November 2009 Archives

Thanksgiving in the south '09

By Autumn on November 30, 2009 2:21 PM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

Tuesday Departure: lists and piles, laundry, and stacks. Everything must go just so. This can't be put into the car until that is done. Did we forget anything? How will we even be able to travel with two children? Can you imagine? Every available space is filled with stuff and more stuff. Clothes for three different folk, toys, snacks, heaps and piles of books, a booster seat, blankets and pillows..on and on and this and that--just in case.

We all pile into bed early and wake up at midnight. I get the boy into the car seat and only then does he awake. He peers around and points out trucks until three o'clock in the morning when he finally falls asleep, one fat cheek illuminated by light. He sleeps till 5:30 in the morning.

After nearly two years of putting out child into his car seat, we learned how to recline it. A must for traveling with a young child. Also, feetsie pajamas (too warm for co-sleeping) are excellent for keeping a toddler cozy in the car without piling him with blankets.

We stop at Denny's for breakfast. I don't even know what state we are in. I spent the last three hours asleep in the backseat--cramped into a ball my ass and legs gone numb. The waitress has a southern accent. She calls us sir and ~~ma'm~~ ma'am (words so strange to us that I don't even know how to spell one!). Luckily the Denny's is part of a hotel. I change River's clothes and wash us up in the bathroom there. River runs around, cheerful, happy.

The portable DVD player takes care of the last hours when we finally arrived in Georgia to spend the holiday with River's Nana and his Uncles.

Altogether about ten hours of travel time. *faints*

exhaustion

Thursday: Turkey, Collard Greens, Stuffing, Mashed Potatoes, Sweet Potato Pie. Repeat, repeat, repeat until near explosion.

karaoki with Nana B

Friday: River's first birthday celebration out of three!

Uncle Joe helps get the balloons down

The perfect cake for River!

The sugar high from this was....interesting.

Saturday: Sights of the Savannah River

This boat was named the Robert E. Lee and do you see the paddle at the back?

The sign on the pillar shows the flood levels. I can't even imagine the water so high.

Taking off with Daddy's hat

Trying and failing to get a photo that shows the confederate flag hanging in the boat.

Outside of the Fort Discovery Museum.

A half a ton ball of granite held up by water. You can spin it. Very neat.

Saturday night into Sunday Morning: Leaving is always sad. Wishing family could be closer is a constant for us. We left at bedtime and Jason drove through the night. We came home to four happy cats and three loads of laundry!

Until next year!

Wednesday: read All Star Superman

By Autumn on November 25, 2009 9:18 AM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

Am I being converted or what? I haven't read a Superman comic since I was around ten years old reading a loud to my brother from his comic books. I was convinced I wouldn't like Superman. Probably because the bit of Smallville I have seen has been so incredibly cheesy, that I was to hurl. Also, that particular version of Clark Kent gives me the urge to smash in his nose, kick him in the nads, and chew off his fingers. Probably not the best of urges when the invincible man of steel is involved. I'm convinced he would still shriek like a girl of ten, if I came after him chomping my teeth.

I just don't like that show. I don't like that dude as Superman. I really don't like how he has to wear Superman's primary colors all the damn time. What is he color blind or just mentally challenged? I've used the following words to describe Smallville's Clark Kent--tool, dooch, little bitch, fan girl bait etc and so on.

Maybe my loathing stems from the fact that I was totally in love with a prior television show that dealt with the Superman story when I was a little girl. Anyone recall Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman?

This brings us to this week's book selection: SUPERMAN!

Jason has been getting me out piles of comic books from the library. They are so easy to read through that I've been heavy on the comic books the last few weeks. Still reading novels, but they are sequels to things I've already reviewed here and I try to keep my book selections for this blog in line with what I have just read or am currently reading. Thus, yet another comic book recommendation.

Jason gave me the first two volumes of All Star Superman to read. I'm not sure exactly what this was intended to be, but my opinion is these are a rehash of old Superman stories. So for newbs that have only a rough idea of the Superman history, this is a good recap of things like how Lois found out Clark was Superman and how Jonathan Kent died.

More surprising is that I really like Superman. He's just a sincerely nice guy. Usually that would be too simple for me. Too good is just too...sickeningly good--but it works in these comics.

Still, I don't understand how people, particularly really smart fellows like Lex Luther, can't tell that Clark Kent is Superman. Maybe Clark Kent always has a mega bugger hanging out his nose so no one ever looks at him too closely. Maybe he smells like super farts so people avoid him? It just doesn't make any sense!

Well, I recommend the comics anyway.

For those that celebrate Thanksgiving, enjoy your Turkey Day. For those that do not, enjoy your freebie day off from work.

We'll be driving EIGHT HOURS to Georgia to spend a long weekend with the in-laws. I'm looking forward to the collard greens and not so much to the chitterlings. If I survive the deep south, without being strung up by my toes for blasphemy, I'll be back to posting next week.

Because I have no concept of privacy

By Autumn on November 24, 2009 9:43 AM | Talk to me | No TrackBacks

I'm the type of person that probably shares too much information for polite company. I think I do it partly to dare people to feel uncomfortable and partly because I don't think that maybe this person I've only met twice before doesn't want to hear about the killer hemroids I had after giving birth.

My personal belief is that life is too short to be uncomfortable with who you are and what you feel. Just shout it out and who really cares what someone else thinks of you? I mean, how much does that really matter?

This might be part of the reason I've been told I act like an old lady. I am blunt and just a bit senile.

What was that you said? Oh, I already told you three times before about my hemroids. So, sorry...but did you know I had mega hemroids after I gave birth to my son? Oh, yeah those bitches stung.

I think sharing too much information is typical of bloggers. Someone has to say it right? Someone has to talk about things a lot of people experience but are never really mentioned. Like.....

*drumroll*

HEMROIDS ON YOUR BUTT!

Now everyone who has hemroids can relate to me. I am someone who understands. We can form a hemroid support group, you know, if you'd like.

Sadly, hemroids are not the point of this post. The point is I have more to share with you that is none of your business but I wouldn't mind making it so.

