Tick Tock, Turning a Baby Like the Hand of a Clock

Friday, Hunter and I went to the OB for more than just a normal prenatal exam. I can’t determine if it’s been stubborn resistance, or more likely simply being stuck- but Wesley has been breech for some time. I distinctly recall sitting on the porch with Hunter one evening, and feeling a massive shift- he had been very active around that time- but it was clearly becoming more and more cramped in his, uh, apartment. That was the last time he flipped, and I believe that he was growing at such a rate that he became lodged in that position- though it is possible that he just liked it there. He would be closer to my voice as well as others, my heartbeat, etc. It was probably more interesting to be upright, if perhaps not as comfortable. 

Anyway, for whatever reason he remained there, and became so large that he certainly could no longer move out of that spot even if he’d wanted to. I was thinking that perhaps i would have to welcome him into this world with major surgery, which of course has its plusses and minuses. Really though- I’d rather not have to deal with recovering from a C-Section when I should be 100% focused on bonding with my offspring. The hope was to have what’s known as an “external cephalic version”, which is a fancy way of saying that a doctor or midwife pushes as hard as they can on your stomach (and I mean as HARD AS THEY CAN) and then twist the baby into the “correct” position for birth. 

Most of the time, the success rate for this procedure is about 60%. There are certain factors that increase the likelihood of success: 

1) If the baby is on the small side (Of course Wesley is in the 60-70th percentile of size, so that’s a big no) 

2) If they do it early, say 36 or 37 weeks (And again, nope. Mine was to be performed at 39 weeks… oops) 

3) If the mother has an exceptional quantity of amniotic fluid (Noooope) 

4) If the child is not the mother’s first (well, crap) 

5) If the baby is transverse (One guess…… nope!) 

6) A conveniently placed placenta  (sadly, and predictably, no!) 

Given these circumstances, the doctors gave me an “optimistic” 30% chance of the procedure working. I did have a *few* things going for me. He had not entirely dropped, though he did have a leg wedged in my pelvis. He was not a multiple (twin, triplet), I did have a “fair” amount of amniotic fluid, and I didn’t have any severe risk factors that would cause conceivable issues (gestational diabetes, etc). 

After an initial exam and quick ultrasound to make sure he was still head-up in the normal OBGYN, they shipped me over to labor and delivery where a nurse ultrasounded me again, asked me a ton of questions, and hooked me up to an IV in my hand (which was new for me). After a while, the doctor came in and poked around, scanned me again to see his exact angle, took Wesley’s heart rate, etc etc. Then they gave me a drug which was apparently used at one time for asthmatics. It relaxes the smooth muscle of your body, which makes it ideal for preventing contractions as well as staving off an asthma attack. The one severe side effect it has is causing one to feel as though they’ve had about 16 shots of espresso in the space of about 30 seconds. They warned me about this, though I’d already read about it beforehand- and indeed, afer about half a minute (and mid-sentance) I suddenly trailed off and “whoa”d because I was indeed suddenly and overwhelmingly overcome with a rocket-powered heart rate. It felt like my vision tunneled a bit, I got a HUGE adrenaline rush, and my scalp started sweating all *BAM* at once. it was pretty intense. Fascinating, too. 

Illustrations always make this kind of stuff look so damned easy

The doctor got to work pretty fast and started bearing down on my stomach right underneath Wesley so he could lift him *up* towards my ribcage, then invert him. He used what Hunter described as Karate hands- I couldn’t see what he was doing but I could sure as hell feel it. After hefting him up, the doctor spun him a few degrees so that his head was at about 11 O’ Clock. He paused to comment that he was moving far better than he had hoped, and then resumed. The more he pushed the more uncomfortable it became.  

When I think of the word “pain” I think of a sharp stabbing sort of feeling- so I initially couldn’t decide whether to call this “pain”. It was monstrously unpleasant, that’s for sure. The doctor (according to Hunter) was putting all his strength into this, and was sweating and shaking from the effort. He was pushing down on my abdomen SO hard that I thought he might punch through to my spine. For real. 

