I wait patiently for someone to back out of a parking space in a small lot. Helps us both, I stop traffic for her and she provides me with a spot. As she clears the space, enter that familiar villain into the parking lot. Lady driving alone in a monster Suburban, cell phone glued to ear. She quickly sizes up the situation and hits the gas, aggressively rocketing part way into the parking space and stopping. The woman backing out, instead of pulling forward and out of the lot, now must back up in a tight space to have the room to leave and give Little Miss Entitlement room to pull the rest of the way in. I either have to wait for another spot to open up or walk across a busy through way with two small children.
The vanity plate on the Suburban: 4JESUS.
I am about to merge into the circular on/off ramp from the highway, and a truck comes around on the on ramp part. Seeing me with my turn signal on, he ignores the huge space behind me and guns the engine in order to pull out onto the highway in front of me. He barely makes it, even though I see his aggressive bordering on crazy driving and do my best to keep out of his way.
His tailgate is festooned with a school of fish. Yeah, those fish.
Aggressive, nasty, rude, and careless drivers abound in these parts. But if something makes you stick out, if your car is unique in some way, your rudeness will be noted and remembered long after. Super expensive car? People will comment you must think you own the road too. Beater car? People will assume your lack of finances indicate a lack in other areas. When you stand out, your actions, particularly the negative ones, speak more loudly still. And people will attribute the bad behavior to whatever it is you are already standing out for.
Come on folks. When you do these things, you give Christians a bad name. Sanctimonious jerks talking the talk (loudly) but not walking the walk. Why should anyone believe your Sunday if you aren't living it Monday through Saturday? So do us a favor and at least PRETEND to care about your fellow drivers here.
Or take that stuff off your car.
26 April 2007
17 April 2007
What a Bunch of Clowns
You know, I am trying HARD not to just let loose here. So I'm going to be brief. It seems that Ronald McDonald House in Houston, TX has asked a mom to nurse her baby in her room. Her sick baby. Her baby that is recovering from BRAIN SURGERY. Up three flights of stairs. Every. Time. He. Needs. To. Nurse. Or else she can find somewhere else to stay. Ever had a sick nursling? Do you have any idea how many times they need to nurse? Egads.
I am too saddened by all this to even be coherent on the subject. And plenty of folks have already said it better. So go check out The Lactivist for the skinny on the current situation, and The Reluctant Lactivist for some detailed info on what YOU can do about this, including a great sample letter in the comments section.
Then write a letter or three.
I am too saddened by all this to even be coherent on the subject. And plenty of folks have already said it better. So go check out The Lactivist for the skinny on the current situation, and The Reluctant Lactivist for some detailed info on what YOU can do about this, including a great sample letter in the comments section.
Then write a letter or three.
28 February 2007
Food Poisoning
No, not that kind. The allergic-to-this-or-that food kind. Now, food allergies have always been a part of this family. Everyone has something. But they were all minor and avoidable thing, like oranges or cashews. Nothing that encroached on everyday life.
And then came E-Baby. Milk. Maybe Eggs. Who knows what else. All delivered to him through my milk. In the process of figuring this out, I have eliminated a bunch of things from my diet: Wheat, soy, corn, eggs, dairy, shellfish, peanuts, tree nuts, oranges. He finally seemed to clear up completely after about 4 weeks. Testing has NOT gone well. I tested eggs first, thinking that was not it. Well, I think now I was wrong. Poor boy is just clearing his system a week later.
What causes food allergies? Is better medical care preventing children that would have died from this in the past alive? Is our increasingly poisoned earth making our bodies more reactive to everything? Is the practice of feeding the majority of (American) infants with artificial baby milk making us sick? Is it vaccines, antibiotics, sedentary lifestyles? Or has this always been, and we are just now at a point in human history that we can stop asking 'how much food' and we can start asking 'which food'?
We are testing wheat this weekend. Wish me luck. DH is Catholic...