Ready? Ready? Mom are you still reading?

Yes, my mom reads my blog and my sister and who knows who else that doesn't really want to hear about hemroids.

Hi, Mom! Hi, Angie!

Anyway, the reason for the post is that Jason threw away my birth control because I was far to cowardly to do so. I know, I know birth control wasted after I made this big to-to about using it all up.

Now, before you start flipping out, no we are not trying to get pregnant yet.

I DO NOT WANT TO GET PREGNANT YET!

But my birth control is giving me some issues and frankly, after being on it for most of 5 or 6 years (minus pregnancy time), I am sick of it. Still, you try taking birth control at 8:00 for two years straight and see how it feels when you don't. It feels incredibly wrong. It feels like I put up a neon sign that points to my uterus (and blinks). The signs says, "Baby goes here, sperm. Just in case you didn't know that. THE FLOOD GATES ARE OPEN!"

Then I image a gold rush mob of chromosomes racing for my poor ovum. And even though that naughty ovum wants nothing more than to meet its chromosomal soul mate, it is terrified. This is a stampede! Run, ovum! RUN BACK FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!

I know tons and tons of people use the old fashioned birth control method and don't get pregnant for years upon years. I mean, it can be up to 96% effective which is only about 4.9% less effective than birth control. So all I really did was increase my chances of pregnancy by about 4.9%. Not bad, right?

When confronted with a higher chance of pregnancy, I begin to doubt I want another child at all. I think I learned my lesson the first time, thanks. Any romanticism that existed before River's conception has vanished with the memories of hot waves of vomit, the constant urge to pee, and the sensation of stitches in my vagina.

But if it happens, it happens. We will just be avoiding it to the best of our abilities without the fallback of artificial hormones in my system. The only reason the birth control is gone at all is because pregnancy has become the lesser of two evils. I am okay with the thought of another child because I think the minimum age gap, were I to get pregnant right now, RIGHT THIS INSTANCE, would be right for our family. I'd prefer to have the age gap increase to 3 1/3 years between them so we have even more time with just River and more time to add to our currently non existent saving and to pay off our debt. Probably the more financially responsible parenting choice, wouldn't you say?

And after number two, if we think we are done (Jason can already tell you with great confidence that there is NO WAY IN HELL HE IS FATHERING A THIRD CHILD) he is willing to have a vasectomy. Or, if we'd like to keep our options open and his balls unscathed, I would like to get a hormone free IUD. I see no point is doing that now since IUDs tend to be more expensive than birth control and last for a good five years. I'm pretty sure I'd like a second child long before that thing had to come out.

But hopefully, I will never have to deal with artificial hormones again!

Some signs you might read too much

By Autumn on November 23, 2009 4:18 PM | Talk to me | No TrackBacks

...if that is even possible!

When I was a teenager, circa 16 or 17, I was working at a camp. When I was describing the ~~uncomfortable cot~~ bed to another friend I said they were a bit too "firm". She went off on a crazy rant, complete with flailing hands, about why in the world I could not use normal words. "No one says, firm", she bellowed. "They say, hard!"

Sometimes the common words aren't the first ones that pop into my head. I also have a problem of mispronouncing words that I have only ever read and never heard a loud.

The curses of a love affair with literature! Be damned!

Other examples are my insistance of using of the word "fair" to describe someone who is pale and blond. I mean, who does that...really?

The other day when something was in my way I said, "It's impeding me!"

I love words. Love them. I mean, some words just describe better than any other word out there. What can you use to describe someone being nonchalant, better than the word nonchalant? (One of my favorite words ever,ever). The word nonchalant summons the image of a rackish, slightly mused gentlemen lounging in a chair, smirking with confidence and an air of NONCHALANCE.

Susurrus is the very first word that comes to mind when I think of the sound bugs and frogs make at night time or the sounds of leaves moving in a breeze. What other word describes those sounds better?

Oooo, or what about the word vapid, or viscous, or volumtious? Just to name a few "v" words that roll of the tongue. Words are like delightful chocolates. Divine! Delicious! Delectable!

Except, dropping strange words is somewhat...well strange. On a ghost tour, which Heather treated me too a couple weekends past, every one shouted out "brothels" and instead I bellowed, "BORDELOS". When I complained to my husband that they are the same damn thing and both start with a "B" he said, "Yeah, Bordello makes sense, if you are in Spain!"

Sorry, it was the first "B" word for a whore house that popped into my head! Why do I have more than one jostling around in my noggin? One would do rather well.

When trying to explain the color of my son's hair, I said, "russet". Who says russet in common speach?

Seriously, books have corrupted my vocabulary.

Feline Friday: the suburban fox

By Autumn on November 20, 2009 8:02 AM | Talk to me | No TrackBacks

Just a couple weeks ago I was telling Jason I have never seen a living fox and I have always wanted to. Not only are foxes so very foxy in mythology and fairy tales, but they are just gorgeous looking creatures. Sorta like someone found a way to combine a cat and a dog--which would just be the perfect dog for me.

On Sunday I was by myself for a rare moment during a quick trip to the closest grocery store. I was driving along enjoying the open window and the tank top I had on in mid-November. Very aware that the natives do not think this was tank top weather and that my armpits were a bit spiky. To hell with it, I thought with a scowl, I'm just going to pick up a few things for dinner.

Then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye and I pulled over because a fox was attempting to cross the street. At the same time that I was marveling over seeing a fox, a real live red fox with a bushy fox tail, I was terrified that I would see this lovely creature smooshed by an oncomming vechile. I started honking at it and you know what it did?

It turned those glorious amber eyes at me,very cat like, and watched me waving my hands in the car going, "Don't cross the street, pretty fox! There are too many cars!"

The fox trotted back into the yard it came from and began to sniff at a pile of leaves. Then it squatted and took a piss--its back turned towards me just to let me know how untreatening it thought I was.

As the fox did its business, I sat wishing I had my camera when all of a sudden I remembered I did have it because we went to the zoo that morning! I quickly snapped a couple photos and began squealing again because it looked like the fox meant to cross the street and there were more cars coming!

