Thank you

Thank you, Caree, for getting me out of the house today. Thank you for suggesting coffee and a walk. Thank you for talking with me, for laughing with me, and for looking at old houses with me. Thank you for getting my mind off school, and then for laughing/venting about school with me. Thank you for sending me off to meet one of my advisors in good spirits. Thank you for this afternoon. I love you peanut.

So Far, So Good...

I received the first commentary from an advisor on my thesis. So far, so good. She feels it is "very strong," and has "well-supported points." Oh thank heavens. Sure, there are some issues, including occasional slippage into an informal tone (me? informal?) but I'm so happy to hear that it does not suck. Did you hear me, ONE PERSON BELIEVES IT DOES NOT SUCK!!

In other news, here is a picture of my kittens hunting a mama bird from the front window. The bird apparently built her nest nearby and is taken aback by the presence of two kittens so close. She even dives at them and sits, screaming, in front of them on the window ledge. This causes Ivan to jump away and Nero to hunker down with sheep ears (curled around his bitty head). You can't see it here, but their tails are engaged in synchronized swishing.

Lindy

It has been 1,213 days and LINDY IS STILL NOT ENGAGED.

Vegetarian Me

I have decided to go back to being a vegetarian, sort of. I was a vegetarian from age 16 to 24. I started eating some meat, mainly fish and chicken, because I began fainting. I had been through two pregnancies and breastfed two babies as a vegetarian and remained healthy. For several reasons, when I was 24 my blood sugar began having "issues," causing me to faint or nearly faint way more often than anyone ever should. Instead of exploring why this was happening, I chose to add meat to my diet. It worked, but I gained weight. I need to lose this weight to feel healthy again. Sure, some of it is vanity, but mainly I need energy and I feel uncomfortable in my skin. So, I'm going 90% vegetarian; well, more like 70% vegan, 20% lacto-ovo vegetarian, and 10% fish eater. This time I'm going to listen to my body. If my body needs salmon, it needs salmon. With cajun seasonings. And olive oil.

The End of an Era

Today is my last day of class. Perhaps forever. I wish I was like everyone else who feels the urge to strip naked, run through the campus, and scream, "So long suckas!" Five year and a half years ago I began my undergraduate degree and I never thought I'd end up with my MA. However happy and relieved I am to graduate, I am saddened by the loss I feel. I may go back and get my PhD in a few years or in many years or I may choose to never go back. The only thing I will miss right now are the amazing friends I've gained in these last two years. The other stuff I love I will get in my new job. I will continually learn through research and writing here and I need that to survive.

My God, I am such a NERD.

I'm sure this sadness will pass as I learn how to function like a real person. You know, go to work and then come home to my beloved family. Nothing else.

Twinkielicious

Reasons I should never, ever go to the grocery store alone:

1) Frantic stockpiling of fruits, veggies, Very Vanilla Silk Soymilk, All Bran, Morningstar items such as my very favorite Spicy Black Bean Burger, and 12-grain bread the children will surely abhor

2) Forgetting stuff we actually need, like food for dinners that consist of more than Spicy Black Bean Burgers and celery with peanut butter

3) Random new fruity, vitaminy, energy-ish drink that I know tastes like ass but must try anyway

4) Twinkies. I loves me some Twinkies.

Don't we um, need to plan for this?

Maybe I'm thinking in female and he's thinking in male. I'm sure that's it. We're refinancing our house and have the opportunity to do some seriously needed remodeling in our kitchen and bathroom. I am of the mind that instead of randomly guessing how much we need for the remodel, we should figure what we want, need, and can reasonably afford. I think we should at least get ballpark figures for things like countertops, flooring, tiles, etc. He is of the mind that x amount sounds about right. Hey, his guess might even be right but I do NOT want to find out in the middle of a remodel that we're out of funds. Dammit.

In which I attempt to just get over myself and be happy

This morning I got out of bed before 4 p.m. I even got a much needed haircut by 1. On a Saturday. When the kids were at the Drunken Teenage Nana's all day (Drunken Teenage Nana also goes by "Mom," "Nana," and "DTN"). I haven't done this in ages as I've been poorly attempting to cure this depression on my own for several months. What am I depressed about you ask? Good question, Gidget.

I suffered depression once before after the birth of my first son. I have no idea how the second child ever came along; I have no recollection of letting that man get near me. Fucking fertile breeder. I had classic post-partum depression with a side of man hatin' thrown in just for fun. Later in my life, I finally started looking at why I acted the way I did during those 18 months. This only occured after having enough distance to better understand it.

My post-partum depression was characterized by apathy toward general functioning, crying on the baby as we entered our 20th hour in bed, using breastfeeding as a way to escape the ex's family (many of them thought it was "gross" so I retired to another room to do it), fantasizing about leaving my then-husband to the point of mechanically writing identical budgets on over 20 notebooks detailing what I would need to live as a single mom, developing a harmful view of my body that I still struggle with today, and allowing the then-husband to move his girlfriend into our house.

