A Very Important Event

One year ago today, for the very first time, my biological clock let out a shrill screech. I sat in the hospital with little Clara cradled in my arms and wished for a baby of my own.

For most of my nearly 30 years I had assumed I would have children - though my biological clock apparently didn't have battery back-up and my maternal instincts never really manifested themselves. Yes, I dressed my teddy bear in clothes - but it was teddy, not a doll. Yes, I played house, but my sister was always "the mom." I was always the aunt or some other cool person who went off to work. Yes, I played Barbies, but my Barbies always changed outfits 76 times a day and never had a Ken doll or kids (the Ken doll was my sister's). Clearly, I was not cut from the "mothering" cloth. I was much more interested in designing roadways and buildings for my brother's matchbox cars, or cooking in the fabulous play kitchen I had, than I was in tending to a wailing baby doll.

We had been trying for a baby for awhile, but even then my biological clock hadn't even so much as ticked. Deep down, I wondered why I'd never felt that pit-of-your-stomach primordial longing for a baby.

It happened that night in the dim hospital room of a suburban Virginia hospital, holding the much-longed for baby of dear friends. I later remarked to Himself that indeed I had a biological clock and it was going off non-stop.

Five days later, we learned of Baby Girl's pending arrival.

It couldn't have happened in a more perfect way than to have the sweet confirmation of my pending motherhood manifested only days after I realized that I indeed had that deep, longing yearning for a child of my own.

Happy Birthday Clara. You will always hold a special place in my heart.

Good Will Toward Men

I've been feeling Scroogy this Christmas - or, rather, apathetic enough to not even really feel Scroogy - just bleh, as if the holidays are one enormous chore to get through (or be avoided). But I really felt Scroogy because I felt like I was totally self-absorbed - one of those grinchy people who looks at the Salvation Army Santas and wonders why they chose this store, on this day, to shake their bell and ratchet your headache up another notch.

I discovered an incredibly easy, cheap way to brighten up a whole county's worth of holiday revelers - quite by accident.

This weekend, my mom needed me to run some errands for her (how she survived with me thousands of miles away, I've yet to figure out - maybe she's making up for lost time). They involved driving down to Happy Valley. For the record, I would rather sit on the Beltway than drive in Happy Valley. It's a most-painful endeavor - especially since her request involved several stops, a couple of stores and a wrapping job (sidenote: the gift ended up looking like a 5-year-old wrapped it - parking lot wrapping jobs with an infant wailing in the background about how unfair life is that she is stuck in her carseat just don't look so great).

It also involved stopping at my aunt's house. In a fit of holiday cheer, I dressed Baby Girl in her ridiculously cute Santa outfit (you can see her here) - largely because it's warm, it fits and the furry collar entertains Baby Girl for minutes on end.

We left the house at noon. We got back at 7:30 p.m. During that time we went to one department store, one farming store (don't ask - I think I was the only one there not wearing boots), my aunt's house, several stores in the mall, Costco and Arby's (I somehow forgot to eat in the middle of all of this). Himself had the stroller, so I hauled Baby Girl around in my arms the entire time. My arm grew tired. She, apparently, did not. She happily slurped on her fist and watched all the people.

I started to notice something ... everywhere we went, people brightened up - if only for a moment. One lady stopped us and told me that we had made her day. There were whispers, pointing, little kids tugging on pants and saying, "Mommy - look, it's a little Santa!". People smiling and wishing us Merry Christmas. Every time, Baby Girl would stop slurping long enough to flash a dazzling smile that lights up her whole face. You could almost see people melt into puddles of goo as they smiled back.

Last night, when we drug Baby Girl out in subzero (not quite, but it felt like it) temperatures to see the lights downtown, she wore the same outfit. The same reaction happened.

I didn't feel quite so Scroogy after that. I realized that my contribution this year to good will toward men might be small, but it definitely makes a difference.

After all, who can walk away not feeling a little better after they see Baby Girl in a Santa suit?

Favorite Things

Strawberry Limeades from Sonic
Christmas morning
Christmas hymns (NOT the nerve-jangling "fa la la la la" stuff)
Snow days (days with snow that involve hot cocoa, reading, watching it snow from the inside, not having to drive and not having to work)
Trying new food
Road trips
Baby Girl's smiles
Bilbo Baggins' White Chocolate Raspberry Bread Pudding
New shoes
Buying new socks for Baby Girl (weird, I realize)
Back rubs
Board games
Early Saturday mornings when the weather is warm and no one else is awake
Good books
Sushi
Plays
Christmas lights
Homemade whole wheat bread
Looking at old photos
Posey Lake trips
Really good french fries with fry sauce
Hiking
New restaurants
Making new recipes
Getting e-mail (not the spam kind)
Visiting new places
Tomatoes straight of the vine, still warm from the sun
Flannel sheets
Visiting the parents
Snow cones
Getting magazines in the mail
Downtown DC
People watching
French Dip sandwiches from Kneaders

If it is Warm & Damp ...

... it probably isn't a good thing.