Nonchalantly, completely at ease--the fox trotted down the sidewalk and off on other adventures. I continued on my way still, entranced by my unexpected neighbor (which was btw, a whole hell of a lit bigger than I thought a fox would be!)

The child that looks like no one in particular

By Autumn on November 19, 2009 10:58 AM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

Some people say River looks a lot like Jason. In fact, most recently, the majority of people are saying that. I still think he looks a lot like my side of the family too. We think River is the perfect 50/50 combo of his parents.

What do you think?

You can not deny this child inherited my eyes.

Wednesday: read Strangers in Paradise

By Autumn on November 18, 2009 8:01 AM | Talk to me | No TrackBacks

Heather leant me these interesting graphic novels. I have read up to volume five. I love looking at the high wasted jeans and button up belly shirts that the women wore in the mid 90's. How about those fold down socks with the frills? Looked steller when worn with a pair of Keds. Takes be back to when I thought that fashion was cool and now know, it was very much not.

The books are a drama about two friends and their expences with love. I'm not sure why they are so addicting. There are a lot of silly, hilarious moments--most of which involve nudity. The women are "real" women. By this I mean women with curves--not the muscled, busty, narrow wasited women you usually see in graphic art. In fact, the women are so real I was sure Terry Moore must be female. But turns out he is just a man that probably did a very good job of attracting female readers to a genre that is predominantly male.

I'm loving me some comic books lately and I think it is because they are so easy to read through and don't take much commitment on my part. I can also read them along with a novel. Great for the ten minute intervals of free time I get when River is distracted.

Fudging it

By Autumn on November 17, 2009 9:54 AM | 2 Comments | No TrackBacks

We gave River his birthday present three weeks early.

Yes, we did.

A lot of the pieces are not here on the table. We simpfied it for him because it was too busy for him at this point.

Why? For any number of reasons but mainly because he's ~~two~~ almost two and we can get away with bending the rules a bit. I can remember those laundromat days when a fussy child was hanging off my chest in a Baby Bjorn while I folded doll sized pants, sleepers, and breast milk stained onsies. I'd use my free moments while the clothes were washing or drying to flip through an anicent stack of Parenting magazines. One article was about birthday parties and how parents would be better off keeping them simple for the first few years when the kids don't know what they are missing. Use the money you'd spend on a birthday party to go out for a romantic dinner with your husband, it suggested. Why spend money on a little person who finds joy in playing with a cardboard box? Just give them a cardboard box for their birthday!

Well, we Canter Burtons are willing to fudge the rules just a bit. Instead of spending the money on a party, how about we just buy him the coolest toy out there?

So on Friday I was surfing the web looking for gift ideas for River. I've been wanting to buy him a train table, but those mother fuckers are expensive. We were going to get one on Craigslist but that fell through. So there I am surfing and I see a train table on sale, that includes a warrenty that comes with 100 pieces of stuff to use upon the table. Then a nosey toddler comes over and sees what I see and starts yelling, "Choo Choo Train! Choo Choo Train!". I play the little video that goes over how freak'in cool this train table is. River demands I play it all of six times and only stops because I pull him kicking and screaming away from the computer and put him down for a nap.

I call Jason and tell him how much River liked looking at this toy. Jason says, "I can go get it today and bring it home."

We argue over waiting till it is closer to X-mas, but we're traveling to NY and a train table can not travel with us. But we already bought him birthday gifts! Well, let's swap the birthday gifts and make them X-mas gifts and then give him the train table for his birthday. But his birthday is not for three weeks. Who cares? He doesn't know. He'll get presents from other people that day and besides we'll be having his birthday party in GA two weeks before his actual birthday anyway. Hey, but we can still wait till his birthday. But this table will be too big to hide! Oh, alright--fine then. We give him the bike from his grandma and Kevin and this on the same day and he won't want to go to the museum at all (our planned family field trip for his actual special day).

So half a day ~~and more money than we should have spent~~ later--River has a train table that we spent all evening putting together. Everyday since then he has woken up and run out to his train table.

100_1054 - Copy.JPG And we, his crazy parents, still do not have a bookshelf.

Male vs female friends

By Autumn on November 16, 2009 7:19 AM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

I have never had a close male friend. You know, one I would call up to hang out with or cry my eyes out to, or crash on his couch overnight. In fact, since I was very young my friends have been almost entirely female.

Not to say I didn't play with boys. My brother is just shy of two years younger than me. So I often played with his friends when they were around, just like--for a time--he often played with mine. Still, they were my brother's friends first.

For most of my childhood our games were a melding of "boy" and "girl" pastimes. Dolls, of course, were far too feminine a pursuit so my brother and I played "house" with stuffed animals instead. I could be convinced, rather easily, to play with cars and trucks. In fact, I preferred the boy happy meals at McDonald's over the girl toys available. As we aged, I can recall reading my brother his comic books--most distinctly, the *gasp* death of Superman!

I even went through a brief wrestling addiction. Go, Hulk Hogan!

At one point we lived in an apartment house filled with children. I ran with packs of neighborhood boys along with my brother. We played manhunt in the woods with plastic guns. So to say I have been a "girly-girl" is grossly inaccurate.

I never wore makeup and rarely a dress or heels. I didn't care very much for my appearance or pop culture. I had little interest in boys and no experiences with dating. My husband, still to this day, calls me a tomboy.

Regaurdless of this, I never have had a close male friend until my husband. I strongly prefer the company of women, feel most comfortable with women, and most "at home" with women. Whenever I am in a group of women, I feel like that is how life is supposed to be. That we are supposed to be together raising our children in an estrogen crazed herd of females.

There was a point in college when I was so sick of living with females and dealing with our passive aggressive, moody emotions that I told a friend of mine I think I preferred the company of men. Men were simple. Men were upfront. Men made sense. She scoffed at me and told me I had to "grow up some to realize that what I said wasn't true. (about myself, not about men)" She was right. I did. I grew up and realized that though women are frustrating and confusing and say one thing but mean another, feel one thing and the opposite all at one time, love you to pieces and want to beat you to death--that they are ultimately more fulfilling in the long run.