And then came E-Baby. Milk. Maybe Eggs. Who knows what else. All delivered to him through my milk. In the process of figuring this out, I have eliminated a bunch of things from my diet: Wheat, soy, corn, eggs, dairy, shellfish, peanuts, tree nuts, oranges. He finally seemed to clear up completely after about 4 weeks. Testing has NOT gone well. I tested eggs first, thinking that was not it. Well, I think now I was wrong. Poor boy is just clearing his system a week later.
What causes food allergies? Is better medical care preventing children that would have died from this in the past alive? Is our increasingly poisoned earth making our bodies more reactive to everything? Is the practice of feeding the majority of (American) infants with artificial baby milk making us sick? Is it vaccines, antibiotics, sedentary lifestyles? Or has this always been, and we are just now at a point in human history that we can stop asking 'how much food' and we can start asking 'which food'?
We are testing wheat this weekend. Wish me luck. DH is Catholic...
24 February 2007
ICK, Breastmilk!
Okay, so does anyone have a shovel? Because, you see, I need something to scrape my jaw back off the floor. Seems that in Columbus, Ohio, the Buckeyes are not the only complete NUTS.
If you are a breastfeeding Mom looking for day care in Ohio, don't bother looking at City Kids. Your milk is not welcome. Biohazard, don't you know. I mean, they will take it, grudgingly, if you pay an extra 50 bucks a week. Unless they are not taking it at all. I guess it depends on the month.
Good heavens, I wonder what they would have thought of me. H-3 , with her many suspected food allergies, took my milk to day care with her until 16 months of age when we moved and I decided to stay home. I nursed her nearly every day at lunch too. I had asked if nursing or bringing breastmilk would be a problem after a year. They said no problem, several children had brought breastmilk with them past infancy. At least one had continued until he left the center to attend kindergarten.
Read the full story over on The Lactivist. I am going to go nurse a baby and put a band aid on my chin...
If you are a breastfeeding Mom looking for day care in Ohio, don't bother looking at City Kids. Your milk is not welcome. Biohazard, don't you know. I mean, they will take it, grudgingly, if you pay an extra 50 bucks a week. Unless they are not taking it at all. I guess it depends on the month.
Good heavens, I wonder what they would have thought of me. H-3 , with her many suspected food allergies, took my milk to day care with her until 16 months of age when we moved and I decided to stay home. I nursed her nearly every day at lunch too. I had asked if nursing or bringing breastmilk would be a problem after a year. They said no problem, several children had brought breastmilk with them past infancy. At least one had continued until he left the center to attend kindergarten.
Read the full story over on The Lactivist. I am going to go nurse a baby and put a band aid on my chin...
15 January 2007
Longing
Parenthood and I introduced ourselves to each other when I was in my early thirties. I was never in a hurry. I went to college, married, did more college, worked. J and always wanted kids, but felt maturity and experience would make us better parents. We were right about that, by the way. We were always comfortable with the number two. It is what we know. It is what we feel is responsible, both personally and in the sense of passing on this world to future generations. H-2 and E-baby, so we are done.
And I long for more.
I want to make love knowing. I want that stick to turn color. I want the happy tears stinging my eyes the first time I hear the heart beat. I want a toddler nursing, or not, around my ever expanding middle. I want evenings spent picking two names. I want my husband's and my eyes locking and have us both feel, KNOW, that this is the day. I want that beautiful, tiny creation sliding into the world and onto my belly. I want the dance that is nursing with a new partner, perhaps this time with the old partner still taking turns on the floor. It calls me, powerfully.
How many would be enough? Will I every stop longing?
And I long for more.
I want to make love knowing. I want that stick to turn color. I want the happy tears stinging my eyes the first time I hear the heart beat. I want a toddler nursing, or not, around my ever expanding middle. I want evenings spent picking two names. I want my husband's and my eyes locking and have us both feel, KNOW, that this is the day. I want that beautiful, tiny creation sliding into the world and onto my belly. I want the dance that is nursing with a new partner, perhaps this time with the old partner still taking turns on the floor. It calls me, powerfully.
