August 12, 2007
surprise!
When I got back from visiting my mom this week, I had a big surprise waiting for me: B replaced our countertops, tore out some ugly grey plastic (!) backsplash tile and hung drywall and painted, and installed a new range hood.
Now my kitchen is puurrty.
Posted by mryonker at 04:55 PM | Comments (2)
January 17, 2007
its. not. fair.
Posts and pictures like this and this make a long-buried, Donna-Reid urge surface from the reptillian depths of my brain.
I want a clean house. I want organization. I LOVE neat stacks and lines. I thrive amidst that which is tidy and findable.
How can I want this so badly and still not be able to achieve it? Here I sit at my office desk on campus, my laptop high centered on piles of student papers, banana peels, and post-it pads.
*sigh*
Posted by mryonker at 01:45 PM | Comments (5)
October 21, 2005
we didn't break our record
I got an email from B today--he broke down this morning and turned on the heat. So, I was curious and I looked into my archives to see when we turned it on last year (love that! blog as keeping track of my own life!!) and as it turns out, we lasted for exactly the same number of days into autumn last year as we did this. This exact day, one year ago.
Again, if we didn't have the little one, we probably could hold out longer. Then again, B is rather, um, UNinsulated as far as bodies go, plus he's a transplanted southern beach boy, and he frankly has no tolerance for the cold. Whatsoever. It makes him cranky.
Me, though. I've grown up under various climactic conditions: midwest, Carribean, southeast. Living in Puerto Rico and then SE Virginia (in the spring fall and summer) was hot, humid, sweaty, etc. And for someone who physiologically always has skin rubbing together SOMEWHERE (me), being sweaty is generally sucky. I love sweaters and jeans and wool socks and turtlenecks and bulky clothes (don't get me started on those no-waisted, nearly-bikini-wax-requiring jeans women are supposed to wear these days). I don't mind the cold as much.
I will miss being able to toss the kids outside to play with little thought to whether they've got shoes on or not.
I will miss running without my glasses fogging up, my nose running, my fingers freezing and having to wear my "geek vest."
But it's cold. There'll be snow, and ice, and wind that will cut through pretty much whatever I wear as I walk the near-mile from my car onto campus.
But I can wear scarves!
Posted by mryonker at 09:46 PM | Comments (1)
June 06, 2005
plaster cigarette, Derek's magic, big toe misery, gelatinous ping-pong balls
Spent the weekend knocking out, sweeping, and bagging old plaster from the second floor. Now we're working on hanging drywall, which is onerous work.
We had all the windows open, fans going, and surgeon's masks. I still felt like with every breath I was sucking in lungsful of smokey plaster dust.
***
Derek has done something wonderful, magical, by compiling several writing technologies (he offers the links in his post).
His use of maps is spot on for what I had envisioned using time-space mapping for mom bloggers, though I had also imagined a third gestalt, a narrative layer. But he simply uses the blog entry for this, and I think it works amazingly. Kudos, dude. What I spent two semesters in the geography department for, he gets through a little futzing. Well, a lot futzing. But still. I have academic envy. :)
***
Last night I awoke partially to see an outline of the J-baby teetering at the top rail of his crib, attempting an escape. My body reacted before my mind could fully wake, and it leapt from the bed to grab him so he wouldn't fall. (Foolishly, since he is quite an accomplished escape artist now--he slides easily to the floor like a fireman. He wouldn't have even hurt himself.)
Because I was literally still half asleep, I'm not sure of the exact logistics of my leap. All I know is that instead of leaping to my feet, my feet got caught in the covers and I crashed into the side of the crib and landed on my right knee. The force of my body falling to the floor then yanked my feet from the entangled sheet and my feet SLAMmed on the floor.
My crash knocked J back down into the crib, and he began crying. I was crying because I thought I'd shattered my big toe joint. Brian went to get an ice pack and ended up stubbing a toe of his on something (a toy, I reckon) in the living room. We're all howling in pain and fear.
I got up this morning and could NOT SKIP OUR RUN. I'll explain why: my dearest friend Deb, the superstar whom I trailed for 26.2 miles and who keeps me running on a near-daily basis, had a job interview today. AND SO DID I. Because we both have been commiserating about our fates as jobless, penniless, welfare-receiving-and-foodstamp-getting teachers if neither of us is gainfully employed this fall, it was FATE that we were both called to interviews on the same day.