The moment I gave birth to Brett my hormones threw my ass out of the depression, allowing me to regain functionality. I moved out and got a divorce.

Generally, I've been okay since. I've had some short occurances but for whatever reason, I've gotten through them. However, this depression has turned ugly and has apparently chosen to stay for the long haul. I'm worried because I have very few reasons to bitch and I have many, many reasons to rejoice. This is obviously not a situational problem...ergo, I may be in a real depression. However, I will allow a licensed someone to make that diagnosis.

Reasons to bitch:
1) My mother is yet again going through adolescence. I think we're on her twelfth by now. It entails moving into high-gear alcoholism and acting a fool with her latent-gay boyfriend. Keep an eye out for posts about the DTN, involving said drunkeness and latent-gay boyfriend...and Usher. Oh yes, there's Usher.

2) I am mourning the PhD a bit. I won't be getting one now or perhaps ever. I'm tired. I want a nap more than I want to be called Dr.

Reasons to be happy:
1) My marriage is amazing. We've had some bumpy-puke-in-your-roller-coaster-seat times, but we are more in love with each other than I think we ever were. But then again, we met and started doing it.

2) I'm graduating with a Masters. From pregnant teen to Masters, suck on it doubters.

3) I landed the job I never thought I'd get. I penetrated an institution sacred to me, without much lubricant.

4) Mike landed his dream job at a cool place after a year and a half search.

5) Most importantly, my kids are cool. Really.

Mike has officially declared May 1 as the deadline for seeking therapy and druggage.

Lindy

It has been 1,208 days and LINDY IS STILL NOT ENGAGED.

Titty-An

I love Titian, or as the Smart Ass Guide to Art reminds us, Titty-an. This is a funny guide to several pieces of art with real, down to earth commentary. The author provides accepted information about an artist or a work, but then adds those interesting, sometimes off-color bits that make art so damn interesting.

As for that Titty-an, the Smart Ass Guide to Art refreshed my memory about the Venus of Urbino. In the classic Saturday Night Live sketch "Art Classics with E. Buzz Miller," Dan Aykroyd pronounces the artist's name as "Titty-an," instead of tishan, remarking "I don't think anybody can deny this is a very nice painting of a broad on a couch."




Personally though, I like this one much better. Manet painted a naked lady in a whole new way. Instead of a goddess or an allegory, she was Victorine Meurent, a woman everyone knew and she was unabashedly naked and in a bed for a reason. She's ignoring the flowers and she's not looking shyly at you. Victorine looks right at you, very aware that you are looking at her naked. Look at her nakedness now.

The Institution

In a grand attempt to fuck with my emotions, the security professionals at the institution (i.e. , the cultural institution employer) decided today to crack down today. With me in the building. Alone. That was NOT cool. Now, because I come in a half hour later in the morning than most others I work beyond the magical 5 p.m. deadline. At 5, the bustling place goes absolutely dead. In the past, it seems security has been a bit behind and although they turn the lights out on me while I'm up in the upper floor office, forcing me to walk gingerly through the dimly lit maze of things I CANNOT knock over, I am still able to get out.

Apparently, it is supposed to go down that the place turns into Waco and no one can get in or out past 5.

This time, the first time I actually alert security that I am in the building, they leave the lights on but pull down the chain-mail-looking security curtain and LOCK THE DOORS. These are not department store doors that allow one to leave while preventing others from entering. These are "No one is entering or leaving how dare you be around the priceless shit after 5 you wanker and oh yes the system can see your every footstep" doors.

After a happy stroll through said priceless shit in my attempt to go home at 5:30, in the light this time, I find the chain mail curtain pulled down at my exit. Um. Dude. Security? I naturally start to panic and hop up to the main entrance. Locked. I go back to my regular entrance. Chain mail. Um. Seriously, Help!

Finally, a security guard who looks a whole 13 and a half comes out and squeaks, "Oh, sorry. They told me to wait for you. I saw you walking on the monitor and realized you were still in here." Sorry my ass, Doogie. But of course, I am still trying to breathe and just nod at the twerp. However, this twerp let me out and I guess I love him.

Vaginas are cool

Every vagina I've ever met was cool. Now, while I don't always think about one's vagina, I am a member of the Vagina Cohort...a membership I cherish. Okay, okay, there are times I REALLY think about vaginas: when a girl is smokin' hot, smokin' smart, or she has some smokin' camel toe and I can't look away.

But the Vagina Cohort...ah, I love those girls. Let me clarify. My graduate program runs in cohorts, the people you begin with are the ones you take certain core classes with and you all graduate together. My cohort is all women. At our first academic-related outing, one of our girls wore a "Vagina Monologues" tee shirt from attending the show. We were discussing the play quite a bit and at some point our guide, the director of the institution, turned to our professor, named Regina, and called her Ragina...pronouncing it like vagina. Of course, we lost all couth and laughed out loud, the director turned seven shades of red and my cohort bonded instantly. Any ice left was instantly broken. We became the kind of friends that talk candidly about poop and sex, the kind that could pick each others nose, and we are the kind that hug and kiss goodbye each week from class.