How many would be enough? Will I every stop longing?
21 December 2006
And I am a Lutheran...
I found a link to this neat quiz over at Random Musings:
Ironically, Rebecca tested out as mostly Lutheran. :)
You scored as Calvin. You are John Calvin. You have a Nestorian Christology and separate the Divinity and Humanity of Jesus. You believe only those who have faith are united to Christ, who is present spiritually, yet you call this "Real."
Eucharistic theology created with QuizFarm.com |
Ironically, Rebecca tested out as mostly Lutheran. :)
14 December 2006
Does Nestle Own an Airline?
There has been some news lately about air travel and breastfeeding.
Most of you have probably heard about the woman kicked off an airplane for nursing her young toddler. Apparently we are in such a state these days that offending the oh-so-delicate sensibilities of some uptight stewardess is now considered a threat to national security. After a huge uproar, it was disclosed that the rest of the crew had tried to talk some sense into said stewardess, and that she had been 'reprimanded', whatever that means.
And of course there is the dilemma of pumping Moms. For a variety of reasons, many Moms pump milk. Well, now that some nutcases hatched an ill-conceived and nearly impossible plan to use liquids to blow up a plane, you can kiss your breastmilk goodbye. Literally. Unless you have a baby with you, which in most cases would mean you did not need to pump, you will be asked to toss your liquid gold into the trash before boarding the plane. Yes, you can check it. But if you have been away from baby for a day or two, that is a whole lot of milk for the airline to misplace with the other baggage.
And checking the milk bags may not be an option in airports that require a trip through security when changing planes under certain circumstances. So all that milk you pumped on your 18 hour flight before changing planes? Trash it dear, would not want to risk national security. Quite a few chemists, you know, the people who actually know this stuff, have come out to say it would be virtually impossible to damage a plane using liquids. But since when has reality dictated airport security procedures.
And don't get me started on trying to get a flight attendant to provide enough water to keep a nursing mom hydrated on a long flight. I am surprised the airlines have not started charging for beverages. A recent change now allows you to bring a water bottle purchased at an overpriced concourse shop onto the plane. Oh yeehaw.
Hey, but we are keeping the terrorists at bay, since their goal is to so disrupt our way of living that we forgo our values and liberties. Oh wait...
Most of you have probably heard about the woman kicked off an airplane for nursing her young toddler. Apparently we are in such a state these days that offending the oh-so-delicate sensibilities of some uptight stewardess is now considered a threat to national security. After a huge uproar, it was disclosed that the rest of the crew had tried to talk some sense into said stewardess, and that she had been 'reprimanded', whatever that means.
And of course there is the dilemma of pumping Moms. For a variety of reasons, many Moms pump milk. Well, now that some nutcases hatched an ill-conceived and nearly impossible plan to use liquids to blow up a plane, you can kiss your breastmilk goodbye. Literally. Unless you have a baby with you, which in most cases would mean you did not need to pump, you will be asked to toss your liquid gold into the trash before boarding the plane. Yes, you can check it. But if you have been away from baby for a day or two, that is a whole lot of milk for the airline to misplace with the other baggage.
And checking the milk bags may not be an option in airports that require a trip through security when changing planes under certain circumstances. So all that milk you pumped on your 18 hour flight before changing planes? Trash it dear, would not want to risk national security. Quite a few chemists, you know, the people who actually know this stuff, have come out to say it would be virtually impossible to damage a plane using liquids. But since when has reality dictated airport security procedures.
And don't get me started on trying to get a flight attendant to provide enough water to keep a nursing mom hydrated on a long flight. I am surprised the airlines have not started charging for beverages. A recent change now allows you to bring a water bottle purchased at an overpriced concourse shop onto the plane. Oh yeehaw.