To skip the run would be to tempt fate.
So I hobbled out at 7 am this morning, thinking that it hadn't bruised that badly, I probably was not crippled. And we ran a meager 3 miles. While streching down by the river, we witnessed a large snapping turtle (or a box turtle? can't remember) digging a hole and laying her gelatinous ping-pong ball eggs.
Then, the toe didn't hurt too much.
OOOh. That was then. Now my toe looks like it's got a purple bunion growth the size of a walnut. I can't even get my foot into a shoe.
But our interviews went well, we think. (Except I said something stupid and giddy at the end of mine, like "This is the last time you'll see me in a skirt." Duh. I hope they forget I said that.)
Posted by mryonker at 09:15 PM | Comments (3)
March 07, 2005
to properly enjoy a thin mint
As Girl Scout Cookie time is upon us, I thought it would be apropos for me to offer Joshua's protocol on how to get the most enjoyment out of a Thin Mint.
1. Let the Guardian of Cookies know that you would like one. This is best accomplished by squawking "NA! NA! NA!" and jutting a small finger toward the green box on top of the fridge.
2. Once the Thin Mint is attained, squeeek and grin and stomp in a cute little circle, holding cookie in the air over head.
3. Put entire cookie into mouth.
4. Remove cookie from mouth; drool syrup-y saliva into hand, down chin, onto clothes and floor.
5. Repeat steps 3 and 4.
6. Repeat steps 3, 4, and 5.
7. Bite into cookie. Rub remaining cookie into ear, making certain there are no taste buds to enhance cookie bliss there.
8. Dab cookie on neck, so the smell will be preserved in the soft underbelly of your chin (and will escape the dreaded washcloth once cookie enjoyment ends).
9. Lay cookie aside and pause for a quick binky-break, making sure to coat binky with plenty of cookie drool (aka "for laters.")
10. Insert remaining cookie (about 3/4) into mouth, carefully allowing the cookie to jut into cheek.
11. Chew and gum, gum and chew.
12. DO NOT SWALLOW.
13. Instead, surreptitiously move into an uninhabited room and find an out-of-the way place to deposit the mastication, preferably where an unsuspecting member of the family will unknowingly "find" it; for instance, a kitchen chair works well.
14. Repeat from beginning. On subsequent rounds, make certain to find new binkies and hiding places.
Posted by mryonker at 01:54 PM | Comments (5)
March 05, 2005
ocd
OK. I know that I gripe a lot about what a pig sty my house is, and how I have not the fraction of time I would need to get it clean.
I have a confession.
The problem is that I don't have the time to make it as clean as I *want.*
Today, I thought, "Screw EVERYTHING. I'm cleaning."
So I did.
And as I did, it slowly dawned on me. The reason I feel like I don't have time to clean, is because that my idea of cleaning is slightly twisted.
Wiping baseboards. Dusting books (for crying out loud). Scrubbing the toaster oven and microwave. Bleaching linens. Cutting the hairs and yarn from the beater bar of my vacuum. Vacuuming the between the cracks of the radiators (big, old, cast iron kind). Vacuuming the BOTTOMS of my area rugs (and the tops, too, of course). EIGHT loads of laundry (and it's still going). Mopping mopping mopping. Bleach bleach bleach.
If I was happy with a clean kitchen sink and the toys picked up, I think I'd be a different person.
Don't listen to me when I complain anymore, OK? I'm just plain nutz. And I'm probably going to get some kind of horrible disease from bleach, since I'm too "tough" to wear gloves as I bleach damn near everything that will sit still for a moment.
In other news (though this follows the ocd title as well): Two weeks til the race. Since I am nowhere NEAR ready to run it, I'll be working the next 14 days to drop some weight so that I won't have as much to carry. That should help a little, I think. So if you're someone I see IRL, please don't offer me food. Thanks. :) This especially goes for you, DigitalPenny, since all I can think of these days is that gumbo!! It was SOOOO good.
Posted by mryonker at 09:45 PM | Comments (6)
February 23, 2005
me getting stuff done (productivity)
Krista posts about her productivity schedule now compared to before she was injured.
Here, again, a moment for me to pipe up: mothers are differently-abled beings. Now, I don't say this for sympathy (I'm over it, Mom). And I don't mean to say that mothers don't choose their lot as mothers (though some don't get to choose, really).
