Monday, September 25, 2006

Da Bomb!

I did it! I created a blog for NaBloWriMo! Sign up and blog every day in October! Click on the link to participate!

Pleeeeeeeeze? I'll be your BFF!


I am not the first.

No, I did a search for "NaBloWriMo" on Google, and came up with 57 results, I think. All of which are linked to only three sites, and many of them are repeater search results. Therefore, I will push forward with confidence.

You see, I am not a novelist. I don't have any aspriations to be "a novelist" as such. Do I have a novel in me? Of course! Good roughage.

Will I write the novel? Who knows? My best answer right now is "no," as I am not a fiction writer, do not write fiction very well, and do not have a rich uncle who will support my family while I dedicate my life to my novel. No, this will not happen. I have learned this about myself, and accept it. This is called, "wisdom."


What I can do is blog every day. How many words, you ask? If you are asking, you are a NaNoWriMo veteran. I answer to you: it matters not. In my NaBloWriMo world (National Blog Writing Month--again, I didn't make it up, just thought I did and then did the search--there are no new ideas), to participate, one simply agrees to blog every day. That's it! Every day, one blog post.

Oh, okay. Let's set up some rules:

1. The post must be at least one paragraph (or 5 sentences).

2. The post must give actual information, and be at the least interesting and well-written, and at best, witty.

3. The post may not simply be a link to something you like ( I do this all the time, and I know it's a cop-out.)

Other than that, post away! Every day!

Starting October 1. That's next Sunday, folks. Pass the word.

p.s. the Gene Simmons photo is just to keep things interesting. I was tired of having the run-of-the-mill photos. Suggestions are welcome for future random photos. Hair bands from the '80s, anyone?

A Tale of Two Feces

**Warning Warning Warning**
Parental Blog Forthcoming!

Our Advendtures in Potty Training are just getting started, it seems. Our baby girl has been peeing in the potty since the end of June, which was a thrill in itself. She now runs to the potty all on her own, takes care of business, and can pull her pants back up when she wants. When she wants to run naky, then that's what happens.

Until we catch her, and say, "Where are your panties?" Like we have to ask.

So Papa decided, a couple of weeks ago, that it was time to potty train In Earnest, i.e. go for the potty BM. Oh, yeah. We knew it would be a struggle. He tried for several days in a row, constantly mentioning Pooping in the Potty.

"Miffy?" our baby would ask. She wants to play Miffy on the computer.

"No, you have to poop on the potty, " The Behaviorist Parent would reply. On and on and on, until we would give in and give her a diaper. While diapering her, we would mention, "If you poop on the potty, you'll get ________." Fill in the blank with whatever reward would work for that day.

Last week, Papa was Adamant. (No, not Adam Ant, he was adamant about refusing diapers. Just stop that.) The diapers were gone, and he was serious. Of course, our precious babe decided, instead of actually moving her bowels on the toilet, she would withold the bm as long as possible.

"As long as possible" is "two days," for those who don't know.

So I'm sitting at the table, internetting, and in comes the girlie, on tiptoe, bare-butted, clenching, and making a peculiar noise. "Eeeeeerrrrrrnnnnnnhhhhhh," is an approximation of it. Make sure it's high-pitched and nasal.

"Run to the potty!" I urged, and she did. Trotted, mostly, but she made it. Lo and behold, she sat there and pooped on the potty! Hooray! Big reward time!

Here we come to the tales:

Tale 1:

Later on, Papa walks into the kitchen, and stops. He lifts his foot, and says to me, "What is that? Check that out," meaning the small, brown something on the floor. I reply, " I don't have to check it out, " and clean it up. So, Papa was the proud winner of the day. Don't you know? The day your daughter first poops in the potty, the first person to step in a butt nugget in the kitchen gets a year of good luck, and a wish!

What did he wish for? I think he wished he'd never stepped in it.

Tale 2:

Later than that, girlie's room still smelled. What the? Why? Whazzat? I went on a poop search, and came up with a LARGE NUGGET. So, when she had run to me, clenching, she had already had the experience, only on the floor of her room, under one of her toys. Or, she covered it up. In either case, you must understand my COMPLETE AND UTTER DISMAY when our smaller dog found the nugget right when I did, and proceeded TO EAT IT.

*still reeling*

*reels some more*

***practically faints***

Parenthood is NOT for the faint of heart.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

In a rut


I type this on a Saturday morning, from home. A day off. Sorely needed, and definitely earned. I am going to make eggs and sausage and English muffins for breakfast, when the time comes. I'm drinking strong coffee, and enjoying a peaceful morning.

I have missed this.

*breathes deeply*

So! I was talking to a friend at work the other morning, and was trying to put my finger on the feeling I've had for the past few days. This school year is different, definitely--the ambience in the school has changed. It's more scholarly, somehow. The administration tries to make things very clear, regarding what is their job, and what is our job. This helps tremendously.

But I've still been feeling something like unrest, or agitation, or...I couldn't quite put my finger on it. So I was talking to M. the other morning, and it suddenly became clear. She said:

"I just feel like I'm in a rut. I'm not passionate about this anymore. I enjoy the kids, I relatively enjoy that part of my job, which is the important part. But something is missing. It's not enough. I'm bored!"

At which point, I realized that was a good explanation of how I feel, too.

I'm not exactly "bored" with my job, but those who know me know that I'm not super-happy with it. I know this puts me in a group comprising of, oh, 99% of the population. Which is fine. I don't hate my job this year, which is an improvement, but after being at school with an administration that's supportive (relatively), and in an environment that is more school than thug life meeting house, I now realize that I still don't really like it all that much.

And I'm trying to allow myself to know that is okay.