Hey, but we are keeping the terrorists at bay, since their goal is to so disrupt our way of living that we forgo our values and liberties. Oh wait...
04 November 2006
Get Off Your Butt
As you read this, millions of Americans are without healthcare even at its most basic. This number grows every day.
Our schools, instead of being great equalizers of opportunity, provide a huge boost to some while offering little more than crappy babysitting to others.
We are debating, vicously and mostly through the courts, the question of abortion.
Our national debt represents a huge burden to be passed on to our children. We have no plan on how to pay for Social Security in the future.
Our economy is dependent on oil, much of it obtained from unstable, unfriendly, or undemocratic countries.
Not so long ago, in a country half way across the world, over three fourths of the eligible population braved bullets and bombs in order to cast a ballot. One of the great questions of our current time is how involved we, the US of A, should be in the shaping of that country. Whatever you think if the war that got us involved, or any of these other things, you need to make your opinion known. Without the participation of the people, the great experiment that is Democracy is doomed.
GO VOTE.
Our schools, instead of being great equalizers of opportunity, provide a huge boost to some while offering little more than crappy babysitting to others.
We are debating, vicously and mostly through the courts, the question of abortion.
Our national debt represents a huge burden to be passed on to our children. We have no plan on how to pay for Social Security in the future.
Our economy is dependent on oil, much of it obtained from unstable, unfriendly, or undemocratic countries.
Not so long ago, in a country half way across the world, over three fourths of the eligible population braved bullets and bombs in order to cast a ballot. One of the great questions of our current time is how involved we, the US of A, should be in the shaping of that country. Whatever you think if the war that got us involved, or any of these other things, you need to make your opinion known. Without the participation of the people, the great experiment that is Democracy is doomed.
GO VOTE.
22 October 2006
Joy
On the first of October, at 1:13 pm, Baby E entered the world. He did so at home, on the bed that his father and I share. The birth was attended and assisted by a very proud Daddy, our midwife R, and our birth attendant H. He was 8.75 lb, and 20.75 inches long.
I am struck by the contrasts of a hospital birth and a home birth. H2 was born in a hospital, with much of the accompanying intervention typical for the area. Most of these were unwanted, forced on us by mediocre hospital staff who cared only about what was easiest for them. Ridiculous things, like an episiotomy to birth a less than 7 pound baby because that is just how it is done. I wonder how much is also the hospital wanting to make money. I did not hold H2 for at least an hour, the doctor needed to repair the damage and his time was far more important than us. Recovering even partially from that birth took weeks, and complete physical and emotional recovery took months. Our joy rested solely with the amazing little girl our love and God's grace had granted us.
This time, love and caring surrounded the labor and birth. I drank, ate, showered, bathed, sat, stood, walked, cried, yelled, laughed. I was constantly reassured that everything was okay, that the baby and I were doing just fine. And when E joined us, he came out gently, causing barely a scratch. He laid on my chest until, a good long time later, I felt the desire to get a shower. Daddy got him then, and only after everyone was clean, well fed, and comfy did the weighing and measuring start. This happened right on the bed too. Big sister came home from the neighbor's house and crawled into bed, to cuddle us and meet her little brother. In fact, E did not leave our bed until I felt like coming downstairs the next day. Our joy was spread throughout the experience, extended to our whole family and the dear people who assisted us.
If only our country could come to its collective senses and make sure that this type of birth was available for any woman who wants it...
I am struck by the contrasts of a hospital birth and a home birth. H2 was born in a hospital, with much of the accompanying intervention typical for the area. Most of these were unwanted, forced on us by mediocre hospital staff who cared only about what was easiest for them. Ridiculous things, like an episiotomy to birth a less than 7 pound baby because that is just how it is done. I wonder how much is also the hospital wanting to make money. I did not hold H2 for at least an hour, the doctor needed to repair the damage and his time was far more important than us. Recovering even partially from that birth took weeks, and complete physical and emotional recovery took months. Our joy rested solely with the amazing little girl our love and God's grace had granted us.