Women are about connections, forming knots between each other, sharing experiences, finding common ground, sharing, giving, bonding. It almost feels like women are more capable of deep and lasting love. I trust women to "give a shit"--sincerely.

Generally, with men, I feel like relationships glide on the surface--jokes, bantering, mockery, action. I am an emotional person. I want more from people. I want to dig into their brains and figure out how they work. Most guys don't seem to care for late night confessions, for swapping stories over a tub of ice cream, for soothing each other.

In my one, lone feminist college course we discussed how women and men have different ways of conversing. That, historically, a female style of conversation has been dismissed as inferior. (This class made me hate men for awhile, no lie.)

Let's just say, while I can understand the male language, I function far better speaking to a woman in our way. This includes things like offering instead of sharing a want so the other person feels included, asking questions to make sure the other person had their chance to share, connecting the other person's stories into my own experiences so she sees we have common ground and I can understand, or interjecting agreement noises into conversations to let her know I am listening. Women do not speak competitively. In fact, I am always insulted when a man replies with some flippant comment to something I feel strongly about. My husband is a master of this (I have since learned not to take things so personally).

You see, generally, males are taught to dominate conversation. Females have been taught to open conversation--to take a more passive role. Let's just say I've mastered the female conversation style.

Now, I'm not trying to offend any men out there. I share my life with a wonderful man and I've met a few others here and there that I've clicked with. If I talk to you and you are a man, you must be a special one!

If I had a best male friend, it would have to be the unique snowflake that is my best friend's partner, Trodayne. I adore Trodayne. He's one of the few, the very rare, men out there that I feel close to.

I have a theory that men who prefer female friends/females that prefer male friends are more gender natural. That they are people who share more aspects of the opposite sex in the way they think and function.

I'm just not one of those people.

So though I might be a stranger to high heels, eye shadow, hair dryers, and leopard print underwear--I have a distinctly female brain. Femininity is more than skin deep. Gender is more than black and white.

What sex do you prefer to befriend?

Feline Friday: anything can be a bed

By Autumn on November 13, 2009 7:42 AM | Talk to me | No TrackBacks

I caught Brody sleeping beneath River's rocking thingy. Usually it would be called a rocking horse, but Ikea had something against the real. So instead, River has a rocking sliver? A rocking lower lip? A rocking blood red crescent moon? Whatever it is, cats like to sleep beneath it regaurdless of the fact that it can be potentially dangerous to limbs and tails.

Being thankful

By Autumn on November 12, 2009 7:45 AM | Talk to me | No TrackBacks

truck'in on together since 2001

I sometimes hear others complain about the fact that they live close to their parents or their spouse's parents. I'm sure it can be annoying. Distance does provide some buffer to meddling and drama. No one can deny their tends to be a lot of crazy family drama happening on my end and every time River throws a mega tantrum I imagine the genetics from my southern father and my Italian mother are sending off red, crazy sparks through his DNA that even Jason's contribution of an even-temper can't contain. When it comes to River, I'm afraid not only did my pasty white skin win out, but so did a large portion of my family's rather passionate personality.

Even if family can be intense, they are family. I don't think I understood the true value of this until age, time and finally parenthood changed me. I think life is all the harder being further from family. We are not close to anyone. Eight hours from Jason's mother and brothers and four-five from my immediant family and mother's side of my extended family. My father's family lives about another eight hours away in Kentucky.

When I hear about grandparents taking their grandkids for the mornings or for an evening so mom and dad can go to see a movie, I can't relate. Not even slightly. That isn't our life. We don't have anyone but each other and a few blessed friends to help us raise our son on a more intimate basis.

Yes, it is a shame.

But my response?

That's life.

We don't always choose where we end up and I've learned that life is a heiracry where you do have to put other's needs over the wants of people you care for. We moved here because Jason was offered the chance to have a better paying job with benefits and opportunities we would not have had otherwise at the time. Which means he can better provide for his family--his son. I like the area to, I do. But this is not what I imagined in life.

When I was growing up, I didn't often see my extended family on my mother's side and hardly, at all, ever saw anyone from my father's side. I didn't feel close to either side and I think that is a shame. I felt very alone and alienated in a household that was more so at each other's throats than working together peacefully. I could have used more family to lean on. When you don't have family, what do you have? Friends too young to guide you?

I don't want to alienate my son in the same way. I really hate how fragmented the family unit is in modern society. This fragmentation is, sadly, the norm for most people. I realize that to overcome distance it is going to take a lot of time and effort on my part. That I'm going to have to push for River spending parts of his summers with his grandparents and extended visits as long a possible no matter what it takes.

I understand what it is like not to have a close ties to family. People forget I have an older sister. My friend is always blinking when I mention her. "I always forget you have a sister", she explains each time. "It sounds weird when you say it." Isn't that a shame? That distance and money have taken a sister away from me? I mean, I would have loved to have her with me as I was growing up. I could have used her wisdom to help me through a lot of difficult times.

Now here I am in the same situation as my parents only more so, because the distance is even further. Jason and I do what we can. He works extra hours to get the credit hours for us to travel to see family. A lot of extra money, that could be used for any number of things (new boots for Jason!) is used for traveling. As the years pass, money won't be such an issue--thankfully.

We try to be fair. Thanksgiving with his family and Christmas with mine. I spent a whole week in New York for my mother's birthday because I was able to bum a ride with Heather one way. I would love to be able to spend even more time in New York or to have any funds left over to make the long-put-off trip to Kentucky where I am practically a stranger amongst strangers (and I know it saddens my father to think on that more so than it can ever sadden me).

I want to be fair to everyone. I want everyone to be loved and wanted and know we care, but often people are pushed aside for the needs of others. My best friend because I have obligations to family, even though I love her as dearly as family. My father because he doesn't have a comfortable place that River and I can stay with him at. My sister and my father's family, because there is no money left over after all our traveling to see others.

Don't I wish it were otherwise.

