Ingrid is WAY INTO KISSAMUS. Y'all, it is the best thing ever. She loves the tree, the presents, the lights, but is a little leery of Santa coming to our house, as "Santa is Scary." I get that. The other 364 days of the year, I'd be freaked if a bearded old man broke into my house, too.

Tonight she was standing in the living room, then went to downward dog, and did a somersault. She popped up and said "I did it! I did it I-Spy down all byself!" Totally a Kindermusik/MyGym trick, which makes me feel guilty for thinking of cutting it in the new year. We'd added it (it's an extra fee at daycare, but it added up to what our pre-jr preschool fee was, so it was already 'budgeted,' but now jr preschool is going up the same amount, so i was going to stop doing it…) so that she could have a smaller group experience, doing some different things. It's 15 minutes of Kindermusik, 20 of MyGym, and 15 more of Kindermusik, and she genuinely LIKES it. She talks about it more than she talks about swim lessons, which have been going on for a year. So, maybe we'll find the 30 bucks a month to keep her in it.

Dave and I are supposed to go to his work party tomorrow night, but my SIL called tonight (our sitter) to say she has pinkeye. And all my friends/next in line for babysitting are going to another friend's birthday party, so I don't know what's going to happen. And I, myself, am probably dealing with a moderate case of pinkeye (bloodshot eyes for three days, and not stoned or otherwise, with some gumminess overnight) so I don't know if it will get worse and I wouldn't have gone anyway, but still, lame, because Dave's party is fun and there are door prizes.

My work party was funnish, more formal and reserved than Dave's company party, but still nice to get out. Work has been good — I did a lot of collaborating and teaching with the edu. dept, and have gotten some great visibility and appreciation on that project, and I got a great compliment through the grapevine from our (sadly) departing administrator that hired me. And, I applied for a blogging job, for MONEY, for my fave instructional tech job, and GOT IT. While I'm a little (lot) nervous, I am kind of stupidly excited to have a PAID WRITING GIG.

I finished up my first year seminar classes by sharing my UMF transcripts, ie: the time I was academically dismissed, in order to show that it's not the end of the world. I know that it shocked my students, because I *am* successful (HOW WEIRD!) and that shows, you know, but I've been there. And again, I failed out in great part because I was mastering the INTERNET in 1994, setting the groundwork for what would become my career, while failing out as a writing major. (Although, my writing classes were the ones I not only didn't FAIL, but also got GOOD grades in!) So, it's especially cool to be Writing about TECHNOLOGY. WAY EXCITED ABOUT THIS. Links will be available via twitter, when it comes time. 😀

I love my family, I love my tree, and I love this glass of wine. I hope my eyes clear up and I can figure out a sitter for tomorrow.

Loooooong story short, my cousin’s ex has taken the kids to MO, the eldest basically against his will, and in the process she made sure to tell everyone what a horrible person my cousin was (my aunt, his mom, got the majority of this discussion — classy) while everyone else just sort of watched her, slack-jawed, through all of this because she is THAT much of an asshole (with serious problems, not the least of which is nicknaming her 12 year old daughter "Tits.). In addition, because my cousin had never formalized his will, and because the estate by default goes to his kids, and because she got a lawyer to grant her custody, she gets the estate, too. Not that she cares — she took the kids to the airport as soon as she could, and is gone.  We are all fairly confident that we won’t see the kids ever again, unless they survive her to adulthood and realize just exactly what’s gone on in the last 2 weeks — hell, their whole lives. In. Fucking. Sane.  And unbearably sad, mostly for my parents (who were, for example, the emergency contact for the kids — they would spend sick days in the studio with my mom) and for my aunt (who has not only lost her son, but now, his kids too) and for the kids, who may never know exactly what they’ve lost.

My favorite carol of all time is John Denver’s "A Christmas Wish," on his album with the Muppets.

 
    I don’t know if you believe in Christmas

Or if you have presents underneath the Christmas tree

But if you believe in love

That will be more than enough

For you to come and celebrate with me

And if you believe in love

That will be more than enough

For peace to last throughout the coming year

And peace on earth will last throughout the year

have a good day, all.
 

My cousin, a single dad of two teenagers, because their mom has had serious addiction issues, let them fly to Kansas this year to be with her.  (Longtimers: this is the family who spent their first mom-less christmas with us, and I did all the shopping…) Anyway, last night, he was killed, driving drunk, at 3 am. 