This time, love and caring surrounded the labor and birth. I drank, ate, showered, bathed, sat, stood, walked, cried, yelled, laughed. I was constantly reassured that everything was okay, that the baby and I were doing just fine. And when E joined us, he came out gently, causing barely a scratch. He laid on my chest until, a good long time later, I felt the desire to get a shower. Daddy got him then, and only after everyone was clean, well fed, and comfy did the weighing and measuring start. This happened right on the bed too. Big sister came home from the neighbor's house and crawled into bed, to cuddle us and meet her little brother. In fact, E did not leave our bed until I felt like coming downstairs the next day. Our joy was spread throughout the experience, extended to our whole family and the dear people who assisted us.
If only our country could come to its collective senses and make sure that this type of birth was available for any woman who wants it...
13 September 2006
Poor, Neglected Blog
Prolific I'm not. At least not at the keyboard. Yes, we have gutted 2 rooms and redone them, have a third in process, painted two more, and, oh yeah, I have a baby due in less than two weeks, but hey isn't that what everyone spends their summer doing?
Anyway, the crazy pregnant decorating lady is just about done with interior design. So hopefully the computer and the sewing machine will get a bit of attention in the next couple of weeks. Unless, of course, the baby comes early. . .
Anyway, the crazy pregnant decorating lady is just about done with interior design. So hopefully the computer and the sewing machine will get a bit of attention in the next couple of weeks. Unless, of course, the baby comes early. . .
15 July 2006
Ezzo, Ezzo Everywhere
It is officially Ezzo week, many thanks to Tulip Girl for bringing so much good information to light. I wanted to take some time to discuss several things about BabyWise and the Ezzo method that have bothered me for a very long time.
I need to preface this by pointing out that we never even considered using Ezzo's methods to raise our children. One of the advantages of coming late to the parenthood party is that you get to see how the other folks that have been there are doing. The Ezzo method is quite popular in the military community, so we watched quite a few families using it. And everything we saw convinced us that BabyWise was not wise, not in the least. I did read the books from a morbid sense of curiosity. I just had to know what it was that was so attractive to so many, especially when it was obvious that it really was not working. I honestly still do not get the attraction. The books are poorly written, contradictory, and seem designed to make a parent feel like a failure. Why do parents pay good money and follow something like that, when so much sadness can result?
There is the faith thing, at least for me. We are a 'mixed' religion family. I am Lutheran, my husband is Roman Catholic. Gary Ezzo has nary a kind word for the Catholic religion. While I certainly disagree with many of the Catholic Church's teachings, I do so respectfully. And I also see that I agree with far more than I disagree with, and find that I have much common ground with my Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ. Why would those whose religion is belittled by Mr. Ezzo take his advice on parenting?
What about following the path of someone who is a successful parent? By most accounts, the Ezzos have two adult daughters. Neither daughter has a good relationship or significant contact with the elder Ezzos. I don't know about other people, but I hope to have a strong relationship with my children permanently. I don't think the job of parent ends. Some may say that the current situation has nothing to do with the way the Ezzo girls were parented as babies, but really, how do we know? Why are people willing to take that chance?
All this is nibbling around the edges of what REALLY bothers me. The harm caused by the Ezzo method to many families is well documented. A small sampling of this harm can be found at www.ezzo.info. Yet the Ezzos and their defenders explain it all away. Comments like 'oh they followed it too literally' or 'oh that is not what BabyWise says' or 'oh come on, you can't blame a book for bad parenting' are thrown about. HELLO!! Can we think about this here? If you were hooking up your new dvd player would you accept an instruction book that could not be taken too literally? If the person teaching you how to ride a bike gave you contradictory information, is it your fault that you, being inexperienced, did not know which advice to take? If you were trying to learn geometry, and you studied hard, did everything the book said to do, did all the homework exactly how you were supposed to, but failed miserably, would you accept that it must have been your fault alone? Come on, that is ridiculous. No one would accept these sorts of arguments in any other aspect of their lives, why does anyone accept it from an instruction book on parenting?