But I could feel him turning, so I knew something was happening, and so I just tried my best to breathe. The Dr. stopped again and I think he took a quick scan- I was kind of out of it at that point- but I do remember him saying “Am I good or what?” to his nurse. Ha! Good indeed! They hooked me up to a fetal heart monitor and made me hang out for about an hour, and then sent me on my way. My stomach feels like one big bruise, but it’s totally worth it. The nurse seemed very impressed with my tolerance for discomfort, which made me feel pretty badass. 

So it worked- Wesley has now been officially turned head down and I will NOT have to get a C-Section (barring unforseen disaster) – and I am absolutely delighted about that. I can feel his little cramped “kicks” (more like nudges now) in the places that they “should” be, and it’s totally comforting. I’ve been told my stomach even looks different, though I still just feel like a land monster. 

Additionally, with all those ultrasounds they were doing, I cannoodled them into getting me a couple more printed pictures. I’ve never seen ultrasounds of a “full term” baby, and he looks REALLY weird- but that’s what you get when you take a photo with sound waves. 

So I’m back at work and just twiddling my thumbs here. I’m really anticipating going into labor and I just can’t wait to be back to my old self again- only with a new person living in the house! Woo! 

This is Wesley looking directly at us. His head dominates the upper righthand of the scan. That dark patch is an eye socket, and the bright nub is his nose. Yep, he looks like an alien with dimples, to be sure.

This one is a little more obvious. Basically, it's his profile- and it looked like he was chewing or sucking- I think maybe he was trying to eat his hand.

Ride of the Valkyries, but With Meows Instead of Horns

I am just going to start posting the amazing websites I find here unabashedly, this stuff needs to be seen.

I find so much that’s worth sharing, so many blogs and sites that blow my mind, and I don’t cross post any of them. As of this moment, that’s going to change.

Cats and Mice, arming themselves for battle

This amazing artist has created an entire armory for the Toms and Jerrys of the world. I can’t even imagine how many hours of labor were put into these custom costumes, and I certainly can’t speculate on the motivations that drove the artist to undertake such a project, but whatever their reason, the end result is both bizarre and exquisite.

I can’t think of a single cat who would tolerate wearing this, but nevertheless, it’s amazing.

Bizarre and exquisite happen to be the qualifying factors for me to fall in love with a piece of art. I espcailly love that the mice have been given tiny lances. It sort of evens the score.

The Trials and Tribulations of Building a Cigar Box Guitar

Here’s the thing about me. I’m just not satisfied with one particular kind of artistic medium. This is probably why I never learned to play an instrument… it just takes too damn long to learn. I did manage to figure out how to play a singing saw, and I can even make it through the first few notes of the original Star Trek theme, but I get bored with things fairly quickly. 

Actually, that’s a fallacy. I don’t get bored with them, I find something even MORE interesting and get distracted. I sculpt with clay, paint with oil, acryllic, watercolor, tried etching boards… I make a miniature murder scene, draw comics, write a nonfiction book, write a fiction book, make a statue out of glass bottles, make a windchime out of forks, tried my hand at silkscreening, had a darkroom for years, made polaroid image & emulsion transfers, sketch with charcoal, oil pastels, pencils, pens, make collages with all kinds of shit, make weird ass shadow boxes out of found art, biological who knows what, and junk, and on and on and on. I’m like a goddamned fickle teenager when it comes to self expression. Except I love every single form of it that I’ve tried, and want to keep trying everything that looks interesting. 

My dad once told me that as a young boy, Charles Darwin would find a fascinating insect and grab it in his hand. Shortly thereafter he would come upon an even better insect, but being unwilling to part with the first one, he would grab it up with his other hand. 

Inevitably, he would come upon some third bug who was even better than the first two, but, still being unwilling to part with either of his other discoveries, he would pop one of the other ones carefully into his mouth for safekeeping, so he could scoop up the third. 

This is very much a sort of behavior I can see in myself. A frenetic sort of interest in everything. It means I have a basement filled with large, ungainly sculptures and paintings and tools for making them and absolutely not one square inch left in my house to put them.  

Thankfully, at least the “singing” saw is multipurpose, and I have used it both to play, and to cut back the holly tree. Most of the other stuff though… I’m not known for functionality in art, sadly. I’ve always loved and respected functional craft (knitting, sewing, woodworking, cooking) but tend more towards the abstract myself. I have recently decided to amend this behavior so that things I make will not be relegated to some dusty corner, to sit sadly neglected forever more.  