At times I feel like a scarecrow pulled close to unraveling by the needs of so many people because I want to be with all of them. Not complaining. I mean, that's okay. But wishes and wants are as substantial as air. Reality is a stone. You can bemoan it and pout or you can embrace what small graces you are given.

I try to be selfless. I try to be generous and true. I can't do more than try. Not to say I never have my selfish moments. I'm not a robot or a saint. I'm always the slightest bit saddened and hurt each time my father says he'll come down and visit and then doesn't--even though I expect he never will. I don't take it personally. That's my father. I know he cares. When people say it's the thought that counts, sometimes it really is true.

Life is too short to flail at it in anger. To think of yourself and your own small hurts. I share this life with so many wonderful people and because I love them, because I understand some of the why and the hows of why they do the things they do, I accept it.

Do you wish we could see you every day? Do you love us regaurdless? Do you love us over miles and sunrises and dreams and events we won't know about and can't be a part of? If you said yes, you've blessed us with the most wonderful gift. We wish we could see you too.

Do I wish our circumstances were otherwise? Oh, yes even though I think wishing is so silly. I accept that life is as it is. That I can celebrate and be thankful for what I do have. I am thankful.

But wouldn't it be heavenly to walk down the street for a family dinner every Thursday night?

It would be.

But you know what is even better, loving without reservation. Love without guilt, with support, with understanding. Understand, we miss you all just as much as you miss us.

Over the next few years, as money allows, I promise to make these trips. I have to take advantage of the time River and I have to do this while we can (before he starts school).

I don't care about a new pair of shoes or a second car, nearly as much as I care about all of you.

Wednesday: read Empress

By Autumn on November 11, 2009 7:47 AM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

This book is the first book in a trilogy. I am currently about halfway through the final book. I picked up Miller years ago when we had a bit of extra money and I was looking for new fantasy authors to buy. I read her earlier books and liked them, but wasn't awed. These books though have risen up there with my fantasy favorites like Robert Jordon, Brandon Sanderson, Robin Hobb, George R.R. Martin and Jacqueline Carey.

If I have to compare her writing as being more like one of those fab authors over the others, I'd choose Robin Hobb. Mainly because like Robin Hobb, Miller does a amazing job of making well rounded, likable characters. The characters make realistic choices, are swayed by their emotions, and have flaws that you can understand. I have to say that the princess in these novels is by far the most bad ass female character I have read about who doesn't have any magical talents or super powers. She's just horribly stubborn, determined and arrogant. A perfect foil to the villain of the books who you see glaring on the cover up there.

What can I say? These books are well thought out and written. I find myself plowing through chapter after chapter and totally neglecting my writing to continue reading more and more. I have cried and cheered and had an aching back from reading.

Get them. Get them and enjoy!

I admit it, i have a babysitter phobia

By Autumn on November 10, 2009 3:30 PM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

This post is inspired by this episode of momversation dealing with babysitters.

How young is too young? How do you find your sitters? How old was your child when you first left him/her/them with a babysitter? How much do you pay? How long do you remain gone?

These are all common questions for someone who has never hired a babysitter, sure. Except when I hear baby and sitter squashed together into one word I want to snuggle my son to my chest and run away.

I have a horrible fear of leaving River with a babysitter.

Which doesn't make too much sense because I babysat rather young and rather often, around the ages of 13-15, for quite a long amount of time in some cases. Or maybe that does have something to do with it. I realize how little I knew, how young I was, and how much of a child myself. To imagine child me watching River... it makes me start to hyperventilate. I feel like I was lucky not to have been inadvertently responsible for the sudden deaths of several children. Not to say I was a bad babysitter. I didn't swing children around in blankets, release said blanket and kill a child. But I knew so very little. I didn't understand the vast responsibility that was put into my hands because I didn't really understand how precious children are to their parents.

Mainly, looking back, I didn't know what the hell I was doing! There was one family I babysat for where I would watch the children from noon to around midnight. I'd have to cook them dinner and give them baths. I remember my first diaper changing experience when I didn't do such a hot job wiping someone's ass for the first time in my life. Well, that particular two year old went to take a bath, sat down in the bottom of the tub and left a streak of crap along the bottom that had me shrieking and him cackling wildly in amusement, screaming "Poopy! Poopy! Poopy!".

But perhaps the most traumatizing babysitting experience involved a marble notebook left on a kitchen table that I opened, read the first page and learned something that was none of my business. I learned that the mother of the children I was watching had been molested by her own father. A father whose house I would sometimes stay at with the kids and take them swimming. He would haunt the edges of the yard staring at his granddaughter and me. Maybe it was a blessing that I'd read the first page of that journal. Enough so that I could glare at him, know what to look for, make sure those children and myself where never alone in a room with him. But what would happen when I wasn't there? The thought still makes my stomach churn.

Would my response have been the same if this all happened now and not when I was thirteen? Hell,yes! But I was thirteen. I was a child myself. I was more guilty about reading the first page of that journal than any fear of what kind of man their grandfather might still be. I hesitated to even share this memory. It's one I'd rather have forgotten.

I'm not saying I don't trust anyone. Not at all. There are numerous people we've met with children of their own, that I'd trust to watch River and that have offered to do so. Then it comes down to my fear of his separation anxiety. That he won't understand where mommy went and why she left. I don't think I'd enjoy myself worrying if he was okay or crying for me inconsolably.

As he gets older, capable of speaking coherantly and knowing right from wrong, dangerous from safe--this will all change. I'll be able to explain what is going to happen and know he understands completely.

But for now, I just-can't-do-it!

Anyone else have this problem?

Month twenty three

By Autumn on November 9, 2009 1:33 PM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

Dear River,

This is it. This is the last month I will be able to say you are one. I can't believe two years have nearly passed since we met one another: you screaming and me sweat soaked and whimpering in pain. Not much has changed, huh? At least not on your end.

When you wake up in the mornings you hold entire conversations with me. Out of the nonstop, incomprehensible gibberish that falls out of your mouth, you sometimes take a frantic breath of air before continuing. Your wide eyes ask me for confirmation. Did I get it? Did I understand your two minute spiel with a word here or there I managed to understand?

"Wow," I tell you. "Is that so?"