Maybe it is because I am a scientist, but to me if a method has a high failure rate, you look at the problem with the method. This is even more true when some of the failures are catastrophic. But in Ezzoland, all success is credited to the method, and all failure is blamed on the practitioner. That is not where I want to live as a parent, and it is not where I want my children to live either.
I need to preface this by pointing out that we never even considered using Ezzo's methods to raise our children. One of the advantages of coming late to the parenthood party is that you get to see how the other folks that have been there are doing. The Ezzo method is quite popular in the military community, so we watched quite a few families using it. And everything we saw convinced us that BabyWise was not wise, not in the least. I did read the books from a morbid sense of curiosity. I just had to know what it was that was so attractive to so many, especially when it was obvious that it really was not working. I honestly still do not get the attraction. The books are poorly written, contradictory, and seem designed to make a parent feel like a failure. Why do parents pay good money and follow something like that, when so much sadness can result?
There is the faith thing, at least for me. We are a 'mixed' religion family. I am Lutheran, my husband is Roman Catholic. Gary Ezzo has nary a kind word for the Catholic religion. While I certainly disagree with many of the Catholic Church's teachings, I do so respectfully. And I also see that I agree with far more than I disagree with, and find that I have much common ground with my Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ. Why would those whose religion is belittled by Mr. Ezzo take his advice on parenting?
What about following the path of someone who is a successful parent? By most accounts, the Ezzos have two adult daughters. Neither daughter has a good relationship or significant contact with the elder Ezzos. I don't know about other people, but I hope to have a strong relationship with my children permanently. I don't think the job of parent ends. Some may say that the current situation has nothing to do with the way the Ezzo girls were parented as babies, but really, how do we know? Why are people willing to take that chance?
All this is nibbling around the edges of what REALLY bothers me. The harm caused by the Ezzo method to many families is well documented. A small sampling of this harm can be found at www.ezzo.info. Yet the Ezzos and their defenders explain it all away. Comments like 'oh they followed it too literally' or 'oh that is not what BabyWise says' or 'oh come on, you can't blame a book for bad parenting' are thrown about. HELLO!! Can we think about this here? If you were hooking up your new dvd player would you accept an instruction book that could not be taken too literally? If the person teaching you how to ride a bike gave you contradictory information, is it your fault that you, being inexperienced, did not know which advice to take? If you were trying to learn geometry, and you studied hard, did everything the book said to do, did all the homework exactly how you were supposed to, but failed miserably, would you accept that it must have been your fault alone? Come on, that is ridiculous. No one would accept these sorts of arguments in any other aspect of their lives, why does anyone accept it from an instruction book on parenting?
Maybe it is because I am a scientist, but to me if a method has a high failure rate, you look at the problem with the method. This is even more true when some of the failures are catastrophic. But in Ezzoland, all success is credited to the method, and all failure is blamed on the practitioner. That is not where I want to live as a parent, and it is not where I want my children to live either.
15 June 2006
Virginia is for Lovers. Of Vermin
One of the nice things about this area is that despite being in suburbia, we have farms fairly close by. So I joined a local Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) Co-Op. My brother has done this for years in Chicago, and I figured I would give it a go.
On my first week, I was making a salad from the baby lettuce that had arrived. I dropped lettuce into the salad spinner basket, then rinsed and added and rinsed and added until I though I had enough. Then I spun vigorously to dry and started to transfer the lettuce to plates. About that time, the spinner went sailing across the room. It seems that three days in the fridge, multiple water dousings, and a vigorous spin is not enough to disable, let alone kill, the average Virginia arachnid. Neither was an improptu sail across the kitchen. It took a spouse, an in sink disposal, and a toddler with no fear of things creapy crawly to dispatch the spider romping about in the arugula.