It was this desire to be - uh- more utilitarian in my crafting that led me to the idea of making a cigar box guitar. I think it was boingboing.com where I saw a photo of a fellow who had just written a book on hand making practical things (An invisible bookshelf too! Oh, I want to try that one!) and he was proudly holding a simple, 3 string CBG. I was struck with the idea of making a musical instrument. I read a little outline of how it was done and realized almost immediately that it was completely within my skill set to do- if I didn’t know how to do any one particular thing, they were all pretty easy to pick up on, and required no intricate electrical or construction related knowledge. I needed very simple tools and materials to do this project, so of course I dove right in.  

I found the wood for the neck in my basement. Upon reflection it is terrifically ill-suited as a medium because it’s very very soft, but this is my very first attempt, and I hope it will be serviceable.

It had damn well better be seeing as how much work I’ve put into it.

Anyway, it is possibly as old as the house itself…  I found the it (the 2×4 plank) propped up against the wall covered in spider webs and grime, and I cut a 2×2 inch x 3 foot hunk and hoped for the best.  

The cigar box I bought at Riche’s Tobacco for 4 or 5 bucks- I bought three because I just couldn’t pick one they’re all really neet- but let me tell you, a visibly pregnant lady gets a lot of funny looks in a cigar store, and additionally, gets ogled  when she’s seen carrying around a bag that proclaims “I <3 Pipes” in big red letters.  

Anyway, the last three weekends I’ve been working on the bloody thing. I thought initially that it would be fairly simple, but of course it has become elaborate and complex beyond all conception.

For my first mistake, I cut the holes in the cigar box too large for the neck, which simply will not do because of course that would affect the sound- so I had to cut and sand little wood pieces to cover the fuck-ups.  

Then of course I realized I had neglected to cut a “divet” in the length of the neck for the cigar box to sit in, so that the body of the guitar was HIGHER that the neck- which completely screws everything up.  

If you imagine the strings coming down the neck of  a normal guitar, you can picture in your minds eye that the body of the guitar is, in fact *lower* than the neck- if it was higher, one realizes— upon visualizing it— that the strings would of course, press against the body of the guitar itself- making it, essentially, unplayable.

For reference- As you can see the neck/ fretboard is higher than the guitar body. DUUUUUH. Mine was not.

My solution for this was to lay another slab of wood on TOP of the neck- like a fret board is sometimes a separate piece on top of the neck of some electric guitars. This seemed to work but took hours and hours and HOURS of sanding to make fit properly. blarg.  

I installed a set of pegs that I got for cheap (they’re half a set of mandolin tuning pegs- what they had, and I got two in a box, so if I broke one I could just try again) Of course I managed to SPLIT the head of the guitar trying to install them, so now there’s about half a bottle of carpenters glue filling in the split. *le sigh* It’s not pretty but it appears to be holding.  

I sanded the ugly cigar box finish off, and I WAS going to apply this beautiful mahogany stain/ varnish I had left from doing the floors of a dollhouse (another project now in the basement) only to discover the can was totally dried up. Humbug!

Also, yesterday, I half-finished a bridge and nut for the guitar and strung ONE string on it for the first time. It was SO satisfying to hear that it makes sounds. And not just any sounds, it makes WONDERFUL sounds. I played slide on my one string with a tube of chapstick. haha!

The bridge is still too high and has no divets cut in it, and the nut is a horrible mess because I’m an idiot and used the same wood as the neck- knowing it would be too soft but unable to think of what else I could use that I had lying around. I will surely have to re-make something but I still don’t know what I can use that I have already on hand. My grandmother gave me some awesome super hard African nuts but my dremel just carves, it doesn’t CUT, so I have to get something that is already kinda shaped.   

I called Art media today and spoke with a nice fellow there who suggested that I use a particular variety of chemical which will allow me to stain with oil paint- OOH! Great idea. If I want to stain it blue, now I can stain it blue. Rad! I have a huge collection of rarely used oil paints and now I can pick one to make into a stain. Fabulous. I also got a nice varnish and some armature wire to make frets with. Whew.  