Once motherhood begins, though, the ability to DO FOR ONE'S SELF dwindles, especially when it comes to choosing what to do with one's time.
Krista's description of her before-injury schedule made me stop: do people really get to live like that? Where from the time you step from the shower, til the time you need to pause to feed yourself, you are virtually UNINTERRUPTED.
What does a usual work day look like for me? Well, I actually have TWO workdays. The homework day, and the schoolwork day.
The school work day, of which this semester I get two a week (T and TH), looks like this:
700 up, quick in-bathroom yoga, shower
730-830 (this X4 kids) feed, clean, dress, brush hair/teeth, pack lunches, find homework, find show-n-tell, find boots/coats, put on bus, leave for campus
930-1030 some sort of exercise, unless I have a deadline or committee meeting or mini-seminar
1030-1230 try to find somewhere to hide on campus where no one will bother me so I can read. Read, find lunch.
1230-200 research design class
200-500 network(ed) rhetorics class OR digital writing (the class I'm a TA for)
600-800 Brownie meeting, or board meeting, or trustees' meeting
800-1000 struggle to get kids to bed (sometimes VERY successful, sometimes NOT) Try to find something besides a frozen corn dog for dinner.
1000-1200 Read/work, fighting the urge to sleep the entire time
[Notice how NOT ONE bit of housework gets done on these days]
The other days, MWF, look like this:
700 up and MAYBE shower, or I might try to sleep an extra half hour
730-830 kids ready and off
900 take Jack to school
930-1130 Grocery shop, run errands
1200 get Jack from school
1230 feed boys, put Josh down for nap. Shower if I didn't that morning. Do dishes. Do laundry. Pick up toys. Try to read.
230 Josh wakes up (if I'm lucky, sometimes he only sleeps for 45 minutes). Play with him, let him do the dishes with me. Sneak in some email.
300-500 Get dinner ready. Do more laundry. Girls get home @330 so it's unpacking backpacks, breaking up arguments, making snacks, pick up, pick up, pick up.
600-800 Feed dinner; try to sneak out for a run. Do the bath relay. Read bedtime stories, get more snacks.
800 Collapse on couch with laptop to watch TV and blog. Shower if I got that run (lately I haven't been).
1000 Move to bed to "read for real," though now with the wireless it's getting harder to separate "real" from "not".
1200 Fall asleep; drool on Weinberger or whoever.
Weekends I get a little time at night to read, normally 2 ish hours, but nothing during the day. Saturdays we have dance until lunch, and then the afternoons are always too noisy to get anything but loud housework done. Sundays I try to train in the morning, and then I've used up the "me" time for that day, so again, I get very little work done.
If I'm calculating this correctly, I get about 18-20 hours of reading done a week. I am a slooow reader, too.
This is scary to me. I feel like there are going to have to be some big changes around here if I am ever going to get this degree done.
I have already decided that next fall I will not return as the Brownie leader. Three years I've logged--that's enough, right? Plus, I really should dump the committee work that I'm doing for a church that I haven't attended in over a year.
The good thing is: I am never bored. There is never a moment in my life where I think, "Hm, what can I do NOW?" And while the kids drive me stark raving mad (please can you NOT rollerblade in the house while drinking that milk!! please can you NOT take every clean bath towel and put it on the kitchen floor for an impromptu real-life frogger game!!), I need to stop and realize that I'm lucky. Nice house (little messy), good husband, good family, good friends, good support network (IRL, blogs) and Yellow Tail Cabernet Sauvignon.
Posted by mryonker at 08:57 PM | Comments (11)
February 13, 2005
welcome, Grayson Herbert Zoldan
My little sis had her first baby yesterday morning. I'm happy to report that her labor and delivery (a planned home birth) went nearly perfectly. He was 8lbs 2ozs (21 ins) and I can't wait to meet him next week.
In other news: Brian started tearing walls out today, officially commencing the second floor remodel, which WILL render a SECOND bathroom. If you've ever lived in a house with 7 people and ONE TOILET, you understand that the urge to relieve oneself often comes in strange network-y ways. Yes, I'm going to tie network stuff into talk of toilet use.
For instance, young children often don't KNOW they have to go to the bathroon untill SOMEONE ELSE is already occupying the seat. And then, of course, it becomes a DIRE EMERGENCY. But not just for one child. Because once someone sits on the toilet, EVERY KID in the house suddenly is about to pee all over herself.