This is not my first tangle with vermin. Last fall I reached into my potting soil bag and annoyed the rather large rat that had taken up residence. Mosquitos here form posses. And the spiders. How I hate spiders. They are everywhere here: in the shower, in the closet, in the flowers. And just last week a large, hairy, juicy one was delivered, complete with egg sac, along with my weekly magazines and telephone bill.
When we moved back east, many folks commented on 'escaping' from all the poisonous creatures in the Southwest. Well let me tell you, there may be black widows, tarantulas, scorpions, and Mojave green rattlers, but at least they have the sense to stay where they belong. Outside, and as far from humans as possible.
Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go see about picking up some diatomaceous earth and praying mantis eggs. At least it may cut down on the spiders. . .
On my first week, I was making a salad from the baby lettuce that had arrived. I dropped lettuce into the salad spinner basket, then rinsed and added and rinsed and added until I though I had enough. Then I spun vigorously to dry and started to transfer the lettuce to plates. About that time, the spinner went sailing across the room. It seems that three days in the fridge, multiple water dousings, and a vigorous spin is not enough to disable, let alone kill, the average Virginia arachnid. Neither was an improptu sail across the kitchen. It took a spouse, an in sink disposal, and a toddler with no fear of things creapy crawly to dispatch the spider romping about in the arugula.
This is not my first tangle with vermin. Last fall I reached into my potting soil bag and annoyed the rather large rat that had taken up residence. Mosquitos here form posses. And the spiders. How I hate spiders. They are everywhere here: in the shower, in the closet, in the flowers. And just last week a large, hairy, juicy one was delivered, complete with egg sac, along with my weekly magazines and telephone bill.
When we moved back east, many folks commented on 'escaping' from all the poisonous creatures in the Southwest. Well let me tell you, there may be black widows, tarantulas, scorpions, and Mojave green rattlers, but at least they have the sense to stay where they belong. Outside, and as far from humans as possible.
Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go see about picking up some diatomaceous earth and praying mantis eggs. At least it may cut down on the spiders. . .
16 May 2006
It's Not What You Think
I am not one of those women that walked blissfully away from my paycheck and into stay at home motherhood. I miss work. I miss chatting with my coworkers of every age, ethnicity, and political persuasion. I miss the mental gymnastics. I miss the acknowledgement, in bonuses and higher than average raises, that I am really, really, REALLY good at my job.
Mostly though, I miss the coffee.
No, not that terrible swill you find in the community pot. Coffee. My love affair started in grad school, in the coffee town of Columbus, OH. Small, independent shops abound, a short walk from anywhere I happened to be on campus. But my favorite place was Stauf's Coffee Roasters. That was a drive, but oh so worth it. Coffee from around the world, shipped in green and roasted in 50 pound batches. My friend J and I would take a trip before seminar on Thursdays, with a pocket full of money and a list of orders from half the department.
A move to the southwest, and I had to lower my standards. Great restaurants abound in Las Vegas, but coffee, not so much. The local places were rude, overpriced, or just plain served bad coffee. That green-awninged behemoth, Starbucks, became my coffee oasis in the desert. And at work I made 'coffee friends.' Those of us that could not tolerate the office swill chipped in and got our own. It was not fresh roasted or anything, but a heavy cut above the stuff that comes in a large metal can. We always sipped the first cup around a small table in T's office. I also kept a personal stash of liquid gold, which I would French press in the afternoon on the really tough days. Or J-H and I would make a coffee run to Starbucks, stating our location as 'Building 13' on the sign-out board. We always got away with it too, probably because we never failed to bring back an iced coffee for our phenomenal admin.
