I haven't had a vegetable since sunday. before that it was a month.
I'm weak, tired, miserable and FUCKING HUNGRY.
the kid is not much better off.
we switched his meds, which, besides tasting like horse piss and being majorly traumatic to administer, don't start working for almost two weeks. so that's one possible reason he's sick as shit.
the others include:
-he's incapable of eating or tolerating ANYTHING
-he's sick in a transient fashion. (like his father)
-he's still reacting to my rogue vegetable experiment
-his reflux is peaking
either way. this blows and quite frankly...
I'm feeling rather persecuted.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
ok. so, uhm...yeah
just got a call about teaching GED classes at night.
two hours per class, two classes per week. the hourly rate is reasonable...
but, but, but...
can I actually commit to leaving my house, the Prof and more importantly MY PAJAMAS twice a week?
yeah. I can. even though oqui obviously has a very low opinion of the work (you need to write a resume for that? they're GED classes...who cares? etc)...I think its kind of noble.
I'm realistic about the fact that a GED isn't going to get someone their dream job, but if you've been trying and CAN'T pass that test...imagine how important a goal it is for you.
I hope that the classes are small and that I can help each personally individually...
or at least try.
two hours per class, two classes per week. the hourly rate is reasonable...
but, but, but...
can I actually commit to leaving my house, the Prof and more importantly MY PAJAMAS twice a week?
yeah. I can. even though oqui obviously has a very low opinion of the work (you need to write a resume for that? they're GED classes...who cares? etc)...I think its kind of noble.
I'm realistic about the fact that a GED isn't going to get someone their dream job, but if you've been trying and CAN'T pass that test...imagine how important a goal it is for you.
I hope that the classes are small and that I can help each personally individually...
or at least try.
Monday, February 23, 2009
porta-baby
the Prof had a busy weekend (and subsequently...so did we).
we went shopping friday night.
saw the cranial sacral therapist saturday morning.
went to a cocktail party saturday night.
and went to the climbing gym and grocery shopping on sunday.
he did really well until that last bit. there are limits to his patience and tolerance...and it appears that he just isn't going to tolerate a climbing gym.
ha! figures...that's the one place I want to hit most often.
I'm weak and found climbing waaaaaaaaay harder than I remember. harder than I can even imagine remembering. harder than when I first started, even.
I'm chalking it up to nursing hormones, lack o' sleep and an awful diet.
I hereby give myself one whole year to regain my former strength. I initially gave myself 4 months (2 of them recovery and 2 to start whooping ass, again)...but it just aint working out that way.
the Prof says no. I have no choice but to oblige. it's not entirely his fault, though. I'm incapable of focusing on more than one major life "thing" at a time...and since baby comes first, training and "going hard" will have to go later.
I can't focus on pushing the envelope when my boobs are leaking and the baby's whining. when I climbed before, I put my whole entire being into it. I climbed until I ached...and I did it frequently (funny that I was still just average at it any way, huh?). I was happy when it was a lifestyle for me, but I'm not feeling it so much as an afterthought...hence the year.
I figure in a year, he'll be slightly less demanding of my energies and I can finally take a day here and there to go get bloodied up. I used to define my life through climbing. I didn't go to school because it would cut into my climbing time. I wouldn't commit to family functions because if the weather was good I was going to be out of town. I was happy with those trips being my central focus.
I miss it, but its worth the sacrifice (at least at this very moment, while he's napping)...
but I'm not gonna lie...I feel a little empty without pursuing a physical passion (not sex, you fiends). martial arts, skiing, figure skating, climbing, and to a lesser extent, riding have all played major roles in my physical and emotional well-being in the past. not having a life sport is kind of a drag.
I could take some lame ass kickboxing classes or join a faggy gym...but fitness alone isn't what I'm trying to get out of this. I always found "hitting the gym" a poor excuse for "honing my skills." I want to train for the sake of getting better at something, attaining a physical goal...
not just to tighten up my ass and loosen up my jeans.
so, I guess I'll just have to keep eating rice and turkey, being pudgier than I'm comfortable and wait out the winter...and the baby.
I can always get back into those 3's, and more importantly, get my muskles back, later.