The event dictates behavior, dictates a wether. Who knows who will actually be the one to trigger a mass urination-urge? Who will be the victim of late-arrival (and thus have to wait for three cycles of peeing) before she gets a turn?
So the angels sing alleluia. I get a second toilet. Oh, yeah, I got a nephew, too. Much to be thankful for today.
As my niece often closes the thanks we give at dinner: "Hay, MAN!"
Posted by mryonker at 03:25 PM | Comments (3)
February 10, 2005
whereever you go, there you are
Tyratae offers up a meme that I could not resist, simply because I have lived in SO many places that home is a leech-slippery idea for me. "Where're you from?" people ask. Uh. Planet Earth?
Council Bluffs, IA
Minden, IA
Pacific Junction, IA
Valparaiso, NE
Waukegan, IL
Beach Park, IL
Kenosha, WI
Daguao, PR
Norfolk, VA
Chesapeake, VA
Colorado Springs, CO
Virginia Beach, VA
Suffolk, VA
Webster Springs, WV
Buckhannon, WV
Central Square, NY
Parish, NY
Posted by mryonker at 10:07 PM | Comments (3)
February 05, 2005
do I read? or clean?
A fab party last night for our outgoing grad prog director yielded this conversation with another toward-PhD mom:
me: Well, since you've got a new house, you should have us over for dinner. <grin>
she: Uh, no. My house, however new, is a mess.
me: Yah, like we care. I'm certain our house is messier than yours.
she: I wouldn't be so sure. There are days that I think, "Should I read, or clean? Read or clean?" And I always read instead of clean.
me: Ah, well normally I CLEAN instead of read, and my house is still like an earthquake came through, wore every stitch of clothing, dirtied every dish, walked around eating crackers and popcorn a la cookie monster, brushed the cats and shook the vacuum bag, and for good measure crayoned fifteen-thousand pictures and stories on notebook paper, tore them out of the spiral, and left the pages (and the spiral scraps), in various states of wrinkle and crumbled-up-ness, in every room.
OK, so I didn't say all that, maybe. But I am getting ready to take a large trash can, put it in the middle of the house, and start a-chucking, even though my aggregator is full and I have a crap load of writing to do.
I clean instead. Or rather, I throw stuff away. Garbage in, garbage OUT!
Posted by mryonker at 12:22 PM | Comments (7)
January 29, 2005
a day of not-quite firsts
So, I've been fretting lately, here and elsewhere, about the baby. Or toddler. Or monster demon child. I was on the phone with my cookie mom** today, and the baby walks by me and lets loose with a shriek that would wake Hades. Just for the hell of it, apparently, because he was not hurt and nowhere near a cat to be either excited by or scratched by. Cookie mom asks me "Omigod what happened? Is he OK?"
Yeah, he's OK. He just, you know, screams a lot. Frequently. And he can scream with an intense, glass-shattering high pitch AND a low gutteral vibration at the SAME time. People in India train for years to do this. In fact, Brian found that I have a recording program on my iBook just the other day, so I just may record this superhuman noise and post it here for your listening pleasure. hahaha. Like it would be "pleasurable." :)
So, I fret about him. Mostly because he still nurses and still wakes up several (and by several I mean 5-10) times a night to nurse. Actually, he nurses to sleep, and wakes up if I attempt to remove myself. Or if I roll over. Or if I breathe.
Today we made a little progress. I put him in his crib, which he rarely sleeps in, at 1100 am. At 1120, he fell asleep. Without a boob, without rocking. With a good amount of screaming (and screaming and screaming and gagging on his own saliva and screaming and gagging), of course.
Tonight, I put him in his crib. He cried a little. I rubbed his back a little. BUT THEN HE WENT TO SLEEP, praise Yahweh. It is nearly midnight, and he sleeps THERE, not under my boob. I'll report back in the morning.
(This is a near-first, because Hannah did sleep in a crib for a couple of months.)
The second near-first: I now own a cellular phone. Apparently, Brian felt that since every car I drive could break down at any time, it would be a good thing for me to carry a phone. I'm ambivalent. I was actually proud to be a non-phone entity, though I am embarrassed to admit the number of times I have mooched minutes from other people.
(This is a near-first because we had one briefly while I was pregnant with Hannah, but quickly realized that we couldn't afford it AND a baby.)