His kids are in Kansas. Their guardian is their aunt (another cousin) who lives in Florida. My parents are the next-of-kin up here — they are the only relatives that live in Maine.  He was (was! fuck!) a really quiet guy, who, when Ingrid was born, drove two hours up in the first week we were home, and just held her for hours.

Anyway. It’s the holidays, and most people are holding their families tight anyway, but also, don’t fucking drink and drive. My cousins are now orphans to alcoholism. Call a fucking cab.

(Aside: my sister made it home safely, half an hour early, after being able to jump the lines because they’d rebooked her in the only available seats, which happened to br first class. Bulkhead.  Just had to end on a less dour note.)

Our 3rd anniversary was great — we are not the flowers-n-candy type, but our day started awesomely as I got an electric griddle and a new showerhead, and Dave got Dracula boxers, high-end long underwear pants (for when he does OT games), and a bathmat for the sink, which was really a gift to both of us. THe bathmat you step out of is always migrating back and forth from the sink, as Dave likes to be on the mat when he shaves, but I get irrationally annoyed at always dragging it back to the tub, so now he has his own pink and green chenille braided mat, JUST FOR HIM, to stand on while he shaves, and the tub mat can lie in it’s own place without being disturbed. ANd yes, it’s pink and green, which aren’t our favorite colors, but our sink and tile is pink, and the mat was so cheap with my discount at the outlet, that the bargain factor would please dave more than a nicer color would, so there you go. Also, my Amazon order hasn’t arrived yet, but he’ll be getting the Monster House DVD when that shows up.

And with my electric griddle, which I’ve desperately wanted for years — our pans + electric stove = shitty pancakes, every time — was put to use, immediately, where we each had pancakes AT THE SAME TIME (another problem with cooking pancakes in a frying pan, the cook eats last) and they were perfectly cooked, totally delicious, and it was awesome. We have big plans for Sunday Pancakes as a new tradition ’round here.  The showerhead is unbelievably awesome, too. Ours has slowly disintegrated to the point that it felt more like showering under a garden hose than a showerhead, and since we have a high threshold for shitty showers (as anyone who’s been reading for years willr emember, our last apartment had ridiculous shower problems that at one point had me driving in and showering at my MOTHER IN LAW’S) we’ve been letting it go, but to take Ingrid into the shower, we knew it had to change. I wasn’t expecting an awesome shower head, just a New One, but nooo, Dave got us this freaking awesomely huge one, that makes me feel like I’m in a hotel shower.  ANd Dave said, when I opened it, "Now, I don’t have a problem with ours now, but I know you do, so I hope you like this one." THen he took a shower with the new one and said "Okay, I had a problem with the old one, I guess."  So, our morning was hot, perfect pancakes, good coffee, and great showers.

We decorated and made up treat bags today, and then decked Ingrid out and took her to visit her in-town aunties and grandmother, and also Andy’s mom, who fits on the spectrum in there, too. They all gushed over her, of course, and were relieved that we hadn’t "covered her in blood and gore" which is what they worried we’d do when we told them she was "NOT going to be cute, but SCARY!" and wouldn’t tell them her costume.

We finished decorating, and this year we didn’t do costumes or kid-scaring, and our last group had obvioulsy been veterans of our house, because the little boy was creeping up the driveway saying "I’m NOT SCARED! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GET ME THIS YEAR!!!" and then lame-o dave answers the door in jeans and a flannel shirt, not evenhis zombie costume.  We also had our friends stop by with their daughter in her dragon costume, and we got some pics of the VERY SCARY GIRLS that are NOT LADYBUGS OR PEAPODS, NO! which was awesome. Especially since we don’t think they even realized they were being propped up next to another baby for the first round of photos — Hell, Ingrid gets propped up against all kinds of stuff for her picture, so what difference does a purple dragon make? Then we rearranged them, and they saw each other and were sort of… confused. It was great.

Andy came by after that, and a totally fried Ingrid fell asleep while he was here, on my chest. We wiggled her into a sleeper and sleepsack and got her off to bed, later than usual, but for a first Halloween, we did pretty good.

Pictures start here.

This here is a lil’ streaming video of my sister, She of the Golden Horseshoe, at ‘work.’

Highlights for my long-time readers:  At the beginning, you see the 4-Runner that was the end result of "I crashed my new truck with no insurance and all I got was this lousy check for twice the truck’s value."

