    I'm a reporter, and I'm appalled at how little effort was put into finding the intelligent to interview. Then again, the intelligent don't usually hang out at the Quik-E-Marts of the world.


    17 September 2006


    I thought things would slow down a bit after Labor Day. It was not to be.

    Just in the past few days since our last holiday:

    * Youngest came down with hand-foot-mouth virus, and was out of daycare for four days this week.

    * My boss announced he's leaving at the end of the year. Suddenly, work is even more hectic as he's got a short-timer mode about him, and the power vacuum is being filled by someone else. This is not necessarily a good thing.

    * Hubby and I signed up for a couple's retreat months ago. Then I forgot about it, completely. It's next weekend, and somehow, we have to be in St. Louis by an incredibly early hour on Friday evening and have dropped the kids and the dog at my parents' long before then. Somehow, this seemed like a better idea last February when I signed us up.

    * We did a family portrait over the weekend. We won't be buying any. It was that bad, as middle child made goofy faces in every shot, youngest child had finger in mouth the entire time or was ready to blow at any moment. Maybe we'll try again at my cousin's wedding in three weeks. Surely we can get one good picture that day, right?

    06 September 2006

    My pretty, pretty princess

    My baby is two.


    Can't be, but it is all the same.

    She's very petite, so it's easy to forget how old she is. The child still fits in clothing made for children half her age.

    She reminds us of her age through action, though. Climb to the top of Mount Couch. She talks in complete sentences, and started speaking that way that much earlier than my other two ever did.

    You wouldn't think someone so short and semi-verbal could scare a four-year-old boy, one big for his age and mouthy, but she can.

    * * *

    Two years ago, we nearly lost her before we had her. Her umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck three times, and she came so quickly, no one realized until she was nearly born.

    I was told not to push, and had to stop for a full five minutes. Those of you who have had kids know that's almost impossible.

    Those of you who haven't: Remember that trick where you drop a lit match in a narrow bottle, then set a hard-boiled egg on top of the bottle opening? Eventually the vacuum pressure is so strong, the egg is sucked through. Just at the moment the egg is to pull through . . . stop it. Hold it there. For five minutes.

    Right. Impossible.

    Somehow I did, and they unwrapped the cord, and she smiled at me. (I swear, we have photographic evidence.)

    * * *

    My youngest is the most cheerful child I've ever met. She's sweet, she's empathtic and loving. She has a temper, but generally, it never shows.

    Unlike my first girl, when I banned pink in all shades, hues, and forms, this time, I'm embracing it. My youngest is likely to greet you with a tiara, a pink tutu, and a sword and a Thomas train in her hands.

    She loves all things pretty pretty princess. She also loves getting dirty and playing with her brother outside, following in his daredevil footsteps every chance she can get.

    It took me almost 10 years to learn those things aren't mutually exclusive. You can be a pretty pretty princess, and still love Legos and dump trucks.

    We had a pretty pretty princess party over the weekend. Pink castle cake, pink tiara, pink straws, lots of pink. My little one is now the proud owner of a Bear Co. bear she picked out and stuffed herself, complete with pretty pretty princess tutu. Pink, of course.

    She has two new dolls, and a pink stroller that she pushes them around in. She's willing to share the dolls and the bear with her siblings. But woe to the person who touches her stroller. She attacks her brother, assaults his ears with a high-pitched screech if he touches it, then comes over to shove him away from her baby's stroller.

    My pretty, pretty princess isn't going to wait for a knight to come rescue her. She's willing to fight for herself, and her stuff.

    Isn't that the way all our pretty, pretty princesses should be?

    01 September 2006

    Train wreck

    That's what this week has been.

    My boss is on vacation.

    I'm wearing two hats, one of which is his public relations one.

    I'm horrid at PR. I duck it whenever possible.

    So, this week:

    * Stadium is hit by vandals. We share the facility with another entity, so that PR person is asking me if it will be cleaned up in time for prep football this weekend. Me, I'm thinking, "Prep football? Already?"

    * Stadium clean, I have to deal with a zillion little fires.

    * Big fire: major speaker for a scheduled debate, well-known speaker, one who is 50 percent of the debate, is stuck in O'Hare, scrambling for another flight. Five hours before the debate is due to start. Panic ensues. After hunting for a backup (thank you to that brave person, btw), turns out the stuck person manages to get unstuck, arrives in time (though frazzled), and does a wonderful job with her counterpart on a debate about civil liberties.

    * After working a (ugh) 17-hour day, I had planned to stay home and sleep in a bit today. Not happening, because as I walked in my house at near 10 p.m., dh has to bolt out the door, drive to work, and stay up way too late in an attempt to fix something. So he got to sleep in, not me.

    * Early dismissal at kids' school. Grab them. Carry sobbing, crying, unhappy four-year-old into his room at aftercare. Leave feeling very guilty because:

    * Plans to leave work by 1 p.m. and take kids to park after school lets out early foiled, I try for 2. Then reminded by student of photo shoot I scheduled at 2:30. Try for 3. Leave office at 3:45 p.m. Take kids home, let them play in yard and sandbox. We're all happy about that, at least.

    So, it's been a long, long, long, long week. Thanks to those who have listened to me whine, both in person and by cyberspace.

    Long weekend now here, I'm off to pull together youngest's second birthday party for tomorrow/Sunday. Somehow, I managed to buy pretty pretty princess party stuff during a lunch hour this week. My mom has cake stuff, so tomorrow, I'm makin' a castle cake. Photos, if it turns out, to come.