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Just wanted to add a quick eat ’em up for my Cats.
No more blog posts until I get the Bradley academic work in.
So I’ll be back either.. tomorrow.. or in three weeks.
I’ll miss you.
So they replaced all the machines at the gym, and have updated most of the ellipticals with these new beastly Terminator versions. I don’t remember the brand to try and find a picture, but suffice it to say you can do short stair steps and really long running strides. PLUS it has just enough tension to feel like you’re running through sand/water AND it’s so much kinder to my knee. I did it for about half an hour last night, and can barely move today. This thing is awesome.
And I mention that first because I’m sore, so I keep remembering, but also because I’m surprised that I’ve ever reached the point where I like to exercise. Really truly I enjoy it. Six months ago I would have been irritated by whatever Pollyanna would have written that – so for that I apologize – but it’s interesting to me, because my whole life I’ve categorized myself as the one whose brain muscles were the strongest ones in me. (That sounds horribly egotistical, but surely you understand what I’m saying.) And it’s not just the vanity results I’m enjoying, it’s the overall feeling better. More energy, less stress. (They weren’t kidding about that people! It’s true!) Yesterday I had an angering conversation, and later it felt good to go do something about it. I told my friend that if I can have at least a drink or a run, I can handle anything. And this is definitely a new stage. Well, the latter is, anyway. Ha.
So that’s that.
Moving on.. Jack has been a turd lately, in case the previous posts hadn’t clued you in. He’s done this before, punishing Jon for having to go to work, but I can’t figure out what triggered this latest attitude. It’s a whole new level and it’s hard to watch. I know someday he’ll understand, but now it hurts me to see him internalizing it and associating it with.. whatever he does. I’m guessing abandonment. Doesn’t really excuse the way he’s been talking to us, but I definitely feel empathy for the monkey.
And that’s about all for this mind-numbingly cold morning. We’re going to see good friends and possibly the second season of UK Office this weekend – not to mention a rash of birthday parties – so that makes this last day of the week happier. Sometimes I like the anticipation just as much, y’know?
Anyway, I hope everyone has a great weekend and is feeling well. Misty, you in particular are on my mind, amiga.
According to Jack, the following will join ‘chilling out’ in going to work:
- the word Please
- healthy eating
- his teachers
- taking off his sock
Also, as an addendum, the bathroom now wants to go to bed, but Jack does not.
Please make note of these changes. We will update further if necessary.
You are one of the most genuinely sweet and funny little dudes I’ve ever met. I can’t wait to see you grow up, and I love you more than humanly possible.
Please stop telling me that you are done chilling out, and that in fact ‘chilling out’ wants to go to work.
Please stop putting the cat in the tupperware cabinet.
Please don’t sit on Lorelei’s head. Generally that hurts or at least stinks.
Please don’t drink the soapy bath water. I already don’t like the ingredients in your Little Mermaid Bubble Bath. Humor me and try not to ingest it also, okay?
Please don’t pour water on Lo’s head.
Please just stop doing anything to her head.
Please don’t offer the following: “The deal is that we go right and not straight. That’s a good deal.” That’s not a deal, honey. That’s just clever dictatorship.
Please don’t tell people in the grocery store that they want to go home. Likewise, it might be good to stop asking the people at the gym if they’re coming to our house.
Please don’t kick the back of my seat anymore. You are close to riding in the cargo area.
Please don’t try something by just licking it and giving it back. That’s not a bite, buddy.
Please remember to cover your coughs. Your breakfast didn’t taste good when you shared it five minutes later.
Please, please, PLEASE don’t walk up and hand me boogers. Sweet God throw those away. (Though thank you for not eating them.. yet.)
I think that’s it for today.
You should know I’m finishing the cage and roll bar for my Xterra, and next time I will just ram you over.
And if you happen to be my father-in-law, so be it.
Yeah. I’m phoning this one in too. Sorry.
But this is cute and redeems my underwhelm..edness(?) of the movie. It’s both the song I’ve had in my head, and some sweet clips.
Happy Tuesday amigos.
ETA: Apparently I am a horrible person, b/c the Oscar noms were just announced, and Juno was nominated in the Best Picture, Screenplay, Director and Leading Actress categories! That’s pretty cool.