I’m about 80% sure that the guy right after the "Dream Job" push is her boyfriend.  Hard to tell with the goggles and all.

There’s sound (you can hear the blessed one speak!) so might not be worksafe. No swearing, just your typical snowboarding video, with my sis VOing an interview.

Today is my second anniversary.  If everyone was as loved, and loved, like I am, the world would be a better place.  I am truly lucky to have such a fantastic husband, partner, friend, and future father of our kids.

Happy Halloween!

MMmmmm, peach salsa and saltines kick ass. (I didn’t have tortilla chips, and the whole point was to eat peach salsa. Oooh, with cream cheese, it would be even better.)

Anyway, my boobs are killing me, I’m tired as fuck, the nausea seems to peak mid-day, and so far is alleviated by eating something, preferably with protein. All is well, so far.

Telling my parents was sort of a last minute decision.  We were going to wait, but then we were on our way there and were going to be there for the night, so what the hell. If things were to go bad next week, we’d tell them, so might as well garner some good vibes from the immediate family and not just the internet. They were excited, of course, even though I’m due on literally, the busiest day of the year for them.  I pitched it as "I have good news and bad news," and they weren’t worried at all about the day, so that’s good.

Weird story, all intertwined, that I want to flesh out into more of an essay once I get copies of stuff.  I’ve written about how proud I am of my dad, before, and I still am.  In this weird twist of whatever, though, there’s a new level….

My dad’s dad died when he was 16. I never knew him, the grandpa I refer to is a step-, and the only one I’ve known. He married my grandma the same year my parents were married, so it’s not like a stepdad my dad grew up with, but it is the grandpa I grew up with… anyway. My dad’s dad was a cool guy, from all the stories I’ve heard, and a smart guy, and the agnostic that got our agnostic party started.  He was a scientist, and a teacher, and he traveled all over the country to both learn and teach. He got his Ph D from Yale, when my dad was a kid.

The latest conservation project that my dad has worked on invovled 330,000 acres in my home county, and was recently completed.  It’s been used as a model for other community land trust initiatives, because it was a grassroots campaign that ended up raising millions of dollars to conserve the forest and keep it open for traditional uses, etc.  Much of the land was originally owned by Yale, and Wagner, a timber company. (I don’t have the details this second, which is why I want to expand on it later.)  Now it’s conserved for generations to come.  Dave and I, today, went out to the land to see the new trails they’d blazed, and it was nice to see.

Also, today, though, my aunt sent my dad a book she’d come across at my grandmother’s or in her old stuff or something… the Yale Conservation Review (or something similar) that had an article of my grandfather’s published in it, way back when.  And my grandfather’s article was about the need to preserve land for future generations, traditional uses, educational purposes, etc. . . . which was just what my dad has worked for for the last 10 years.

And today, we were walking on this trail, that exists forever as a direct result of my dad’s work (and countless others, too) which upholds an ideal that was established through a university 40 years ago — by land and by student — and the next generation of S****** is burrowed up inside of me.  The next time we go to the lake, we’ll probably be parents.  It’s such a weird, full circle situation, that stretches from San Francisco to Connecticut, to Colorado (where my sister’s house is over a ridge from the lake where my grandfather used to take my dad fishing) to Maine, to this newly blazed trail on newly conserved land being tread upon by a newly pregnant granddaughter that was never known. 

My parents are planning on donating the construction of a trail, or maintenance, in order to name it after my grandfather.  I need to get the details — my mom is sending me a copy of the article — and write it all down, while i can, while I still have my father around to fill in the story.

How totally, totally circular, no?

(this story also made me weep, which seriously, i am NOT A PUSSY, and have been crying more in the last three days than ever in my life. I really think I’m pregnant.)

Hey, even I am sick of everything being about Knocked Up, and while this one will end up there, I had to break up the monotony a LITTLE bit.

Had my first graduation to shoot today, and so the season has started.  I met my parents and left my car in a bank parking lot and rode with them to the campus, and when I got there, I thought I was going to hurl. I don’t know if it was because of the ride, or if that added to the already queasy pregnant stomach, or what, but I did not feel good. Wonder of wonders, a vending machine had ginger ale, and my dad bought me one.  I made it through the event fine, and on the way back I got hit with the quease again, and was really annoyed to make it as far as my house before saying "No way, I can’t go to lunch with you."  I just felt too off.  I peeled off my dress clothes and crawled into bed in just my tank top, where Dave brought me a bottle of water and a tube of multigrain saltines and some tums, and my Amazon order, and I spent the afternoon napping, chewing on saltines, or reading through the new books: Your Pregnancy Week-by-Week, The Essential Hip Mama, and The Girlfriend’s Guide to Baby Gear. Hmm. Yeah. This is way focused on the knocked-upedness. 