I even picked up some cool DAS air-drying clay that I think I can use to patch other small holes- it claims to be very sturdy and will accept sanding, nails, and painting. At the very least so far it’s a super fun new toy. I tested it out and made a teeny tiny little angry old man face sculpture which I gave to a coworker. It is delightful to play with.  

Here’s a page I started on “Cigar Box Nation” to track my progress! There are a bunch of photos and descriptions and whatnot.  

I am having an absolute blast but obviously I’m running into difficulties. Coming up with creative solutions has so far been both rewarding and successful, and I’m really hoping I’m able to complete the project this next “weekend” (wed-sat) I’m pretty limited by the tools and materials I have, and there is some stuff that I really wish I would maybe have done differently, but that’s what the other set of tuning pegs and the other two cigar boxes are for, right?? I’m definitely going to make another one eventually, though since I’m only technically 3 weeks away from giving birth, it may be longer than I’d like!  

One String Strung. The most recent photo of the not-done CBG. Still have a looong way to go, but heck, I got it to make sounds so I'm happy.

Dangerous Avon

Uh, so I have a sort of embarassing habit.

 I love Avon stuff. I know, I know.

 Give me all the crap you want, but it’s inexpensive and the 50% of their products that don’t smell like old ladies are awesome.

Anyway, the point of this admission is that recently I ordered some stuff from them. UPS fucked up and didn’t send me anything, so I contacted customer service at Avon. They were super nice and (since I’ve been having oodles of “issues” with their shipping recently) they reshipped it to me with grave apologies right away.

So normally they ship UPS ground but this time, to prove that they’re awesome, they shipped it via UPS Air, which I was delighted by. Anyway, when I got the box- I discovered that apparently, Avon is EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. Or, uh, UPS Air seems to think it is, anyway.

the FOUR seperate documents they sent along with my stuff. There were MULTIPLE COPIES of many of these, including FOUR of the little mostly blank ones, and two each of the big ones. Srsrly.

So what did I get that was so dangerous? Well, there was some peach antibacterial hand soap, peach body spray, peach body scrub, berry cranberry shower gel, palm desert rose body scrub, and palm desert rose hair oil, some oil absorbing sheets, and a complimentary thingy or foundation that’s about 12 shades too dark for me. Nice thought though. Oh, they also sent me a free sample of their lotus shield anti-frizz hair goo. aaaaaaannnnndddd…… nope, there does not appear to be any nitro glycerine, gunpowder, or even a tiny bit of high explosive, but I guess antibacterial soap is OMGZ DANGEROUS.

Yeah.

FEAR EVERYTHING LIQUID Americans! Avon is a terrorist threat!!!!!

Like, danger and stuff y'all!

Illustrated BMI Categories, etc etc

I’ve been reading a bunch of really interesting blogs and stories about fat acceptance- It stared from reading a post on Free Range Kids, but I got off track, and well, you know how the internet is.

Anyway, I stumbled across This three part article… and was horrified, though not really all that surprised. I’ve been big and small and everywhere in between, and have encountered enough fat phobia to know that this is not only within the realm of possibility, but probably a very regular occurrence. As a matter of fact, it turns out that so many people had similar stories, that they had to set up a whole seperate site for people who had been going through BS like this. Wow.

Also, in my e-travels, I discovered what I consider to be kind of the prime example of why the BMI scale doesn’t work. Besides the fact that it was designed by a mathemetician in the 1800s who explicitly stated that it was not a measure of health, it was merely a statistical tool, and that it does not take into account muscle mass or physical fitness, it’s just downright silly to assume that because someone carries around more or less body fat that you can gauge the state of their health. It kind of blows my mind that we are so narrow minded about this as a society.

When I was losing weight, I was doing it for comfort and vanity, not for my health- I excersized for my health. When I started walking more and eating “better” foods, I did THAT for my health, but the weight loss really was for my own self image, even though I know it’s stupid that my self worth should in any way correlate with my relative fatness. But it does, and that’s probably not going to change. I recognize that it’s culturally induced but I’m more confident when I’m “thinner”, as stupid as it may be. 

Anyway, I thought I’d share these awesome links for those of you that have any interest in body image and culture and stuff. I was totally transfixed, and I think it really is a case of “a picture is worth a thousand words” so I’m just going to let them do the talking.  