UP NEXT: a report from the Geography Department's colloquium, where Sharon Moran reported on the water cycle, septic tanks, and composting toilets! Good, good stuff.
**for those of you unschooled in the jargon of Girl Scouts, the cookie mom is the GODDESS who takes care of keeping track of money, ordering and dispensing cookies, going to meetings for cookie sales, setting up booth sales, and earning ALL my gratitude and possibly a gift certificate for a massage because I DON'T WANT TO DO THAT
Posted by mryonker at 12:09 AM | Comments (0)
January 22, 2005
Um, yes, I agree
Just came across this via susansinclair.
I always *felt* this way, that people who don't have kids could only attempt to sympathize with or understand those of us whose lives are marked by the indelible smear of vernix. It's just nice to hear someone else say it, so I don't have to.
Posted by mryonker at 07:45 PM | Comments (5)
January 12, 2005
the perils of being a stay-at-home
1. It's 4:01 and I'm still in the sweatshirt and pants I slept in. I would admit to not even brushing my teeth yet, but I won't.
2. Monster toddler turns off computer as I'm working on methods essay.
3. Monster toddler climbs on the curtains as I attempt to hem them, breaking the last sewing machine needle I have.
4. Monster toddler takes nap long enough for me read 3 blogs from aggregator (+/- 10 mins).
5. Monster toddler gleefully grabs and flings piles of laundry as I fold it.
6. Each trip to the kitchen finds me leaving with food (grapes, brownies, grasshoppers, pbf, left over chicken stew...I swear I've eaten lunch 4 times over today).
7. Lovely pre-schooler watches Land Before Time (#11 Invasion of the TinySauruses) a third time; he WOULD be better off a someone else's house! If only the Monster toddler would take an interest in TV!
8. I start wishing for a 9-5 corporate gig that requires that I wear pantyhose, high heels and manicured fingernails; surely my self-worth would skyrocket by leaps and bounds. Surely my conversations at the water cooler would be more stimulating than: "No!" "Hot!" "Don't touch!" "Yucky!" "Uh-oh!" "Yes, Kitty Cat. Stinky kitty cat."
Posted by mryonker at 04:16 PM | Comments (4)
January 08, 2005
I will need a booster seat AND bricks on the pedals
Children under 4 feet 9 inches need a booster.
There are several ironies here, the most poignant being the fact that most families with multiple children (and lower incomes, and I count myself among such families) pass seats and booster seats down to younger sibs for economic reasons. I am inclined to cry "conspiracy" against manufacturers for lobbying such a law into being. Laws that require people to BUY MORE STUFF always make me itch.
A second irony, of course, is the fact that if I were a couple inches shorter, I myself would need a booster seat.
A third irony: officers will now have to carry tape measures along with guns, radios, and other apparatus on their belts.
Maryland passed a similar law recently concerning weight: if a child weighed under 70lbs, they were required to sit in a booster seat. Again, several pounds lighter, *I* would have to sit in one. Things are getting a little ridiculous, in my opinion.
Posted by mryonker at 08:45 PM | Comments (2)
can we bring back the roller derby?
what happens when it snows for hours outside:
Char and Jack don their new rollerblades and commence the scratching up of the floor. :)
In other news, the 1.5 mile loop D and I have been running through our village has been seeming, uh, short. She and I on the phone this morning, after three quick loops (had to get the kids to dance):
Me: You know, I ran three loops the other day in about 40 minutes.
D: Yeah, my run the other night seemed speedy quick.
Me: Do you think it really can be 1.5?
D: Hm. I don't want to know for sure. I want to simply pretend. If it's shorter, we've got our training all wrong. But if IS 1.5...Chuck, what's 8 times 26? Maybe we could qualify for Boston.
Me: You are out of your mind. You ARE A RAVING LUNATIC.
D: Yeah, we probably run slower when we're together. We must unconsciously accomodate one another.
Me: Yeah, but if that's the case, we'll still run the 26 at 10 minute miles, unless we pretend we don't know each other. Well, I'm gonna clock it.
D: Um, you think?
Me: I gotta know.
And presto: the loop is indeed 1.5. I did indeed run 4.5 miles at 40 minutes. I've not been that fast since high school.
Of course, Brian would still say: That's still not a RUN. That's a trot . That's a lope. But not a run.