I totally didn't get it. At some point your language skills surpassed my ability to keep up with them. Now you talk so fast, stammering and searching for words that it sounds like...complete nonsense.

Knowing that would really piss you off. Just know, I know YOU know what you mean. I just really don't get the whole bit about a ball on the ceiling that is going to fall down and hit your head or my head. Is that a recurring dream? Or do you suffer from a Chicken Little type complex?

Sometimes a clear sentence plops out. "Mommy's phone is ringing!" you yell or "Leaves fall off tree onto ground." It never stops amazing me. Your language grows daily, so quickly I can't keep up with the changes. When did you stop saying "wawa" and start saying "wader" instead? How the heck did you suddenly learn to count from 1-14? When did you start to sing "Ring Around the Rosie?" Everyday is a surprise, especially the long strings of "shit shit shit". That, my love, was your very first curse word. All because I slipped up for the first time and cursed in front of you. My bad!

There isn't much you don't understand. I don't "dumb down" my speech for you. I talk to you like anyone else. In fact, I suspect that sometimes my expectations for you are too high. Why will you only eat cheese and peaches? I mean, you understand that you like other foods. You understand that you will not get a cookie unless you try a bit of greenbeans. Why then are you kicking and screaming? It makes no sense!

I suppose that is the nature of the age? Defiance just for the sake of defiance. It takes a long time and lots of life experiance to even begin to comprehend how to be empathetic. I know I can't expect much from you yet, still it is my job to help you understand that you function in a world with others that have feelings. So it is not okay to take and you should share. That you don't push, you say excuse me. That dumping milk on the rug makes mommy angry because she has to clean it up, even if it might be fun for you. It is this conflict of our ages that causes disputes, but also what helps me learn from you and you learn for me. It is natural that you cry and I fume. Natural that you want and I deny. Natural that you learn the art of being a caring person as I learn to be patient and selfless with you.

All understanding aside though, why, why are you not letting me change your diaper without super human feats of strength (on my part) and buckets of tears (all yours)? If I didn't have a friend with a daughter nearly a year older than you, I'd be worried about this regression. I doubt you'll get laid, let alone have a date to prom, if you keep shitting in your pants--expecially if you just keep sitting in it. I have been assured that other children go through this phase as well.

Maybe Freud is right and you are in an anal stage. Are you possesive or your shit filled diaper? Is that it? You are afraid to have your disgusting poop taken away from you? Do you know how not pleasant it is to try to get dried crap off your balls? I'll make sure to mention that at a family meal when your friends are over, oh some thirteen or so years from now, if you continue to act like this.

I knew parenting would be hard. In that same way you know that doing a back hand spring is hard, even though those flat-chested-mega-muscled gymnasts make it look so easy. I didn't know that it was mostly hard because it is so mutable. When I finally feel like I figured it out, you throw a curb ball--growing up and all that--and I have to figure out how you work again.

This last week you have rebelled against anything I want or need you or do. I know you're not trying to drive me crazy and I know I always want to be kind and fair, but parenting is also a lot of being stern when I don't want to and playing up the "mean mommy" face. Maybe to protect you or because it is, ultimately, important that you know I'm the boss.

For example, I know it is funny to run away from me in the store, but I just know that greasy child molester is waiting for you by the canned tuna. So I have to scold you. I have to tell you, "This is your first warning." I have to let you do it three times and then I have to listen to you scream as I manipulate your stiff, writhing, enraged ass into the shopping cart because you wouldn't listen. And then, to make it all worse, I need to ignore your sobbing because misbehavior does not earn comfort. After a minute that stretchs into eternity when three new grey hair have sprouted on my head, I wipe you nose, your tear tracks, and look into your eyes. "Now stop crying and use your words."

You blubber.

"Would you like to get down and walk?"

"Yes!"

"Then you stay by mommy or I will put you back in the cart. Okay?"

"Yes"

You try. You do. Then your forget. You take off laughing and shrieking. Then we do it all over again so by the time I get home I feel like you have inserted a stick into my ear and stirred up my brains.

Still, I know despite our daily quarrels that you love me. Not only that you need me, but you love me. Of course the times of unselfish affection from you are few and far between. You give them to me like little unexpected gifts.

I was watching one of those horrible facebook videos about a toddler that was abused to death. I must have been making hurt noises and moaning in horror, because you came up onto my lap and hugged me--put you little cheek on my chest. I blinked. Wow, you really cared. Cared that I was sad.

Or when we got into the bathtub and I closed my eyes because my head hurt and you touched my face and said, "You okay?" I blinked my eyes opened and looked at you: at the wet slick of hair pushed to the side of your smooth forehead, the thick brows, the wide eyes. I saw myself in your little face. "Yes, I'm okay. My head just hurts." "Wash, Mommy," you told me and slapped your dripping washcloth onto my face (glasses still on). I laughed. You laughed. I realized you were learning how to be kind from me taking care of you. That you show love for others the same way I show love to you. It is those subtle moments that shape who you are and who you will be. I'm glad I can be the one to guide you down this part of your life. Let's keep doing this, me and you.

I love you. River, I love you.

Your,

Mommy

Feline Friday: Treat time!

By Autumn on November 6, 2009 8:19 AM | 2 Comments | No TrackBacks

Treats? Did you say TREATS?

Brody has never had a problem with eating right out our hands. Most cats don't like to do this. Babette did not understand that River was running towards her to give her a "cat cookie" and not to torment her.

Finally, hesitantly, she relented.

A boy and his cats on a Friday. Now we just can't wait for Daddy to get home form work!

Killer canker sores

By Autumn on November 5, 2009 9:49 AM | 4 Comments | No TrackBacks

Since I was around nine or ten, I've gotten canker sores. Don't know what they are, look here.

Another word for canker sores are"mouth ulcers" or "big mother f-ing pain in the mouth". My mouth is a mess of scars (lighter circles of flesh) from the many canker sores I have had.

I would consider myself a chronic canker sore sufferer. Some people get them once or twice a year. I get them every single month. Sometimes I have them most of a month and sometimes only a week out of the month. Sometimes I have one or two and sometimes I have an outbreak of 5-7 (yes, at one time).