...who knows, maybe the lil' booger will LOOOOOVE going to the crags?
we went shopping friday night.
saw the cranial sacral therapist saturday morning.
went to a cocktail party saturday night.
and went to the climbing gym and grocery shopping on sunday.
he did really well until that last bit. there are limits to his patience and tolerance...and it appears that he just isn't going to tolerate a climbing gym.
ha! figures...that's the one place I want to hit most often.
I'm weak and found climbing waaaaaaaaay harder than I remember. harder than I can even imagine remembering. harder than when I first started, even.
I'm chalking it up to nursing hormones, lack o' sleep and an awful diet.
I hereby give myself one whole year to regain my former strength. I initially gave myself 4 months (2 of them recovery and 2 to start whooping ass, again)...but it just aint working out that way.
the Prof says no. I have no choice but to oblige. it's not entirely his fault, though. I'm incapable of focusing on more than one major life "thing" at a time...and since baby comes first, training and "going hard" will have to go later.
I can't focus on pushing the envelope when my boobs are leaking and the baby's whining. when I climbed before, I put my whole entire being into it. I climbed until I ached...and I did it frequently (funny that I was still just average at it any way, huh?). I was happy when it was a lifestyle for me, but I'm not feeling it so much as an afterthought...hence the year.
I figure in a year, he'll be slightly less demanding of my energies and I can finally take a day here and there to go get bloodied up. I used to define my life through climbing. I didn't go to school because it would cut into my climbing time. I wouldn't commit to family functions because if the weather was good I was going to be out of town. I was happy with those trips being my central focus.
I miss it, but its worth the sacrifice (at least at this very moment, while he's napping)...
but I'm not gonna lie...I feel a little empty without pursuing a physical passion (not sex, you fiends). martial arts, skiing, figure skating, climbing, and to a lesser extent, riding have all played major roles in my physical and emotional well-being in the past. not having a life sport is kind of a drag.
I could take some lame ass kickboxing classes or join a faggy gym...but fitness alone isn't what I'm trying to get out of this. I always found "hitting the gym" a poor excuse for "honing my skills." I want to train for the sake of getting better at something, attaining a physical goal...
not just to tighten up my ass and loosen up my jeans.
so, I guess I'll just have to keep eating rice and turkey, being pudgier than I'm comfortable and wait out the winter...and the baby.
I can always get back into those 3's, and more importantly, get my muskles back, later.
...who knows, maybe the lil' booger will LOOOOOVE going to the crags?
Friday, February 20, 2009
multi-blog
many an update to make...so little desire to be sassy (not because I'm in a bad mood, quite the opposite. I'm in a pretty durn good mood and want to run some errands).
the Prof saw the GI doc this week. mixed feelings there. she wants to "scope him." both ends. he would need to be sedated for this, and I'm not particularly cozy with that. the whole procedure is aimed at confirming that he suffers from food allergies.
duh, bitch. you don't need to knock my kid out and stick something up his ass to verify that one...
but she insists that she does. I was adamantly opposed. now I'm kind of on the fence. her most convincing argument is that he doesn't look like an allergic baby. he's thriving, and they're usually scrawny and sickly.
score one for my god-awful diet.
instead of scheduling a medical procedure, I've scheduled him for cranial sacral therapy and some energy work. let's see where some wise old women can get us, first.
in other news:
-I got clipless pedals and cleats. now all I need are some shoes that don't make me want to stab myself, either because they hurt like the dickens, they're ugly as sin or they cost 3 million dollars.
yes, those high-end cycling shoes are very impressive, but I'll be lucky to get out once a week for the next 10 or 12 years of my life and $300 (on clearance) isn't in my galaxy...let alone my price range.
do you have anything in a Ked or Bobo?
-I've gained 5 pounds eating nothing but rice, turkey and apple sauce. I'm going to shoot somebody if this trend continues...
-we went out to eat last night. I spent 30 minutes with the kitchen manager trying to figure out what I might be able to eat that wouldn't send the Prof into seizures and ended up with a salad with vinegar and oil, sliced turkey breast, plain baked potato and some bacon bits.
no sooner did I get the last bite of food in my mouth then I felt deathly ill. my body has forgotten how to eat food.
as oqui said last night...as we introduce foods to the Prof, we'll be reintroducing them to me.
mmmmm...beef baby food.