1. Please, please, please make this true.
2. I don’t know who of you would be familiar with Brad Renfro, but maybe you’d heard he died this week, which is tragic, of course. And what gave me the heebies is that as soon as I read about it, I had the immediate thought that I wasn’t surprised. He did a pretty violent indie film called Bully a few years ago, and I had read that he was volatile during filming. When I saw the movie, his character seemed that much more disturbing b/c I really got the impression he wasn’t even acting – that he was seriously that messed up. So anyway, I’m not sure what the point is in writing this, other than it makes me sad that I subconsciously was waiting for it to happen. I don’t think they’ve released how he died, but I’ll bet a lot of money that it was not natural. RIP, dude.
3. I know I’m behind in changing my song <–. But I dig this group, and it feels like a British version of Jimmy Eat World to me, so it’ll stay there a few more days. Just thought I’d mention it.
4. I saw Juno last night. Jealous? Eh?
Well.. don’t be too much. I was sort of underwhelmed. I thought it was fine, not bad, but not as awesome as I had expected. But maybe that’s not fair to the film, since I was *really* stoked to see it. During the first half I got tired of ticking off the clever lines from the trailer, and the teenspeak (not to mention illogical cheerleader best friend) were pretty caricatured, but there were enough genuine moments to overshadow that. JK Simmons and Allison Janney were great as the parents, and Jason Bateman did a good job breaking my heart as the un-Michael Bluth guy. (Oh, and speaking of breaking my heart, Michael Cera was virtually a non-entity. Sigh.)
But, here’s the craziest part: Jennifer Garner was probably the best part of the movie for me. And that’s HUGE considering for five years I’ve held a grudge against her based solely on a casual comment Jon made when I was 11 months preggers with Jack. Her character wasn’t groundbreaking, but she acted it sincerely, and what could have slid into stereotype was handled carefully and believably. Kudos, Jen. Hmph.
Finally, the main character Juno, played by Ellen Page, has been lauded as the new up-and-coming hipster ingenue (as has Page herself). And based on this movie I’d say.. meh. She was fine. She was cute and obviously smart, so I’ll wait to see something else (besides Hard Candy) to make final judgment.
So that’s it. I still think people should see it. The soundtrack will be fun, and the words to the folksy main song, “You’re a part-time lover and a full-time friend”, have been rolling in my head for hours now..
Happy Friday and have a good weekend everyone!
Last week my (future OB) friend, Annie, called me from NY to talk about the morning she’d had. Up there for interviews, she’d met one of the main homebirth back-up doctors featured in Ricki Lake’s documentary The Business of Being Born. That morning they’d had a showing of the movie for the residents and attendings.
A large number of them booed and catcalled during most of the movie.
(Did I mention one of their bosses is featured prominently as an obvious supporter of natural childbirth?)
Annie and I discussed for a long time the inherent polarization of the (vast majority of the) medical community versus natural advocates. And what angered me most with her story was that their behavior was shamefully arrogant and narrow-minded, and it attested to the same kind of patronizing attitudes I’ve encountered in my own experiences as a pregnant mother or doula. That is ridiculous on too many conceivable counts, but I’m not going to get into why, because I think that’s probably obvious no matter where you stand.
So this morning on my local parenting board someone posted last week’s review of the doc featured in Slate. And here’s the thing, I don’t totally disagree with the writer that it’s propaganda. Personally, on one hand, I wish there could be even-handed media to present – in an effort to quell the skeptical bias people already have towards unconventional practices like homebirth. But on the other hand, I totally understand why the movie needs to be so far that direction, because it’s fighting a monstrously large and insipid medical mentality, and it’s the shock value that usually wakes people up and makes them think. (And maybe you’re thinking even my wording’s dramatic, but.. well.. it really is the truth.)
But then the writer gleefully mentions how the director’s eventual breech c-section is a ‘counter argument’ for the cause. And that’s a perfect example of missing the freaking point: Very few people – very few- would say that there is never a need for medical intervention. Obviously this mama and her midwife decided it was time to go to the hospital. ACOG calls for 30 minutes as a window to prepare for a normal section, and when a homebirther transfers, rarely is it the ambulance screeching drama you see in movies. Which is the whole thing, that it doesn’t need to be either/or. The best case scenario would be working in tandem.
Currently it’s (excuse me) a dick waving contest.