Well. I can call it what I want. :)
Posted by mryonker at 03:58 PM | Comments (0)
January 05, 2005
when your baby will only eat garlic bagel crisps
oh, he likes to suck on double A batteries, too.
The dilemma: my lovely neighbor and I are travelling to Virginia Beach for spring break to run the Shamrock. I will be fulfilling a very important do-before-I-turn-30-goal (marathon). Other do-before-I-turn-30-goals include finish last degree (ain't happening), pay off debts (hello, student loan until I'm 90), and publish a poem in a *real* journal (44th Street at ODU just doesn't count) are all without reach. The marathon, however, is nearly doable. Nearly.
However, my little baby boy, who is 14 months now, is nowhere near ready to wean. He will not touch baby food, and will eat some adult food (cooked carrots, french fries, yogurt, garlic bagel crisps) but only for fun. He shuns kid food like pbj and applesauce, and if he's cranky-hungy, he doesn't want to do anything but nurse. He does drink water and milk from a cup quite well, but again, I suspect it's because he relishes the act, not because he is particularly thirsty.
So, how to leave for a weekend? I have already passed the Medela on to younger sister, who expects in Feb. Besides, I'm WAAAY past wanting to express. Do *I* wean him? I feel like if I do that, I'm being selfish AND I will starve him into eating real food. He and I have a tenuous relationship; he prefers Brian to me (unless he wants some boob), probably because I left him with Brian at three days old to go back to school. All I need is to further traumatize him.
So: the baby comes with? It's looking that way. It's not like we'll be partying or anything (neither D nor I are big drinker/partier peop), but I can see how a toddling body will cramp my driving style (he likes many things better than driving on long trips). It'll probably take us 10 hours now, insteaad of 8.5.
I mentioned to Brian: you know those leash seatbelts they make for dogs? Maybe we can use one for Josh. Then he can climb around the back seat to his heart's content, and we won't have to stop every 20 minutes to let him stretch his baby legs.
Brian wasn't amused.
Posted by mryonker at 02:53 PM | Comments (2)
December 29, 2004
the holidays are like having a baby...
... mostly in the sense that they SEEM like a good idea during the time leading up to them. That is, thinking about having a baby is fun, you get to shop for a bunch of cool stuff, you get to decorate in anticipation, everyone else is really happy (for you), etc etc.
But then you actually have to HAVE the holiday. And you've had a holiday before, but somehow you forgot that holidays are *painful*. They require an inordinate amount of work and time. And when you're done, you're bloated, sluggish, and wishing you did things a little differently (wish I had that epidural!!)
I always look forward to Christmas with a childlike anticipation--and then I suddenly realize I'm not a child anymore and that all the magical things I remember from childhood Christmases *I'm* the one who's responsible for creating, and the magic kind of crashes.
We spend Christmas with Brian's parents, who live in SE VA. Brian's mom does a fabulous job of making me feel like a kid again. :) There are always a glut of presents, a glut of food, and inappropriate remarks made in the presence of children (this year's involved sucking a beer down as though it were, well, the body part of another person).
It's to the point that I feel like next year I will have to school my kids BEFORE we come on how to open a present:
1. Note tag and the giver's name.
2. Unwrap with zeal, making sure to remark on the creative choice in wrapping paper.
3. Choose from several stock phrases ("Wowee, very cool." "I wanted one of these!!" "How did you know??" "I can't wait to try it.") to express pleasure with gift. Do NOT sigh or say "I don't think this is really for me."
4. Thank giver BY NAME (rather than singing "Thanks!" into the air and throwing the gift aside) and with some sort of physical recognition (hug, kiss, etc) if the giver is present.
5. Watch at least two people open a present before tearing into your next one.
6. Do NOT ask "Is that all?"
7. Do NOT ask "How much did this cost?"
Because my kids broke ALL these rules this year. At least once.
And Jack's birthday is 3 days after Christmas, so he is nearly out of his mind with present-opening.
In other holiday news: we escaped CNY thinking we would have a nice mild vacation here in SE VA. Well, it turns out we had SEVEN INCHES of snow the day after Christmas. People do not drive well here in such conditions, and there are few plows to clear or salt roads.
And finally: to those of you who read this blog and worry with my mental health: just because I sound unhappy or because it appears I'm clinging to the BAD events it's because the bad stuff is interesting and funny. The good stuff ("Hey! I got a new jog bra for Christmas!!") is less interesting.