- the Prof is sleeping fairly well, again.
I'd like to thank the inclined crib wedge, air vent sleep positioner, wear a blanket sleeper and oqui's white noise machine.
5 hours a stretch. yes, please and thank you kindly.
- I've been watching the food network like its my job. I should probably quit.
the Prof saw the GI doc this week. mixed feelings there. she wants to "scope him." both ends. he would need to be sedated for this, and I'm not particularly cozy with that. the whole procedure is aimed at confirming that he suffers from food allergies.
duh, bitch. you don't need to knock my kid out and stick something up his ass to verify that one...
but she insists that she does. I was adamantly opposed. now I'm kind of on the fence. her most convincing argument is that he doesn't look like an allergic baby. he's thriving, and they're usually scrawny and sickly.
score one for my god-awful diet.
instead of scheduling a medical procedure, I've scheduled him for cranial sacral therapy and some energy work. let's see where some wise old women can get us, first.
in other news:
-I got clipless pedals and cleats. now all I need are some shoes that don't make me want to stab myself, either because they hurt like the dickens, they're ugly as sin or they cost 3 million dollars.
yes, those high-end cycling shoes are very impressive, but I'll be lucky to get out once a week for the next 10 or 12 years of my life and $300 (on clearance) isn't in my galaxy...let alone my price range.
do you have anything in a Ked or Bobo?
-I've gained 5 pounds eating nothing but rice, turkey and apple sauce. I'm going to shoot somebody if this trend continues...
-we went out to eat last night. I spent 30 minutes with the kitchen manager trying to figure out what I might be able to eat that wouldn't send the Prof into seizures and ended up with a salad with vinegar and oil, sliced turkey breast, plain baked potato and some bacon bits.
no sooner did I get the last bite of food in my mouth then I felt deathly ill. my body has forgotten how to eat food.
as oqui said last night...as we introduce foods to the Prof, we'll be reintroducing them to me.
mmmmm...beef baby food.
- the Prof is sleeping fairly well, again.
I'd like to thank the inclined crib wedge, air vent sleep positioner, wear a blanket sleeper and oqui's white noise machine.
5 hours a stretch. yes, please and thank you kindly.
- I've been watching the food network like its my job. I should probably quit.
Monday, February 16, 2009
making moves
last night the Prof slept in his big boy room.
for many years, I would find myself crying for a week in late August - early September. I got lonely when the Monkey went back to school. after spending our entire summer together, the house was decidedly empty without her incessant bugging and nagging (not to mention our daily dance routines to Saturday Night Fever).
she's been getting more independant every day and it seems like I've hardly seen her at all the last few summers. I really like when she ran track. she came home everyday ready to eat and ready to chat. she was busy, yet focused. now, she just kinda drifts along, mostly with a host of obnoxious cohorts.
I occassionally catch the gossip, but rarely have any quality time.
one baby growing too fast.
now, the Prof is moving out on us.
Friday night creepy carpet guy came over to install the Prof's carpet and scratch the shit out of his freshly painted wordwork. yesterday oqui asked me, "are you sure you want me to finish the nursery? are you ready for this?" My response was (I've just now noticed my seemingly random punctuation habits), "hell yes! get the booger out of here."
I was so busy convincing myself that him moving into his own room was no big deal, that I almost missed oqui's moistened eyes. apparently, oqui didn't mind the midnight waking as much as I thought...we love our lil' lump.
so, I was forewarned. I knew it was coming...
but, you know. then it happened. I actually had to leave him all alone in that big, cold, lonely crib and go to "my" room to sleep.
I snuggled into oqui and cried a little.
then we had sex.
I'm thinking this might work out after all...
for many years, I would find myself crying for a week in late August - early September. I got lonely when the Monkey went back to school. after spending our entire summer together, the house was decidedly empty without her incessant bugging and nagging (not to mention our daily dance routines to Saturday Night Fever).
she's been getting more independant every day and it seems like I've hardly seen her at all the last few summers. I really like when she ran track. she came home everyday ready to eat and ready to chat. she was busy, yet focused. now, she just kinda drifts along, mostly with a host of obnoxious cohorts.