Then, California. RURAL California. We did not even have the ubiquitous Starbucks. Another dry desert, again in more ways than one. After about 6 months, I found CA Coffee Roasters, a mail order coffee shop located in Los Angeles. Roast to order, ship the same day. Ah, bliss. And I had several work friends that also craved a decent cup o' joe. N would make the morning pot. In the afternoon M and I would argue, happily, over the cube wall about who would actually make the afternoon pot. I usually 'lost,' though once the coffee was done I would have a fresh cup delivered to my desk, mug pre-heated so as not to cool the coffee.
Now back to my current situation. East coast suburbia, not an independent coffee shop in sight. And no office coffee buddies this time either. I find myself high and dry. The deprivation is made more difficult by the fact that my current, about-to-bear-young condition keeps my coffee habit to a single, mediocre cup a day.
So have a cup for me. I'll join you when I can.
Mostly though, I miss the coffee.
No, not that terrible swill you find in the community pot. Coffee. My love affair started in grad school, in the coffee town of Columbus, OH. Small, independent shops abound, a short walk from anywhere I happened to be on campus. But my favorite place was Stauf's Coffee Roasters. That was a drive, but oh so worth it. Coffee from around the world, shipped in green and roasted in 50 pound batches. My friend J and I would take a trip before seminar on Thursdays, with a pocket full of money and a list of orders from half the department.
A move to the southwest, and I had to lower my standards. Great restaurants abound in Las Vegas, but coffee, not so much. The local places were rude, overpriced, or just plain served bad coffee. That green-awninged behemoth, Starbucks, became my coffee oasis in the desert. And at work I made 'coffee friends.' Those of us that could not tolerate the office swill chipped in and got our own. It was not fresh roasted or anything, but a heavy cut above the stuff that comes in a large metal can. We always sipped the first cup around a small table in T's office. I also kept a personal stash of liquid gold, which I would French press in the afternoon on the really tough days. Or J-H and I would make a coffee run to Starbucks, stating our location as 'Building 13' on the sign-out board. We always got away with it too, probably because we never failed to bring back an iced coffee for our phenomenal admin.
Then, California. RURAL California. We did not even have the ubiquitous Starbucks. Another dry desert, again in more ways than one. After about 6 months, I found CA Coffee Roasters, a mail order coffee shop located in Los Angeles. Roast to order, ship the same day. Ah, bliss. And I had several work friends that also craved a decent cup o' joe. N would make the morning pot. In the afternoon M and I would argue, happily, over the cube wall about who would actually make the afternoon pot. I usually 'lost,' though once the coffee was done I would have a fresh cup delivered to my desk, mug pre-heated so as not to cool the coffee.
Now back to my current situation. East coast suburbia, not an independent coffee shop in sight. And no office coffee buddies this time either. I find myself high and dry. The deprivation is made more difficult by the fact that my current, about-to-bear-young condition keeps my coffee habit to a single, mediocre cup a day.
So have a cup for me. I'll join you when I can.
11 May 2006
While you were sleeping
H2 fell asleep in my arms tonight. This is not a regular occurrence. She is deciding that she is too big for all of that. The question is, am I?
In her short life, I have stayed home, worked part time, worked full time, and moved 2600 miles. Maybe I should not be surprised that at just over 2, she seems so old. And of course there is the whole becoming a big sister soon thing. She wants a little sister. Named Bob.
So here I sit, while you sleep. I don't know where all of this will lead, when or how or if I will go back to working for a paycheck. How, exactly, I feel about all of it. For now, I have found my way home, and I am going to stay a while.
In her short life, I have stayed home, worked part time, worked full time, and moved 2600 miles. Maybe I should not be surprised that at just over 2, she seems so old. And of course there is the whole becoming a big sister soon thing. She wants a little sister. Named Bob.
So here I sit, while you sleep. I don't know where all of this will lead, when or how or if I will go back to working for a paycheck. How, exactly, I feel about all of it. For now, I have found my way home, and I am going to stay a while.
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