A Photographic Record of Why the BMI scale is BONKERS

Interesting cross post from Free Range Kids

 

I just read this post on Free Range Kids, and my answer was so long I thought I might as well just give it it’s own post on my blog. I liked my response (of course I did) so I wanted to share what my ideas were with the Free Range Kids crew, but I also wanted to know what anyone who reads my blog thought about this particular issue. Don’t hold back, tell me what you think!

 

From Free Range Kids (op is here: http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/2010/07/01/help-this-mom-figure-out-a-free-range-summer-for-her-kids/#comment-37099)

 

“Hi Readers — Here’s a letter I got today. Let’s give her some good advice. Since I get to go first, I ‘ll say the obvious: If you can afford it, send your kids to some kind of not-too-programmed camp. Other suggestions?

Hey Free-Range Kids:  I truly, profoundly want my older daughter to be more Free-Range.  She wants more freedom.  Advice on how I get there is welcome.

My 13 and 11 year old girls are on summer vacation, my spouse and I both work.  The oldest is in open rebellion because, despite my claims that I want her to be more independent, I  won’t fire the babysitter.

Besides not being comfortable with them being home alone for that long a time with no adult less than an hour’s drive away, my oldest has admitted that the real problem with having this particular sitter is that she limits TV and computer time, buys only healthy foods when they are out, takes them to parks to play and lakes to boat  – in other words, she is destroying their summer by depriving her of the God-given right to be a couch potato everyday for 10 weeks.

I do believe summer should be, in part, a time to relax and be lazy.  I do believe a normal 13-year-old should not need a sitter.  But I can’t bear the thought of my kid sitting home alone and getting fat in front of her computer screen.  She’s already too heavy, according to her pediatrician, and I don’t like the trend.

The younger daughter thinks this 20-year-old sitter, btw, is Mary Poppins, and delights in her to no end.  Blatant and unfair favoritism, claims my moody eldest, further proof of the injustice inherent in my system.

Advice on how to get this kid to the point where she is sitting, instead of being sat, would be terrific. — Fed Up Mom

Okay, Readers. Go for it! – L. “ (“L” is Lenore, the woman who runs the site)

 

there were a LOT of responses. Like 75+. There were many telling one another that they were wrong, which was funny, since who says what is the wrong way to handle this situation? The OP (original poster) even left a comment midway though the thread thanking everyone for their ideas. She said after 50+ comments:

“Thanks everyone — there’s a lot of good advice up here, and I’ll keep checking back as we try some of it out. Nest week is family vacation — visiting folks in a very rural part of the country, lots of outdoor activities planned, as well as down time — and we are going to send both kids to camp for a few weeks (a regular backwwods sleepaway camp –not a “fat camp ” — where they can occasionally interact with each other but will be in separate cabins.) I’ll let you know how all this worked out at the end of the summer.

Someone suggested I read up on FA. Sorry — can you please spell that out for me?

Sleep issues — I am trying to be sensitive to the circadian issues. On the other hand, schools, as many of us know, are not sensitive to a young teens need to sleep later, so I don’t want her to go totally overboard during the break, because it will be much harder to get her bcak on schedule come Sept. Not to mention camp is not going to let her sleep through breakfast and chores every morning. So for now, the sitter doesn’t arrive at the house until 10, and the kids don’t have to be up til 10:30.

Age appropriate activities — the problems started because the sitter asked both girls to plan activities with her for the firts two weeks of summer, and my eldest, resenting the presence of a sitter, refused to plan. So my 11 yr old and the sitter planned out things the younger one would like. I think my eldest has learned the cost of absenting herself from the decision making process — we had a long discussion last night — and the sitter agreed that walking around the mall with a friend was a good substitute for walking around the lake sometimes. More to come on that score.

Weight — the best comments are the ones that remind me that whole family needs to work on this issue together, on our calorie intake and our exercise. After vacation, we’ll talk about somethings we can do to get all of us in better shape. Most if the women in my family are overweght or obese — myself included — and I know emotional an issue this is for both young people and adults. I am not judgmental of her, nor is my love conditional on her body shape — I just know from her own comments that social situations are harder for her because of her weight right now — clothes shopping involved many tears — and I want to help her, or at least allow her to help herself.