My mother tried numerous remedies. Ice cubes with some kind of liquor, chewing black liquorish, vitamins, Lysine (a herbal supplement). Nothing worked. I've numbed my mouth with anbesol, used special toothpastes, and gargled with salt water. No results.

When I was a teen, my canker sores were at their worse. I can recall one slumber party where I had three monstrous ulcers on the inside of my lower lip. They formed a growing, connecting chain of pain. My lower lip was so swollen I put Angelina Jolie to shame. The only way I could talk or eat was using Kanka (by far the best numbing remedy out there) nearly constantly. I won't even mention the embarrassment of how much drool happens when I have bad canker sores. Yes, drooling like a toddler. Like having a conversation and spit leaking out over my swollen lower lip.

I had so many canker sores that you can look at family photos and tell when I had them by the twist of my mouth. I had friends comment, "You have canker sores again?" because I talked differently and winced when they were there.

I saw a Korean Doctor around that time and when I asked him to help with my canker sores he told me, "Oh, those from kissing boys!" and chided me with a smile. News flash doc, I wasn't kissing boys when I was ten. He insisted that I had "kissed boy." There was no arguing with him.

In college a dude across the hall also suffered from them. We were united in our pain. He suggested putting salt onto the wound and holding it there until it burned. This, he claimed, helped kill the sore. Frustrated with my pain, with the ache of my jaw from clenching in pain and the hot, thick drool in my mouth, I did it. Torrey, dude, you were crazy. I listened to you, I put salt directly onto a throbbing, open wound in my mouth and grunted through the burn. It took that damn hole two months to heal. I am never, ever listening to you again--where ever you are. I just won't listen. LA LA LA.

For all those people like the Korean Doctor who were afraid to swap spit with me over a shared lollypop, know canker sores are not a virus like fever sores. Canker sores are hereditary. My father had them but no longer gets them. Every year he tells me I should be growing out of them soon. Sure Dad...

Hopefully, this curse doesn't get passed on to River. They really are quite painful.

I get them all over my mouth. That wasn't always the case. Most canker sores usuaully occure on the insides of your lower lip or inner cheeks. I also get them on my gums, my tongue and my soft palette. If I bite or cut my mouth in anyway, any kind of mouth trama, will result in a canker sore. When my wisdom teeth came in, they broke ground into a large canker sore. I was never so happy to get more teeth. That part of my gum was forever being torn up and then growing a canker sore.

If I get sick, canker sores. Stress, canker sores. Hormones changes cause canker sores.

For awhile my husband worked in a dental office and like everyone else who took pity on me because of my mouth pain, he asked around about canker sores. He said, "I was told the only relief is pregnancy." I scoffed. I rolled my eyes.

But it was true.

I never had a canker sore while I was pregnant!

A month of so ago Jason got one of his bi annual canker sores. One tiny little canker sore. (If only my canker sores stayed so minuscule.) Oh, he whined and moaned and carried on about his infant sore. I told him to just talk through it. To just eat through it. Eventually the pain fades and you just function. If you baby the damn sore, it hurts more.

They've just become a part of my life. Something I've grown used to and mostly ignore. For those people out there who have chronic canker sores, I feel for you especially if you can't even look forward to getting knocked up to give you a vacation from the pain.

I've now read people tend to grow out of them around 40. That's something to look forward to!

Wednesday: read Fables

By Autumn on November 4, 2009 7:45 AM | Talk to me | No TrackBacks

When in my education classes during college I was fortunate to meet one of those angelic individuals that let off love vibes everywhere they go. Her name was Mrs. Moore and she was a generous, loving woman who had retired from teaching children to teaching future teachers. I could tell you many stories about Mrs. Moore. Let's just say she's the teacher that hugged me to her, kissed my cheek and told me she loved me and then thrust enough money into my fist so that I could attend my master's graduation ceremony--which I could not in anyway afford.

Once Mrs. Moore took us on a class trip to a local museum that was showing art about Santa Clause. One print showed a fire place with tiles across the front on the mantle. Each tile had a picture that was about a nursery rhythm. She lamented that so many children no longer knew the nursery rythms. That their repetition and rhythm were great for early literacy.

"I know them," I proclaimed, always somewhat of a teacher's pet. I pointed and recited. My "Ba Ba Blacksheeps" always coming out to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star because that is how my mother sang it to my brother and I. It wasn't till adulthood that I made the connection.

Mrs. Moore looked at me, her ready smile, her crinkling eyes and said that my mother gave me a wonderful gift.

Oh, and she did. One I try to pass on to my son my reciting nursery rhythms before he falls asleep.

What does this have to do with Fables? Why, its an adult graphic novel that brings nursery rhythms and fairy tales into the real world. The comic is about fairy tales/fables that fled from their magical world into our world, the mundane world to escape an evil creature and his army. Here in the real world the fables created a town in New York City and a system of goverment with rules and regulations to keep their true identy secrets. Fables are immortal and non human fables are resitricted to a farm in upstate New York.

It is not for children. I mean, Prince Charming treats women like crap. He's been divorced three times from Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella. The Big Bad Wolf has given up his evil ways, taken human form, and acts a sheriff for the fables. Jack Horner is a sometimes con artist and thief. It is a story that brings things from childhood into a new form.

It's very clever and I adore it. I laugh and titter and can't wait to read more. The photo above is of the fourth volume (the first volume I read). I am up to volume six now and waiting on the rest to come in to the library.

Below are photos taken in Storyville last week. These signs were up in the pretend grocery store. Let's keep those tradition fairy tales and nursery rhythms alive!

Speaking of nursery rhythms, I once wrote and published a story based on the little ditty below. I recited it often when the blackbirds came to roost beside our apartment in Oneonta. Oh, and the fights they had with the crows trying to take their eggs or hatchlings. The raucous!

Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye,

Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,

Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?

The king was in his counting house counting out his money,

The queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey

The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes,

When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose!

