Archive for October, 2007
The new digs, as it were, are a cosmetic way of saying that it’s time to shove aside the pile of crap that I’ve been living under for about two months and start living again. It was inevitable–a new job, a new hectic schedule, planning for next year–but it’s enough already. I have a therapist, an incredibly gentle and understanding husband, my favorite weather of all (cool, moody), and a table-top dishwasher procured by aforementioned husband.* There no reason in the world I shouldn’t be able to start writing again, both here and on the diss. One hopes, anyway. The goal is to make this semi-permanent, with room for the ebb and flow of energy, instead of merely cyclical.
At any rate, pursuant to YOU, I want my readers back. I don’t know what I’ll be writing about exactly–maybe more on adoption (and how much I’m looking forward to expanding our family, though we’ll have to wait a few more years), maybe a little about the group home (or maybe not, as I’m trying to respect their privacy)–but I want you guys back. I like the writing but I like the community the best.
Meanwhile, please go over and support Kohana for her brave and intelligent posts of late.
See you soon.
*I’m undergoing a bit of a personal feminist revolution and I’m wondering if I should abandon the term “wife” and go with “partner” or something of the like. Problems: “partner” is the preferred term of gays and lesbians, and why should I use that when I can LEGALLY be actually and truly and in the sight of the law married to the person of my choice?; and really, I AM a wife–why should I pretend that there aren’t real structural issues with the fact that I am saddled (quite happily) to a man? On the other hand, might it help me to start seeing myself as a partner so that I can let go of all of my latent, and let’s face it, manifest sexism (against women, yes!)? So.
Watch this short video and be spurred to action!
“I finished my application letter to X. I’m proud of it. It’s good. Once advisor looks it over and I make the necessary revisions I’m applying the heck out of that job.”
“Do that shit, mama.”
If anyone’s still reading–
I’d like to nurse the Snapper as long as he’s interested, but I’d also like to sustain lactation until we adopt our next child (probably 2-3 years from now, and the Snapper turns 1 next month). I’ve googled the heck out of the topic but can’t find out how long after weaning one can sustain a milk supply from pumping alone. Anybody know the answer or where I can find out? I don’t mind pumping and would donate the milk in the meantime.
Obligatory Pumpkin Patch Pic
9:30. Less Bad Mega Superstore is closed so I go to Really Bad Mega Superstore to buy glue traps, glass & metal dry goods containers, four rolls of paper towels, and bleach. It’s to be expected, this little bit of extra company in the fall. We live less than a block from the river in an ancient rental house full of cracks and gaps. Time to renew the yearly commitment to washing all dishes every night, wiping up every crumb, drying out the sink and stopping all the drains. Except that we’re exhausted all the time so I don’t know how it’s going to happen.
Yesterday. I was having a miserable time of it–unlike today’s pumpkin farm trip at a location I won’t reveal because I love the smallness of the place, where you use the bathroom in the family’s farmhouse and the grandkids help carry your gourds to the car, the place we took the group home guys yesterday was the D*sneyland of pumpkin patches, complete with dumb theme ‘rides’ and a kid puking in the crowded bathroom–but I was determined that the guys would have a good time, and they did. I wish I could say that their joy was infectious (wouldn’t that be nauseating anyway?) but just as I was about to cheer up–we were in line for the hayrack ride (PA readers, this is the same as a hayride) which one of the residents was very excited about–a woman came up to me, rubbed my shoulder and said, “I admire your patience.” “Oh, he doesn’t take much patience.” He’s right here within earshot, dammit, and why would you assume that his wheelchair and retardation automatically make him difficult? “Oh, I’m sure he is.” “No, he’s actually a lot of fun.” (moving away) If you were really genuinely trying to be nice you would have backed off after my first response. Now it’s clear that you want to go home feeling good about yourself, encouraging that nice young lady whose job is such a burden and thanking God you don’t have to do it and that someone else is ‘willing’ to for a pittance.