I don’t forsee a situation in which I would allow the 13 yr old to be in charge of the 11 yr old. Two close in age, and while the 13 yr old is immature for her age, the 11 yr old is precocious and would never accept her sister’s authority or advice. Either they get to the point where I trust both of them to take care of themselves, or I keep the sitter.

Thanks for the advice everyone.”

I started thinking about it, and I read ALL the comments on the page (Whew! That’s a LOT of opinions!)  and finally came up with my own response, which was REALLY long. Of course.

I said:

Wow. It’s so interesting that we are all on the same website and we all want to be “free-range” but we have VASTLY differing ideas of *what* exactly that is. It’s really super fascinating to hear what everyone else has to say about this, and I have really been given occasion to now think hard about this, and what it will mean for my (and my childs) future.
People appear to be pretty opinionated about this, but I’d say it’s really a case-by-case type of thing. There’s not really a “right” way to go about solving this, though there are probably a lot of wrong ways, you just don’t know what those are until you try them and they don’t work! Ha!
I guess I’m not really sure what would be the “right” thing for your daughter, but I CAN tell you what my life was like at that age (I’m 29 now, and often I feel like my peers have already forgotton what it was like to be 13. I’ll remember, that’s for damn sure)

My mom was really excersize oriented and a health food junkie. She was probably a little *too* obsessed, but she didn’t really push me too much. My dad on the other hand couldn’t have cared less about his physical body. He didn’t even watch tv, he just read all the time, walked when he felt like it, and ate as he pleased.

My parents let me stay home after I turned ten. I don’t remember the day, but I’m pretty sure it was my 10th birthday that was the “ok, no more babysitters” day. It was entirely based on the legality issue, as I’m sure they would have let me stay home alone earlier than that if it had been permitted by the state. My dad worked nights and often was sleeping while I was home, so I suppose some of the time I was not *alone* alone, but I didn’t notice the difference and he wasn’t there to monitor me, just to sleep. My mom often would not get home till 9pm, which was about my “bedtime”- though I often stayed up much later than that, and my parents didn’t force me to bed, as long as I was in my room and quiet.

I was 100% self regulating at that point in the summers.

Yes, I got a bit fat, I sat on my ass and read books and watched crappy daytime tv, though not a ton because we had no cable and an ancient old telly that got pretty shoddy reception. We did not have a computer.
I didn’t have many friends since I was the nerdy weird kid, but I did eventually figure out how to arrange my own schedule and go hang out with the few I did have when it suited me.

My parents didn’t have a car, and I lived in the city, so I bussed and walked when I wanted to go out (never learned to ride a bike!)… My mom asked me if I wanted to enroll in some summertime stuff (camp, dance classes, art classes, whatever) and I did occasionally, but most of the time I just kept myself entertained. There was no real restriction on where or when I could go out, and I knew where to draw my lines.

Like I said, I got a bit chubby, but I got over it for the most part, since my mom only left cookable food in the house. I had to actually toast the bagel, boil the pasta, etc etc. She bought low fat cheese and lots of fresh veggies and no sugar, because that’s what she ate. My dad pretty much just ate at diners and stuff so he didn’t have much to swipe, and anyhow he liked “weird” spicy food.
She left me dried beans and rice and pasta and some jars of organic pasta sauce. There were corn tortillas, vegetables, spices, olive oil, granola, fruit… and no junk food. Not because she was keeping me from it, she just didn’t eat it, so she didn’t buy it. I didn’t eat fast food till I was 13. Seriously. Because of this, fast food still smells like chemicals and poison to me. Ew!!

It didn’t stop me from gaining weight. I made peanut butter bagels and sat on my tookus, but I’m sure my blood pressure was groovy. It also gave me decent habits just by osmosis. My fridge looks pretty much like hers did, except I’m not as terrified of butter as she was. ha!