I occassionally catch the gossip, but rarely have any quality time.
one baby growing too fast.
now, the Prof is moving out on us.
Friday night creepy carpet guy came over to install the Prof's carpet and scratch the shit out of his freshly painted wordwork. yesterday oqui asked me, "are you sure you want me to finish the nursery? are you ready for this?" My response was (I've just now noticed my seemingly random punctuation habits), "hell yes! get the booger out of here."
I was so busy convincing myself that him moving into his own room was no big deal, that I almost missed oqui's moistened eyes. apparently, oqui didn't mind the midnight waking as much as I thought...we love our lil' lump.
so, I was forewarned. I knew it was coming...
but, you know. then it happened. I actually had to leave him all alone in that big, cold, lonely crib and go to "my" room to sleep.
I snuggled into oqui and cried a little.
then we had sex.
I'm thinking this might work out after all...
Friday, February 13, 2009
a mile in my slipper socks
12 easy steps to living it up suki-style.
1. set an alarm every two hours. wake up or stop whatever you're doing and have someone yell at you for 20 minutes.
2. eat nothing but chicken, rice products, applesauce and salt for two months. do so while cooking foods that you can't (but want to) eat for the other members of your family.
3. don't exercise for a year and gain ten pounds.
4. cut off your hair and throw out all of your clothing except for your 3 least comfortable pairs of pants.
5. lose all motivation, creative, physical and otherwise. don't care that its probably hormonal or just sleep dep. feel bad about it, anyway.
6. stop drinking alcohol.
7. stop having sex.
8. once or twice a week give someone you love rat poison to eat.
9. quit your job and stop calling your friends because you have nothing positive to talk about.
10. see how long it takes for all of your friends to stop calling you.
11. make someone else you love feel rejected and frustrated.
12. have 3 months of nausea, three months of fatigue, three months of stretching and discomfort, then 3 months of breast pain.
et VOILA! chances are after 3 or 4 days...
your attitude will suck worse than mine, but on the bright side...
at least we'd have something to talk about then.
1. set an alarm every two hours. wake up or stop whatever you're doing and have someone yell at you for 20 minutes.
2. eat nothing but chicken, rice products, applesauce and salt for two months. do so while cooking foods that you can't (but want to) eat for the other members of your family.
3. don't exercise for a year and gain ten pounds.
4. cut off your hair and throw out all of your clothing except for your 3 least comfortable pairs of pants.
5. lose all motivation, creative, physical and otherwise. don't care that its probably hormonal or just sleep dep. feel bad about it, anyway.
6. stop drinking alcohol.
7. stop having sex.
8. once or twice a week give someone you love rat poison to eat.
9. quit your job and stop calling your friends because you have nothing positive to talk about.
10. see how long it takes for all of your friends to stop calling you.
11. make someone else you love feel rejected and frustrated.
12. have 3 months of nausea, three months of fatigue, three months of stretching and discomfort, then 3 months of breast pain.
et VOILA! chances are after 3 or 4 days...
your attitude will suck worse than mine, but on the bright side...
at least we'd have something to talk about then.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Professor StinkBottom: 2, Parents: 0
fuck it.
weaning this child is just not working. NOT WORKING AT ALL.
fuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckit
he's stopped sleeping through the night, waking every two hours...or worse: MORE FREQUENTLY. how do you wake up more often than that??? it takes an hour to get up, get fed and get back to sleep...
how?on?earth?can?you?expect?me?to?keep?waking?up?and?not?go?fucking?bananas???
last night was sheer unadulterated torture. we went to sleep around 11 and he got up at 1 smiling, giggling, wide ass awake. we admired the moon for a bit. ok, I admired the moon, he mostly contemplated his left fist and worked up a poo...which soon worked its way out of his diaper.
then...he started screaming sometime around 3, and well, quite frankly, I don't remember much else after that. it totally blew ass.
was it because we left him with aunties Debbie and Mary and they gave him a bottle? was it simply because we left him? did the formula make him hate the world? or does he just hate the world for sport?
last night he scared me. not because I thought something was wrong with him (I know something is wrong with him)...but because the way he was screaming made me feel like he was atune to some danger or evil that I couldn't sense. he was warning screaming and I couldn't figure out whether to pick up a mojo stick or which way to run. I was too scared to be alone downstairs with him (wailing his head off). the dogs told me to go fuck myself and hid under a bed.
what kind of juju was working up in this piece last night???
we are now oh-for-six-thousand on attempts to wean him. he hates us.
fuck it.