Posted by mryonker at 10:30 AM | Comments (3)
December 15, 2004
mess (and fluff) obsessed
There is too much to write about. There is too much to do and too much to think about; I'm paralyzed, overwhelmed. I'm dreaming of a hole to crawl into.
I sit in front of my desk:
My new favorite sandwich: peanut butter (creamy) and marshmallow fluff. I am not one to purchase a product called "fluff," but I tried this delightful combo at a playdate for Jack the other day, and yesterday I indeed purchased a bucket o' fluff and am happily munching.
Fluff is less expensive than honey (fyi old favorite: crunchy pb + honey).
Eating pb + fluff makes me less inclined to crawl into a hole right now.
Reasons I want to crawl into a hole:
See above image.
Christmas approaches. I've spent all my money on people other than my own kids.
I am surrounded by irresponsible, moronic, selfish adults. This is a long, complex story, one I cannot discuss here, but it is occupying so much of my brain right now I cannot look away from it.
I am surrounded by many, many, many loud ill-raised children who fight, cry, whine, and make messes constantly.
I decided that it if I spent my entire existence cleaning, I still would not have a "clean" house. I'm simply never having company over ever again. (This is LIKE climbing into a hole...the closest I'll come, anyway.) Apologies to all my local friends.
The one saving grace amidst my own insanity: Brian. Probably because he's not from *my* family, he is fairly level-headed, understands what's really important, and had the sense to build more shelves in the kitchen.
I'm off to ignore everything except the bucket o' flufffff.
Posted by mryonker at 03:22 PM | Comments (3)
December 04, 2004
wishy-washy hypocrite; or, my complete lack of conviction
Two confessions here for this entry:
Confession #1: I've let my cats (what's left of them, anyway) back into the house. Yes, they (or, at least one) were peeing in various and sundry NON-CAT BOX places. However, the freezing place that is CNY where we live is simply too cold. Yesterday I went out 15 minutes before I had to leave to start the car, and Ginger ran up to my ankles, mewling hoarsely, and SNEEZING of all things. I get home yesterday, and Muffy is sitting on the back stoop SHIVERING (I am not, as Dave Barry would say, making this up!).
This morning I get up to schlepp 8 bazillion kids off to dance class, and I let both kitties in. I tell Brian to get their litter box ready and bring the food in.
We have cats again. Sorry, Mom, that the entire time I was at your house for Thanksgiving I kept telling you to relegate your furballs to the out-of-doors.
Confession #2: We put up a Christmas tree this afternoon. We bought one from a U-cut farm down the road here in Parish. I was cranky and in a hurry (it was cold! I didn't want a tree!!), so the first one the kids pointed at, I told Brian "Hack it down."
He asked cautiously, "Is it too tall?"
I respond, "No. We have tall ceilings. Hack it down. I'm cold."
So, we get it home, and sure enough, it is too dang tall. Brian (saint that he is) patiently cut another foot and a half off the bottom (and still we had to put the star IN FRONT of the top of the tree because it would not fit ON TOP).
So we decorate it. After three glass balls are shattered on the floor and Hannah's Beatrix Potter baby's first Christmas ornament gets busted (some Krazy glue should make it OK, though), I've had enough. "All right, that's good everyone. Let's just put up the rest of the cross-stitched ones from Grandma Betty, those don't break."
I suppose we'll see about that, though.
Posted by mryonker at 10:12 PM | Comments (3)
October 06, 2004
Things I should be doing instead of blogging:
1. laundry
2. packing for our trip to VA this weekend
3. going through the recovered files from the salvage we ran yesterday (of nearly 300 deleted files, over half were mine)
4. prepping for the Brownie meeting tonight
5. reading something about method, blogging, online teaching, or action research
But I just wanted to sit down to offer a quick update. This week, I about decided that I couldn’t continue to be a student, a teacher, an intern, a mom, etc. I had one of those days where, literally, EVERYTHING was sucking so bad that I just wanted to walk away. The crap with all my missing files; my baby being the neediest, cryingest, clingingest baby I’ve ever met; my 25-year old brother leaving the toilet seat up and the rim of the bowl covered in piss (repeatedly—could you please just wake up enough to aim, or better yet, sit your sleeping ass down to pee!!??); my Hannah being me—second grade and already having anxiety attacks (“Mom, she pushed *me* out of line and then yelled that I was budging! Then she told! My stomach was hurting and my neck was pinching so I couldn’t breathe, Mom. I had to go to the nurse.”); my husband spending every last penny we have on trucks and plows and trucks and parking them in the driveway so there is no where for the kids to ride their bikes; the bills that come that I can’t pay; my mom calling me (“The Justy broke down again. How’m I going to get to church?”) every day; my niece Charlotte biting Jack (she’s FIVE!! she bit hard enough to bruise him!); Jack’s fungus on his head weeping and oozing and scabbing (now I have to take him to a dermatologist! And his hair is getting so long and shaggy and growing into his ears…but I can’t take him to Susan and ask her to touch his head!). God HELP me.