I’m still a bit on the chubby side, but not objectionably so (I’m 8 months pregnant right now, anyway!) and my mom looked like a fitness model pretty much until the day she died. It was a cruel twist of fate that I got the “short fat” genes and she got the “tall thin” genes, but I’m also fairly lazy, and not perfect when it comes to food. I eat really good stuff, but I probably eat too much. I still walk and bus as much as possible,  though my significant other drives, I don’t (read: again, never learned how)

I think I turned out pretty well. I wasn’t the most responsible kid in the universe and made some dumb choices along the way, but I wouldn’t be the person I am now if I hadn’t. I never resented my parents or rebelled against them because they gave me anything to rebel against. It was like trying to hit a wall that wasn’t there. I did try to rebel against any OTHER form of authority though (school, convention, etc) but my parents were the “cool” ones among my friends as I got older. I didn’t realize how much freedom I had until I found how little others had, but I’m very glad they left my leash as nonexistent as possible.

The weight issue is so touchy. If you talk to her she may feel like she’s being judged, but if you don’t it may feel like you’re ignoring her issue. Whatta minefield!
IMO, it’s best if you teach her how to eat right simply by doing. If the whole family needs to eat better, then stop buying junk. People make it seem really complicated but it’s mostly just a matter of learning to self regulate at the grocery store, and learning how to cook at home, rather than eating out. She will also have to learn to cook. Oh noes! Boiling water! chopping onions! Whatever shall I do?

I also find that ordering my groceries online (safeway is cheap!) is a great way to avoid “shopping when you’re hungry” syndrome. I always shop better when I buy online. Plus having them delivered is great.

I personally think traditional excersize is TOTALLY overrated. I excersize incidentally. I walk a lot, and get stretching from house cleaning & gardening. You would not believe how *few* calories one burns on a treadmill. It’s also torture. I’d prefer to just go to the park because it’s a beautiful day, not because I’m forcing myself to run laps.

*shrugs*
Those are the sorts of things I’m going to try to pass on to my kid. Right or wrong, that’s my way of doing it. Passive absorbtion of knowledge by setting a decent example. Sounds easy, because it is.

A Moment of Peace

A moment of peace before Quan-Yin became irate with the presence of the small, frenetic Toby. Seconds later Toby decided that it would be really fun to pounce on Quan, and Quan decided that Toby's existence was offensive to her delicate sensibilities.

With Regrets…

Hunter and I went to the Regretsy (regretsy.com) book signing at Powell’s today, which was totally awesome. April Winchell aka Helen Killer was very pleasant and intelligent and well-spoken (oh shocking, I know).  

I love this woman. Not only has she found herself a brilliant comedic niche to fill (and filled it beautifully), but she’s got a goddamned heart of gold. I must have started visiting the site within a week of it’s first post, though I didn’t start commenting until much, much later. But I visited it regularly, cackling with delight at the teddybears with human genitalia, terribly ill-conceived jewelry, horribly made clothes, and bizarre art. However, when I first noticed that she was not keeping the money that this inevitably made, but rather doing charity work- well my heart was won over for good. It was the knitted boobs that really did it- hand-knitted breasts for women who’d had mastectomies. Rather than buying a big gelatenous 1200 fake plastic breast, being given- GIVEN- a handmade knitted boob in a fabulous array of colors and patterns, with or without peircings—- oh. I just about peed myself.

(For an example of knitted boobs, check out http://knitty.com/ISSUEfall05/PATTbits.html)

I don’t feel any special need to donate to big cancer charities, even though my mother, grandfatehr, great aunt, and great uncle have all been hacked down by it. I just don’t think that cancer charities do that much good- If I had money to throw at a charitable cause, I might donate it directly to a lab, not buy a pink ribbon- since those charities end up using most of the money they raise to promote awareness, which does nothing to cure cancer at all. However- knitted boobs? Now THAT is useful. Practical, artistic and totally bitchin. – April manages to take snark and turn it into something useful- possibly for the first time on the intertron. She keeps 0% of the proceeds of the site and instead picks a worthy cause (and they are always magnificently worthy- a seller who was robbed of all her posessions, a crafter whose husband is going through chemo and she needs a new sewing machine so she can stay at home with him more, etc)

Now I’m checking the damn site every day, even on days I know there won’t be any new posts.

I’m a true Regretsy-junkie.

She slammed Voodoo Doughnuts for being unsportsmanlike and not being willing to host an after-party/faux-wedding, which of course was totally justified. I think popular locales in this city get so much lip-service that they get all egocentric and think they’re above actually providing a service. Movie Madness, Jackpot Records, Apizza Scholls, Voodoo Doughnuts, Buffalo Exhange, The Montage, etc etc are all guilty of this “too hip to serve” mentality. 