I am learning the lesson about the greener side of the fence, I guess. It's like...It's like someone who loses a lot of weight, say 100 pounds. That person feels better, buys new clothes, and enjoys a lot of new attention from their old friends and possibly new friends. And then you ask that person, "So, is your life really different?" They think about it and say, "No. Losing weight didn't really change my life. It just changed my appearance. The daily crap is still there."

That's what I'm feeling. The situation has changed, and it's better. But the daily crap that I have to deal with is still there, and I still don't like it. I'm in a rut, and need to get out.

Toward that end, my blessed web guy has been working on a new project for me. I would like this new project to make enough money to support us. I would like to be self-employed. More and more, I'm moving in that direction. When will I get there?

One thing is for certain: like that car up there, if I don't get out of the rut, I won't be going anywhere fast.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Flickr and Sharing and Design, oh, my. *pukes*


This is what goes through my mind, after working the past 25 out of 26 days. (And the one day I didn't work, I stayed home because people were sick)

I sit and think to myself, "This is what causes road rage--people being short of temper because they have had no sleep, no time to relax, no quality time with family. This is the reason people freak out in the grocery store if a blue-haired old lady buts in line and checks out 16 items in the 15-item express lane. This is the reason people are so rude to each other. It must also be the reason for tabloid tv--people don't want to even expend the energy to watch a tv program that asks them to think at all."

That's what I thought, just today.

I have been working 7 days since August 16. The one day I took "off" was to care for my ill family. I have not sunk my butt in the bathtub since then. And I make soap! No, I barely have time for showers.

And because of the Judeo-Christian ethic instilled in me since birth, I sit and think, "You should count your blessings. You are smart enough to have a business that is moderately successful, and a job that has benefits. You should be grateful that things are going so well that you have to work 7 days." What kind of a twisted thought process is that?

I should be grateful that I have the privilege of working myself to death?

And in the next mental breath, I begin saying to myself, "When you were in undergrad, you worked 7 days. You worked for school or you worked for money, and you never had a day off. You can do this."

"Yeah," I reply to my quickly-becoming-demented self, "But I didn't have a kid, then. And I wasn't married. I could nap on any given afternoon, if I chose. I no longer have that choice."

So working 7 days will cause a person to rationalize with oneself. As if I had a choice in the matter.

And so I will continue to get up every day and work. I hope those of you who have two whole days off each weekend will forgive me if I forget to email or call you back. The markets will be over in about 8 weeks.

p.s. what's with the headline, you say? Yeah, I had a train of thought, but didn't get around to it. I was thinking that I don't have time to load my photos onto flickr, or change the design of my blog, or any other fun thing online, because that must be the realm of those who live in luxury. Which, of course, is anyone who works one minute less than me. Because today I am whiny.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

It didn't happen!

I worked the market! I've worked 7 days, again! This has got to stop!

DH told me tonight that he would work next Saturday. But something always comes up!

I'm so tired.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Let's try this again

It's been a week since the flu infected our house. We are all better now, thanks so much for your kind words and worries.

So, tomorrow DH will work the market, and, hopefully, I'll sleep in. I'm worried about him working the market by himself, but hey, he's got to do it sometime. Because otherwise, I'll be working outside of the house 7 days per week, and he'll be watching DC (Dear Cutie) for 7 days per week. It will be good for him to get out of the house.

I've been thinking about new soaps I want to develop, as well as some higher-end products for next year. I'm doing a craft fair in November, and have to prepare for that. Maybe I'll get up early and make soap, instead of sleeping in. Sometimes being productive can be more soothing than being languid, in bed, under the covers on a cool fall morning....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....*szsznuh?* Whoa. Maybe not.

I was surprised that this morning was Friday. On the one hand, the past 7 days seem to have taken forever. On the other, I've been so busy and working so hard, that Friday took me by surprise. It's strange.

I think it's still the flu talking.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

More flu.

Now DH has the flu. DD does, too, but hers wasn't as potent as the adults'. Go figure. Because of this, I had to stay home from the farmer's market today.

It's kind of nice to take a break.


When self-employed, as I am only in my secret life (ha), there are no paid sick days. I am giving up a helluva lot of money to stay home today. But there's nobody else to take care of these little sickos.

So here I am.

*stomach cramp*

Oooh. My flu is almost gone.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Martian Death Flu

I have the Martian Death Flu. I think it's on its way out right now. How do I know this? I can walk upright.

Yesterday, in the morning, while administering district-wide assessements to the students, my stomach felt queasy.

"How are you, Amy?" my friend Fred asked, in the hallway, as I walked to my class.

"My stomach feels queasy," I said.

Thankfully, I had time right that moment to find the bathroom, because if I hadn't, I might not be writing to you now. I might be under the covers, shivering with humiliation. And cold sweats.

I felt worse instead of better as the day progressed. I had to prop my head up on my hand while sitting at my desk. I got hot sweats, then cold sweats. I have no idea how I taught anyone anything.

My husband picked me up right at the end of school. I went home, changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, and went to bed. I was supposed to go to Back-To-School night, but it was better that I didn't. I could barely move. I didn't walk--I trudged/shuffled. I drank a little bit of Emergen-C in some hot water. I ate 1/2 of one piece of toast. That came up this morning.

Our daughter climbed into bed with us at 5am. She had it, too. I put her in the tub and stripped her bed, putting everything into the laundry. This was another indication that I'm feeling a bit better--I could do this physical activity.

My husband informed me that he had it last night, as well. I hope this is the last of this we'll have to see, and I hope they don't get it as badly as I did. I have to attend an all-day training for student services teachers today---I hope I make it through.