Somehow, I made it through that day. That was Monday (or Tuesday, now I don’t even remember).
This missing files thing is still bothering me, really. Because this is what happened: Sunday, I connected to the school server, where the my course website and blog live, and where I send a lot of stuff that I’m afraid of losing (so the server is a back-up for me—haha). So I connect, and the folder that has my name is COMPLETELY EMPTY. Like, nothing. Not even the stuff that George, the tech dude, puts into all folders as kind of a default. Blank.
Huh? What the f%#*k happened to it all? George, as nice as he can, says, “Well, what’d you do?” Uh, nothing? Like, I’m fairly anal about logging out of machines if I happen to use one in the department, which I don’t usually do anyway because I just take my iBook.
I did use the teacher machine in the basement cluster last Thursday, because I wanted to use the Smartboard. I did connect to the server, I think, to retrieve something I needed for class. I may not have logged out, though I swear I did.
But even if I didn’t, someone would have had to go to the teacher machine, see my folder open (it wasn’t!!) and literally, and with malice aplenty, selected ALL the stuff in the folder and drug it to the trash, and clicked (again with a huge hateful heart) OK I DO WANT TO TRASH THIS PERSON’S HARD WORK.
So, I feel a little better now. I cut all my hair off today. And I got some of my work back.
Posted by mryonker at 09:25 PM | Comments (2)
September 25, 2004
WBHS Class of 94 Reunion
OK...allow me, for one moment, to feel OLD. My high school 10 year reunion is in two weeks, and I just found out about it. In a vicious ironic twist, Brian and I have already planned to be in VA that weekend to visit his family and celebrate a few birthdays (October is a huge birthday month for us).
So I'm faced with the actual *real* option of attending. Well, I can't waste the whole weekend checking to see which cheerleaders have pudged up and which partying football players are still drunk and cheating on their then-girlfriends/now-wives. But I do have the option of peeking in on the homecoming game Friday night...and I have the morbid urge to slink in, wearing dark sunglasses, and surreptitiously check things out.
I have one (count 'em, ONE) friend from that HS that I am in touch with. It will be worth it to just see her (she's in Miami now). But part of me is terrified to face the people who, 10 years ago, pretty much could have cared less about a nerdy non-person. (This is evidenced by the fact that I found out about the reunion by accident, not because someone thought to invite me.) Like, no one will remember me, seriously. So I wouldn't even need the sunglasses.
Now, granted: I only attended this school for one year, the senior one. And the school graduated upwards of 360 people that year. And the friends I did have were not really the upper echelon-y friends...the people who are now planning the event (and charging $90 a person). The people I hung out with simply could not afford such extravagant superfluity.
Plus, some of the people to whom I would be memorable, I don't want to, uh...remember. Nor would I want to, uh...introduce them to my husband.
That aside, I'd like to post here a few shout outs...
Joshua...I love you little baby, but damn, do you have to cry EVERY TIME I get up to leave the room??
Hannah...Today you showed me "the snake," a move you learned in jazz class. Honey, you are a white girl. Whitey white. And yes, we can't afford it but you can take A THIRD dance class. I'll simply give up that nasty and expensive habit I have...grocery shopping.
Jackson...Cleaning your room is not the same as shoving the piles of clean clothes from the top of your dresser into the hamper, nor does it involve throwing your matchbox cars into the hallway.
HB...Remember the first bathroom we remodeled? We worked into the wee hours of the morning, hurrying to finish the floor so we could replace the toilet (the only one in the house) before we went to bed. Tonight, as you lay the floor in the ONE bathroom in this house, I wait patiently for you to replace the toilet, and the stabbing pain in my bladder complements the pricking nostalgia in my heart.
Posted by mryonker at 11:19 PM | Comments (2)