They’re just too fucking cool to bother with actually being polite, or doing their jobs. 

I should know, when I worked at Movie Madness nigh on 12 years ago, it was exactly the same- I was nice to people, but my coworkers seemed to want to cultivate this “I’m just too underground and awesome to answer your pedantic questions” attitude. If someone came in and asked if we had a “Steven Spielberg” section, there would be snickering in abundance. I certainly was not excepted from induging in the “you think Quentin Tarrentino is an underground director haha you’re so lame” mockery, but I forgive myself because I was 17, and 17 year olds are assholes pretty much across the board. It’s hormonal, and can’t really be helped. 

It seems like these places get a “pass” because they DO have a great product- Voodoo Doughnuts really DO make great doughnuts, so if you’re too snarky about their snarkiness, one feels almost traitorous. Maybe, like the famous soup nazi, they’ll hear about your treachery and stop giving you maple-bacon doughnuts! Or maybe people will think that by calling them out on being dicks, you’re somehow alligning yourself with Krispy Kreme. Who knows why people let them get away with it, but get away with it they do.     

It was highly satisfying to see someone call them out on this shitty behavior.

We may not be crab-hammering puritanical dickbags, but we certainly are occasionally hipster scum.

ANYHOO, great fun was had by all. Big ass crowd, great reading, and was, predictably, really amusing. She read from the book but also diverged into stories and quips that were not recorded, which was delightful. I probably looked really foolish but I asked two questions in a room full of people who couldn’t seem to think of anything to ask her at all. This kind of thing has always been a point of irritation for me- you have this person here who you have come here to meet, and who has come to meet you, and you’ve certainly thought of a shit-ton of things to ask her, but now that it comes to it, you’re too damn shy to raise your hand. Pthh.

I really could have just sat down and jabbered at the poor woman for hours, but of course once I got to her in line I was a stuttering, stumbling, red faced, twitchy, itchy mess.

I did get a good spot in line for the signing and managed to get up to see her pretty fast. I gave her a ’45 of “Fat Bob the Singing Plumber” as a gift to add to her notorious collection of terrible/ awesome music. She gave me an embroidered pantyliner (!!fucking awesome!!!) bookmark, and totally knew who I was. When I told her my name, she remembered my last name- I said “Esmeralda”, she said “Rupp?” which means I probably talk too damn much on the site. 

I do snark an awful lot. 

Anyway, it made me feel like my stomach was about to fall out of my ass onto the floor, and I wanted to say a bunch of shit which just came out as a sort of garbled mess. Oh well. I’ve never been startruck before, but not I totally know what it’s like. When I met Billy Corgan I was cool as a cucumber, when I met Woody Harrelson I just shoved the poor man out of my way, and when I snuck backstage at the Misfits I stole their beer and didn’t even talk to them. But I meet April WInchell and I’m a gooey slab of idiocy. Hardcore. 

A terribly blurry shot of me being thrilled to be standing next to the totally bictchin' April Winchell.

Reading

With Regrets... My autographed book and fabulous embroidered pantyliner bookmark.

Nocturnal Visitors Take 2

This time there were two of them.

In our bedroom.

At three thirty in the morning.

Trying to haul off my dried, lacquered alligator head.

Picked them up, put them in the cat carrier, dumped them onto the porch.

How much do you want to bet they come back in two days?

Awwwwwwwww. They were so harmless, I was tempted to feed them, but I know that's just inviting disaster.

They were totally submissive, and didn't resist me at all. It's a wonder more people aren't coerced into keeping them as pets.

I even think the fact that this one was drooling is adorable. Maybe it's maternal instinct. Oh, but look at those little hands!!!!! Squee!!!!

Giant Effing Hornet

I’ve always wanted to see what one of those giant Asian hornets looked like up close, but all I was able to find on the internet was a “tiger wasp”.

I’m not sure if it’s the exact same family, but it’s a close enough analog size-wise to give you goosebumps when you hold it.

it’s encased in some kind of lightweight Lucite, and you can study it really close up and see it’s huge jaws and piercing eyes with astonishing clarity.

It’s just awesomely horrifying.

That right there is what I like to call a Nightmare Insect