We became the beloved Vagina Cohort. Girls, I love you so much and I am so proud of you.

The Elusive Tooth Fairy

It has been 5 days since Daniel left his precious lost tooth under his pillow, eagerly waiting for the tooth fairy to bring him his dough. Did you hear me? 5 days. Each morning he has gotten up and told us that, well, the Tooth Fairy didn't take his tooth. Or left the dough. That bitch. I'm certainly spending a little time in hell for this one. Every time I've said that I'll leave a note for the Tooth Fairy, a reminder so to speak. The poor boy is already on the brink of not believing in anything fun and his parents are certainly not helping his sense of whimsy and innocence.

So last night, we actually had to leave the money on our own pillows so we didn't forget to take the damn tooth and leave the money. When we went to bed, we noticed the fairy dough and crept into Daniel's room, and played Tooth Fairy. We love you baby.

Lindy

My sister is Lindinatortatortot, or Lindy for short. She is the best thing ever, moist feet and all. I love her so much that I thought I would share her engagement plight. While we are hella feminists at times, in this case Lindy has chosen to wait for her live-in boyfriend to propose to her. He is an wonderful guy who loves her daughter like she's his own, but well, he is dragging his feet on this one. She is aware that she could propose and she knows that the two of them could simply make a mutual decision, which they have, and just do it but it's now up to him to pick the time to do it. It's her choice to do that, so back off.

In her honor, I have decided to count the days it will take for her boyfriend to propose. Every couple of days, I'm going to update it until I find a counter I like. By the way, her boyfriend is usually just called "Boy," even by our children. See, she's not taking any shit.

Beginning with January 1, 2002 (about when the pressure started from Lindy), it has been

1,204 days

and LINDY IS STILL NOT ENGAGED.

Pictures

Unlike the Grand Dame of blogging, Dooce, I will not take a photo everyday but I will try to take one at least several times a week. Also, she has a super rocking camera and I don't. The good news is that I'm not totally inept at photography and we'll see what happens.

Today, I thought I'd share my backyard. I have two gorgeous trees side by side back there, a red bud and a dogwood. I keep trying to type " red bug." If you ever see me talking about "red bugs" on here, I probably mean my pretty tree. Unless, I'm talking about those weird little red bugs, Box Elder buggies...weird. Decipher that, okay? What you don't see in the yard are the eight thousand dinosaur toys lurking in the grass to harm bare feet. Those little mothers hurt! Soon enough, you'll get to see the spectacle of two cats on a leash in the backyard (shut up, they like it).

Evening Star

Evening Star, by Alphonse Mucha, 1902
originally uploaded by Evening Star_.

Ivan in his fabulusciousness

Ah, all hail Ivan. He is by far the most beautiful cat we've ever seen. This picture does not do his tail justice as it has a life of its own. Ivan's big poofy tail is about as big as he is. He looks much like a cream-colored Turkish Van cat, although he know his mama was a calico farm kitty. He's downright FABULOUS...and tempermental.

The baby of the house

The baby kitten, Nero. Okay, so he's a year old. Whatever. My grandmother rescued him when he was one week old...and gave him to me to actually raise. So, he's my only bottle-fed baby and I do adore the bitty thing. He thinks his name is Baby. He sounds like a turkey.

In the beginning...

Here's the story of the family.

I got pregnant with Daniel when I was 17 and he was born the September after I graduated high school. September 11 in fact. DO NOT say “ohhhh, so sad” if you ever see him. I will beat you until you cry. With all respect to the tragic event on September 11, I hate when people do that to him. He’s a kid for Jesus’ sake, don’t make him feel awful about his birthday, he knows what happened. I married his father, my, ahem, high school sweetheart, when Daniel was 7 months old…in effect, we got married because we had a child. I had Brett just 18 months later on March 13. Their father and I rightfully divorced a bit after that. He is still a big part of their life.

I met Mike at work in a casino. You will undoubtedly hear all about the casino one day. Be patient. Mike is a teddy bear geek who laughs a lot and who loves me like no other. We married when my boys were 2 and 3. Who does that? Mike is the most able parent I never asked for…and believe me, folks, I never expected another parent for the boys. I felt it was unfair to expect it. The boys will introduce us to teachers, friends, etc. in this way: "This is my Mom and this is my Mike." They are too cute. We have two tyrannical cats, Ivan the Great/Terrible and Nero/Baby. They are the most spoiled cats on earth. No, really.

On June 28, we'll have been married 7 years. Oh my god.

Babies, they smell good too

The boys at Christmas. Love those jammies. Make sure you say Neen-jah when you read Daniel's shirt. It's fun (thanks, Carrie!).

Welcome

Welcome, people.