I want to nurse him. he wants to nurse. problem (sorta) solved.
I'm sick to shit of rice and chicken, but he's obviously not willing to give up his food of choice just so that I can have mine.
awesome. now, not only can I not leave him with a sitter for more than two hours, I get the added stress of wondering if my next bite of food will send him into anaphylaxis.
the pediatricians think I'm a whack job. FUCK THEM. if they are so keen on bending infants to their will...let them bend their own. I'm not a big fan of fighting with my 3 month old.
all told this is looking like 2 years gone. outta my life forever. totally stripped of the foods, activities, sports, sleep, etc that I thrive on. I don't even feel like getting freaky.
I suppose it doesn't make much difference...
I didn't have a real job and was a pretty sucky athlete, anyway.
weaning this child is just not working. NOT WORKING AT ALL.
fuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckit
he's stopped sleeping through the night, waking every two hours...or worse: MORE FREQUENTLY. how do you wake up more often than that??? it takes an hour to get up, get fed and get back to sleep...
how?on?earth?can?you?expect?me?to?keep?waking?up?and?not?go?fucking?bananas???
last night was sheer unadulterated torture. we went to sleep around 11 and he got up at 1 smiling, giggling, wide ass awake. we admired the moon for a bit. ok, I admired the moon, he mostly contemplated his left fist and worked up a poo...which soon worked its way out of his diaper.
then...he started screaming sometime around 3, and well, quite frankly, I don't remember much else after that. it totally blew ass.
was it because we left him with aunties Debbie and Mary and they gave him a bottle? was it simply because we left him? did the formula make him hate the world? or does he just hate the world for sport?
last night he scared me. not because I thought something was wrong with him (I know something is wrong with him)...but because the way he was screaming made me feel like he was atune to some danger or evil that I couldn't sense. he was warning screaming and I couldn't figure out whether to pick up a mojo stick or which way to run. I was too scared to be alone downstairs with him (wailing his head off). the dogs told me to go fuck myself and hid under a bed.
what kind of juju was working up in this piece last night???
we are now oh-for-six-thousand on attempts to wean him. he hates us.
fuck it.
I want to nurse him. he wants to nurse. problem (sorta) solved.
I'm sick to shit of rice and chicken, but he's obviously not willing to give up his food of choice just so that I can have mine.
awesome. now, not only can I not leave him with a sitter for more than two hours, I get the added stress of wondering if my next bite of food will send him into anaphylaxis.
the pediatricians think I'm a whack job. FUCK THEM. if they are so keen on bending infants to their will...let them bend their own. I'm not a big fan of fighting with my 3 month old.
all told this is looking like 2 years gone. outta my life forever. totally stripped of the foods, activities, sports, sleep, etc that I thrive on. I don't even feel like getting freaky.
I suppose it doesn't make much difference...
I didn't have a real job and was a pretty sucky athlete, anyway.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
oqui dokie
I'm done with the crying...now I really just want the lil' bammer to take a bottle.
he chewed up and spit out his poor poppa today. oqui has had to bear the brunt of the bottle-giving attempts (I say attempts because it doesn't work for shit) and now the kid gives him a dirty look and the booboo lip every time he gets near him.
if that isn't enough (and it is. oqui's a wee lil' bit heartbroken about it)...the kid pulled a major cockblock this afternoon, as well.
nursing makes you anti-horny. very very much so. don't get me wrong, I'll cuddle like a motherfucker, but I am absolutely disinclined to perform any acts involving genitals, psuedogenitals or even sensitive skin. I'm estrogen deprived and asexual (not to mention a lil' bit chubby), so when I finally caved this afternoon, only to be interrupted...well...
the 'pah just can't win for trying.
he passed out, probably from crying (Daddy, not the mini-devil) on the couch around 8:30 and since I was in bed 'til noon (the lil' sucker woke me up FOUR times to nurse last "night")...its nowhere nears sleepy time for meh.
I'm bored...almost bored enough to consider having sex.
nah. not that bored...