But that’s beside the point. I’m frustrated (and resigned) that the reviewer couldn’t really discuss the documentary without her own bias hypocritically shining through. She calls the team out for statistical inconsistencies (the quote about fetal homebirth death rates) yet doesn’t cite the studies. I think I know which one she’s referencing, and the key detail missing there is that all births outside of the hospital are included as a homebirth. So late-term miscarriages, side-of-the-road emergency situations – all are lumped into the category. And there is such an incredible difference between an emergency precipitous birth in the automotive section of Wal-Mart and a planned homebirth. Stating it the way she did is highly disingenuous – and not surprising.
Really, I could get more steps for my soapbox and give a lengthy diatribe about egos interfering with the supposed main goal of healthy baby and mother blahblahblah, but I won’t. First because I don’t have the energy to get too fired up today, but mostly because I believe that if you are educated, you will make the best decision for your family, whether it’s in a hospital or on the moon. So if this snarky reviewer (and everyone who feels the same way) wants to dismiss the valid points made in the documentary out-of-hand simply because they are different – I mean ‘crockpot’ – well, go for it sister.
It is easier to float along when you choose not to muddle your life with critical thinking.
Read this story on newly-approved testing for Morgellons.
Then google images of it.
Holy crap it’s Aliens -ish.
So I know from experience that I shouldn’t try and write when I’m still kind of groggy, but I think this might be the most uninterrupted time today, so I should take advantage of it.
Hmmm let’s see. Well, we have moved past the pink eye (which I don’t think was conjunctivitis, actually) and now we gots the snots. Jack is so sweetly chipper and good natured, and I hate to keep him home again, but when he coughs it’s shockingly loud. But not croupy (don’t worry Mom), so I’m not going to see the ped or anything yet.
However, if you were to tape our nights and speed them up, we’d look like a funny little Chinese Fire Drill of beds. The kids lately have started like this:
But then one of them wakes up squawking and we’ll move Lorelei into her room or Jack into our room and one of us always ends up somewhere else. Last night Lo was congested enough that she couldn’t breathe out of her nose, but when she used her mouth the pacifier fell out
[and you should know the continual spinning of earth on its axis is dependent on The Paci]
and she’d wake up pissed either way. She spent a good four hours snoring on my chest, and though it was adorable, it was not so cute that I wanted to give up sleep for it.
So why am I writing another post about sickness? No reason. But sometimes despite my intentions to be hip and interesting, I have no choice but to write about snot, puke and sleep.
It’s all good.
And to end this, I’ll post a video of why parenting is worth it. It was the tenth attempt in a row to get Lo to sing, and she became goofier with each take, so forgive the cackling in the background. She just cracks me up, the little goober.
(Check out the tats on her cheek she and Jack gave themselves with a wayward pen earlier!)
I tried to find some of the covers from the movie I’m Not There, but I couldn’t, so I’ll post the trailer and encourage everyone to get thineself to whatever theater near you is still possibly showing it. Cate Blanchett was definitely award-worthy, and overall the movie’s fascinating – even if you aren’t totally familiar with his collection. Trust me.
Because I know somewhere there’s a clause that says that if you get no sleep and your kid wakes up with a raging case of pink eye and one cat jumps into the unflushed toilet and the other pukes into your paper towel-waiting hand (all before lunch) you get to spike your coffee.
I know I saw it somewhere. I’ll let you know.
Tomorrow morning my friend Crazy – oops, I mean Cyndi – will be boarding a plane to fly to AZ to run a half-marathon. I’d fly to Arizona in the winter for a lot of reasons, but running surely is not one of them, even if it is for a good cause.
This loony has gotten up at dead-o’clock in the morning for five months to train, starting out as a non-runner. Some of us try the Couch-to-5k thing. Not this stubborn one. It blizzards and she runs. H. Pimp threatens to hit her with his car and she runs. She’s tired, she’s sore, she’s worn out and she still runs. She only paused to catch her breath when she developed shin splints so badly she could hear her tibia cracking. That’s a whole lot of commitment in my book.
So on Sunday morning when you roll out of bed, slurp some coffee and eat a cinnamon roll, think of Cyndi as she begins her three hour run. That’s nuts.
But it’s just another example of her strength, and I’m proud of her.
Everyone wish this mama good luck!
ETA: She did it! CONGRATS!