River's room make-over--part 1

By Autumn on November 3, 2009 9:50 AM | Talk to me | No TrackBacks

A sale on Olympic paint at Lowe's kicked off my decorating work before I planned to start. See, the rough plan was to start this project two or three evenings before River's birthday once he was in bed asleep. The great room reveal would happen on his second birthday with his gifts waiting for him in the center of the room.

Welcome to your big boy room. Now get out of ours. :) Oh, and by the way, Happy Birthday son!

Only there was a sale...on Olympic paint (one of the more expensive paints you can buy because it is VOC free. Meaning it doesn't make you ditzy/high when you paint with it and hardly has an odor). Once the paint was in hand, I couldn't NOT paint.

I am the type of person that barrels into projects like an enraged bull. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop doing it. I forget to eat. I work myself to blisters and sore muscles and sweat slicked skin. I must get it done!

I began painting on Saturday with a coat of primer to cover the ugly blue left up in River's room by previous tenants. I didn't even know blue could be ugly. I mean, it's blue. It's the least offensive color out there. Almost every shade of blue is lovely...except this one. It looked better with primer, splotched and splattered, than that blue.

I worked solo--one brush, one roller, one step ladder for my midgety legs. I think it took me two hours, maybe more and this was after shopping all morning solo with a toddler in tow. You think one is harder than the other? No, way. Both are a work out.

Olympic primer is watery. I had that paint all up and down my person: in my hair, on my glasses, dotted up and down my arms. My shopping experience at Target involved the following, "Still down on your bottom! You're going to fall our of the cart and get a big boo boo! Don't touch that! Come back here!" At least with the paint, I could focus on the task at hand.

Sunday I put up the actual paint. Now we ditched our idea to use a green grape color and go with something less jarring instead. Something that allows up to add a rainbow hue of colors into the room without it looking like a acid trip in there. So we, ironically, chose River Reed-- a soothing green color. Only, the woman at Lowes circled that choice, printed out the label for that choice, and thought she gave me my choice but she didn't. She gave me the color before that which was more like white with the merest tint of green thrown in. So the quirkiness of painting my son's room a color with his exact name--failed. Still, I like the mistake color a lot. A lot more than running back to Lowes, even though I was pretty sure I would not get lost again.

See, our GPS broke and somewhere in our moving process, I misplaced our brand spanking new 3 year warranty. So now we rely on Goggle Maps to get us around Baltimore. Which is good for my memory. I learn a lot more that way, but bad when Goggle Maps adds FOUR turns that do not exist to get me home. Not one, or two, or three but FOUR. FOUR TURNS that DO NOT need to be turned. Yeah, I figured it out eventually after multiple WRONG TURNS and some WASTED GAS.

Let's just get to the point of this entire post before I ramble you into a nose bleed.

So you see? Do you see what I did all by myself? This is River's reading corner. I have to order a sling bookshelf for the wall under the window. It you haven't seen one. It looks like this:

I'll be putting his weekly library books in here for easy access and viewing.

New purchases include, the curtains, the toy chest, and the three cloth bins to hold his cardboard books. All brought to you by Target and my husband's hard earned money.

As River would say, "Tada!"

Here it is as a close up. I am proud to say he has pulled books off this shelf, ploped down in the bean bag chair as intended and "read".

This is River's writing corner when one day I trust him to only write on paper and not on the walls, furniture and his own face.

Toy shelf! Because we are poor as hell do not have limitless spending money, I gave River our two bookselves. One was picked off a lawn when college got out and the students left their furniture behind. The other was mine when I still lived with my mother.

It took many trips to haul all the books off these shelves and into my office. We have plans, when funds allow, to build a huge entire wall bookshelf for our books. For now, they are homeless and weeping on the floor.

See that empty corner? River's bed will go there. His converted crib to toddler bed until we get around to buying a mattress for the twin bed frame my mother has waiting for us to take up in New York.

Oh, and those face plates. Yes, the other tenants were lazy a-holes who painted over all the faceplates causing all but one of the electrical sockets to not work. We didn't not get around to buying new face plates yet, so these will have to remain until we do.

The only other things this room needs is a stuffed animal holder (Getting ours from Ikea for $4.99) and some art on the walls. A slow process but I took care of a great deal of it this weekend!

Our Halloween

By Autumn on November 2, 2009 9:47 AM | 3 Comments | No TrackBacks

We didn't get around to pumpkin carving until All Hallows Eve. Glad it worked out that way because Heather was there to help and enjoy River's first pumpkin carving experience. It really didn't take him all that long to warm up to the idea. Still, he never really enjoyed putting his hand in the pumpkin. Putting pumpkin on himself though, whole-nother-story.

We've been reading books and talking about Halloween for quite awhile now. I was not sure how much he understood about what was going to take place. It turned out, he understood a lot more than I expected. He knew why he was getting his costume on and he knew what we were going to do.

Monkey discovers himself in mirror

I am proud to say he said Trick or Treat at each house, though not loudly. He did not try to eat his candy, but put it into his bucket. He was also fine with the pick out one candy to eat and when we arrived home.

Monkey is ready to score some candy

Monkey's slave puts on his shoes

I was actually nervous to go out and be the parent in this situation. It was different when I was a kid and selfishly unaware of how odd it was to knock on someone's door and demand candy. In Oneonta, Halloween involved a parade and a downtown. Here? I had no idea. Only a couple houses had any sort of decorations and the local streets were void of human life, witches, zombies, devils,or popular cartoon characters. A few generous individuals, all with thick accents, had candy for our toddler. This was enough for us and a one (nearly two year old). Expecially because it began to rain.

Still I had one of those moments of--how did I get here: a mother living in suburbia where more people speak Russian as their first language than English and their homes have alarm systems? What happened to the small town and the small town girl?

Also, how did he change this much in a year?

The weirdest part of Halloween was the heat. It was so warm. Like T-shirt weather. Poor River was sweating inside his suit and wanting to take it off. When I bought his costume I was thinking of how warm he would be inside it, not that I'd have to put him in it without pants just to make it bearable! What a change. Halloween and there are still some leaves on the trees.

I wonder what next year will bring!

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