I've got the innerwebs.
he chewed up and spit out his poor poppa today. oqui has had to bear the brunt of the bottle-giving attempts (I say attempts because it doesn't work for shit) and now the kid gives him a dirty look and the booboo lip every time he gets near him.
if that isn't enough (and it is. oqui's a wee lil' bit heartbroken about it)...the kid pulled a major cockblock this afternoon, as well.
nursing makes you anti-horny. very very much so. don't get me wrong, I'll cuddle like a motherfucker, but I am absolutely disinclined to perform any acts involving genitals, psuedogenitals or even sensitive skin. I'm estrogen deprived and asexual (not to mention a lil' bit chubby), so when I finally caved this afternoon, only to be interrupted...well...
the 'pah just can't win for trying.
he passed out, probably from crying (Daddy, not the mini-devil) on the couch around 8:30 and since I was in bed 'til noon (the lil' sucker woke me up FOUR times to nurse last "night")...its nowhere nears sleepy time for meh.
I'm bored...almost bored enough to consider having sex.
nah. not that bored...
I've got the innerwebs.
Friday, February 6, 2009
cry
I have to wean him.
messed up. misread. didn't read.
one ingredient to make him cry,
eating poison for days.
not knowing.
cry, cry, cry.
so careful. so easy to miss.
eyes red, face swollen. red-marked body.
poison making progress.
I have to wean him.
I have to wean him.
I've got to wean him.
why do I have to wean him???
warming formula. pumping.
dumping life milk down a drain.
he cries as oqui feeds him.
I cry in the bathroom.
why can't my body do this?
why can't his?
I have to wean him.
I have to wean him.
I have to wean him...right?
can't sleep. my eyes burn.
my head and chest ache.
physical manifestations of a broken heart...
yet, I have to wean him (right?).
cry, cry, cry.
hormones. failure. selfishness.
he sleeps fitfully.
I don't sleep at all.
why?
can't stop crying.
messed up. misread. didn't read.
one ingredient to make him cry,
eating poison for days.
not knowing.
cry, cry, cry.
so careful. so easy to miss.
eyes red, face swollen. red-marked body.
poison making progress.
I have to wean him.
I have to wean him.
I've got to wean him.
why do I have to wean him???
warming formula. pumping.
dumping life milk down a drain.
he cries as oqui feeds him.
I cry in the bathroom.
why can't my body do this?
why can't his?
I have to wean him.
I have to wean him.
I have to wean him...right?
can't sleep. my eyes burn.
my head and chest ache.
physical manifestations of a broken heart...
yet, I have to wean him (right?).
cry, cry, cry.
hormones. failure. selfishness.
he sleeps fitfully.
I don't sleep at all.
why?
can't stop crying.
this just in
Breaking News. Here is on-the-scenes footage from this morning's missing child case.
It would appear that, having too many places to place the child, the boy's exhausted mother simply forgot where she had put him.
Eventually, the child was located and is said to be in good conditon.
A spokesperson for the Dept of Children and Families says they are "looking into" the conditons surrounding the child's disappearance and will be speaking to his mother about the mass of dirty diapers on the windowsill.
In related news: Reports of yet another an Elmo sighting.
While there appears to be substantial evidence that a child does indeed reside here, noone has been able to locate the infant for hours.
It would appear that, having too many places to place the child, the boy's exhausted mother simply forgot where she had put him.
Eventually, the child was located and is said to be in good conditon.
A spokesperson for the Dept of Children and Families says they are "looking into" the conditons surrounding the child's disappearance and will be speaking to his mother about the mass of dirty diapers on the windowsill.
In related news: Reports of yet another an Elmo sighting.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I had it coming
I've been so tremendously single minded of purpose, wanting only to get the Prof on a sleeping schedule...
that I completely jinxed myself.
guess who couldn't get back to sleep after our 4am feeding?
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
total torment. my mind raced and raced, stopped for a breather and a cream-filled donut, then raced some more.
I composed 4 different blogs in my head...none of which I can remember anything about but the title and the punch line.
I wrote 53 different versions of my to-do list.
I composed a full symphony and cured cancer.
it would appear that I do all my great thinking at night.
it would also appear that I do all (ok. most...) of my forgetting then, as well.
that I completely jinxed myself.
guess who couldn't get back to sleep after our 4am feeding?