ANYWAY, I was really annoyed that I couldn’t go out to lunch because I like going out to lunch, and salmon sounded fabulous when I got in the car, and I couldn’t even think of it without feeling queasy by the time we got here.  Bummer.

The other thing was talking about Christmas this year. Sigh.  I’m due 12/12 (by my estimation, they have it by LMP 12/2– at the OB, which is wrong, but I’m assured that it will be corrected at the ultrasound on Friday, and it DAMN WELL BETTER BE. And if it’s not, and they try to induce, I’ll just not show up to the induction. I’m already planning my rebellion. I know when I conceived, not by intuition, but by "there’s no other time we could have.") and of course, 12/25 is CHristmas, which isn’t a christian thing for us, but family, etc etc.  And my sister’s season won’t start until after christmas, and she really wants to meet the squidlet, and if she didn’t come in December, the next opportunity would be April, and she doesn’t want to wait.  So I mentioned to my folks, in a conversation about Kate and Pete and the requisite "I wish they’d get married" comment from my mom, that they were at least planning as far as Christmas, because they wanted to come back for that.

Which then led to my mom saying "Oh, I’ll have to have the brunch, and then we can go to Sugarloaf after that and  blah blah blah." Um, NO.  I replied "I meant MY house. I will have just had a baby, and I don’t imagine I want to be traveling 2 weeks (OR LESS, let’s be real, it’s a first baby and all) after that."  And my parents, even my dad, scoffed at me.  "What!? Of course you’ll come for Christmas, that’s what grandparents are for!  We’re getting a double bed for your old room, and a rocking chair for up there, you’ll be fine."

Sigh. No. No, I won’t.  I will also not be fine with having to be a hostess at a brunch for 35 people, AND be still, you know, getting to know MY BABY. THAT WILL BE LESS THAN TWO WEEKS OLD.  Especially when the plan is that we would drive up the day before, entertain, and drive back that day because my folks and Kate and Pete would go to Sugarloaf. Uh, no no no no no no no.  I’m biting my tongue, but I seriously hope that my parents figure that one out for themselves and do the math, ESPECIALLY after clucking at a girl from back home who took her 3 day old to a benefit supper.

I would love, and will love, taking my kids to my parents house, and I love that they’re adding yet another guest room with grandkids in mind, and that they want a rocker now, for the baby, and all of that. I love it.  I can’t wait. Except I can, at least 6 weeks, anyway, before enjoying all of that.  I look forward to next summer, when the squidlet will be 6 months and growing when summer starts, and I can take it to the lake and go swimming and walking around town and all of that. But not for a bigass overnight party at DID I MENTION IT less than 2 weeks old.

My sister will understand, she already does, I think, and i would be okay having people HERE for Christmas, my immediate family, anyway.  My folks could be in the guest room, and my sister and Pete are rugged enough that they could sleep in the backyard if they wanted to, so a floor somewhere in the house won’t be too bad.

I’m not crazy for thinking that their idea is a bad one, right? Even Dave was like "Uh, won’t we be all sleep deprived then? I don’t think I want to drive [2 hours on a notoriously accident prone road, in winter] up there for one night…."  Sigh. THey’ll come around, right? RIGHT?

I have found my sister’s perfect job.  She and Pete need to apply for the Amazing Race. Seriously.

First, they would rock at TAR.  They have the appropriate Chiron titles ("Kate, 26 Pete, 29: Adventure Guides, Dating") and they have the right look. Ever seen a homely adventure guide? No. You haven’t.

They would kick ass on the challenges.  They KNOW how to use ascenders, rappel, dive, drive stick (heh), drive heavy equipment, drive Snowcats, etc.  They are physically fit, can run, and climb and swim and all of that.  Pete is an eater, and likes meat and spicy food, and Kate likes fish, so there would be no double-vegetarian penalty.  Plus, Kate is a flake, and Pete calls her on it, and it would make GREAT TV.  Finally, who else has a schedule that would let you take a month or more off to run around the world?

I even called her and said "HEY! You need to apply." I think I might make her.

Behind the cut, Babyish update, with the short version being "Day 42, nothing doing."

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