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
total torment. my mind raced and raced, stopped for a breather and a cream-filled donut, then raced some more.
I composed 4 different blogs in my head...none of which I can remember anything about but the title and the punch line.
I wrote 53 different versions of my to-do list.
I composed a full symphony and cured cancer.
it would appear that I do all my great thinking at night.
it would also appear that I do all (ok. most...) of my forgetting then, as well.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
doh!
go to sleep already!!!
I'm working on getting the Prof to self-soothe.
while I love rocking the little booger...my back is killing me. he must learn to drift off to la la land on his own...
with the aid of a music box, light show and woobie.
we're currently on our third cycle of twinkle twinkle.
enough is enough.
go to sleep, already!!!
I'm working on getting the Prof to self-soothe.
while I love rocking the little booger...my back is killing me. he must learn to drift off to la la land on his own...
with the aid of a music box, light show and woobie.
we're currently on our third cycle of twinkle twinkle.
enough is enough.
go to sleep, already!!!
W(t)S(o)IM(on)
we're broke.
-housepoor
-student loans
-paying too much in taxes both income and property
-consumer debt (an unfortunate consequence of all of the above)
so we're both getting refunds. money. oh, the sweet sweet sound o' crinklin' monies.
I was beginning to forget what a ten dollar bill looked like.
who am I kidding. I've totally forgotten.
so I'm sitting with a calculator, clipboard and handy dandy crayon (I can never find a pen when I need one, yet can somehow ALWAYS locate a fucking crayon) trying to allocate our imaginary money.
hence the creation of the What (to) Spend (our) Imaginary Money (on) list.
it ranges from the little things that those of you with disposable income take for granted like shoes, developing film from three years ago, curtains (this house has an ish load of windows), to big things like paying off a credit card or two (ha! yeah right) to planning a family vacation to buying a new laptop.
I sat down with my handy dandy crayon and had spent both of our returns within 43.87 seconds.
dangit!
...and I didn't even put my wishlist items like stand mixer, new pans and bread machine on there.
double dangit!
so I've come to the conclusion that I CAN and probably will turn into your standard american consumer, despite the fact that I'm extremely cheap and fairly minimalist, if given the chance.
negative.
we're putting all the money (save a grand or so) into debt coverage and perhaps reducing our monthly bills enough to buy a pair of shoes when we need them.
interest can go eff itself.
oh yeah...and it won't hurt that oqui's changing his with-holding, either.
supporting a family of four with a single man's post tax earnings has been fun, but I think we're gonna go ahead and skip it for this year.
you know...just for shits and giggles.
-housepoor
-student loans
-paying too much in taxes both income and property
-consumer debt (an unfortunate consequence of all of the above)
so we're both getting refunds. money. oh, the sweet sweet sound o' crinklin' monies.
I was beginning to forget what a ten dollar bill looked like.
who am I kidding. I've totally forgotten.
so I'm sitting with a calculator, clipboard and handy dandy crayon (I can never find a pen when I need one, yet can somehow ALWAYS locate a fucking crayon) trying to allocate our imaginary money.
hence the creation of the What (to) Spend (our) Imaginary Money (on) list.
it ranges from the little things that those of you with disposable income take for granted like shoes, developing film from three years ago, curtains (this house has an ish load of windows), to big things like paying off a credit card or two (ha! yeah right) to planning a family vacation to buying a new laptop.
I sat down with my handy dandy crayon and had spent both of our returns within 43.87 seconds.
dangit!
...and I didn't even put my wishlist items like stand mixer, new pans and bread machine on there.
double dangit!
so I've come to the conclusion that I CAN and probably will turn into your standard american consumer, despite the fact that I'm extremely cheap and fairly minimalist, if given the chance.
negative.
we're putting all the money (save a grand or so) into debt coverage and perhaps reducing our monthly bills enough to buy a pair of shoes when we need them.
interest can go eff itself.
oh yeah...and it won't hurt that oqui's changing his with-holding, either.
supporting a family of four with a single man's post tax earnings has been fun, but I think we're gonna go ahead and skip it for this year.
you know...just for shits and giggles.
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