Last night I was nursing Baby Girl just after dinner. She was being her usual difficult self when it comes to the dinner feeding - like most kids, I suppose, she is interested in anything BUT eating, but lets out a holler if I dare think that she's lost interest in food. She just wants it when she wants it - at her own pace - which usually means suck for a few minutes, and look around for a few minutes, repeated about 36 times. (Nursing her in a dark, quiet room doesn't help either - if there is the slightest amount of light, she's looking around. If there is no light, I fall asleep).

Sometime near the beginning - where she pulls off, looks around quickly and fusses because she can't find her food source again , she spit an entire mouthful of warm milk down my arm - inside the light cardigan I had on. My shirt and the cardigan were both destined for the laundry.

We're nearing the end - where she pulls off, sighs contentedly and lays her head against me for a few seconds, grinning, before she decides she wants more food. She radiates heat just like Himself. Last night, the heat seemed a bit, well, damp. And oddly, the heat seemed to be spreading rapidly across my lap. I picked her up, puzzled.

The rascal had overflowed her diaper and peed all over me. (Not just a spot, mind you, but a flood that covered my entire lap and soaked through my skirt, slip and underthings).

Fortunately, it was bath night. Baby Girl HATES baths, but tolerates them if I'm in with her - either in the shower or the bath. I made Himself hold her while I got ready for the shower. He held her at arm's length, Baby Girl kicking gleefully, so that he did not have to share the warm, wet feeling I already had.

I took Baby Girl, put a changing pad down on the bathmat, and stared in stunned silence - the warm, wet liquid that she had so generously shared was not, it turns out, just pee. It seems that after I had checked, she had continued her expulsion of bodily liquids - all over me, her dress, her onesie, her diaper and all the way up her back.

The week is clearly off to a great start.

(On that note, for those of you interested, at three months, Baby Girl FINALLY fits into her 0-3 month clothes - mostly. She is FINALLY outgrowing newborns - the next pack of diapers I buy will be size 1 - Costco here we come! She is not so scrawny anymore - but there is more muscle on her than baby fat, tipping the scales at a petite 9 lbs 7 oz. last week, still on the 5th percentile growth curve).

Just Another Day in Paradise

I have had a bad month. A bad several weeks, actually, since the month is only seven days old at this point. Himself and I have traded off between feeling like we've been smooshed by a gigantic steamroller and feeling like we can trudge through another day with only minor reminders that we aren't well.

We finally discovered the culprit. The doctor took one look at Himself's tonsils, and after running a rapid strep test, declared thatHimself had the worst case of strep he had ever seen. Our roller coaster rides through illness have been on alternating weeks (thank goodness for that, I suppose), and he is one week ahead of me, so his is worse, but I also have it. Of course, we spent a highly useful period of time last night discussing who felt what and who had had a higher temperature, etc.

The house looks like a bachelor pad - you know, the kind that they'd showcase in a movie like Animal House. We have ordered takeout Chinese twice in 10 days from the restaurant a few streets over who actually has a website where you can order your takeout online (and it is almost as good as Taste of Asia in Maryland). We've never ordered takeout Chinese before. Neither of us are hungry, but one of us is feeding two people with one person's daily caloric intake, so food is sort of a necessity.

The laundry has been done - between being sick and spreading germs all over and Baby Girl, the washer hasn't sat idle more than 24 hours in the last few weeks. What has resulted is lovely, artistically deposited piles of textiles all over my living room, the nursery, our bedroom ... wherever they got shoved if someone was rumored to drop by.

The Christmas tree is up because I felt I owed it to Baby Girl. We're missing one box of ornaments and our tree looks like something even Charlie Brown would have a hard time loving, so it's really more of a garish misappropriation of artificial holiday cheer than a decoration, but Baby Girl loves the thing anyway.

The coffee table is covered in saline drops for babies and adults, a snot sucker, a box of tissues, a digital thermometer, a bottle of Tylenol (formerly occupied by a bottle of Advil, when it was my turn to take up residence on the couch, er, sick bed), a couple of empty water glasses - one which held juice, one which held water, two prescription bottles, a packet of throat lozenges, a bag of throat lozenges (Himself and I have different preferences for those, in addition to our painkiller differences) and a host of other things we've been too lazy to displace.

Our nightstands look equally the same. The couch pillows are on the love seat and the couch is covered in blankets, as one or the other of us has been sleeping on the couch for the last 3 1/2 weeks. All of Baby Girl's entertainment options are stationed within arm's reach of the couch - her bouncy seat, play mat, blanket, etc. The tub of wrapping paper and bows and other assorted useless (we have no gifts purchased yet) holiday cheer sits behind the ottoman, as neither of us have had the energy or foresight to move it.

And we won't even mention the dust and grime that is covering every other surface. Or the fact that the refrigerator is full of ingredients none of us have had the energy to do anything with. Or the fact that somehow we neglected to unpack the winter clothes when we moved in, so there are two boxes in two different rooms with their contents strewn over every available surface. Every morning we go to our appropriate box, shove our hand in and pull out a new surprise - spending the rest of the morning trying to find something to wear with it.

And this morning I realized we leave in two weeks for the great state of Washington. We have no presents purchased. We haven't even discussed what we're giving. We haven't talked about travel logistics - exactly when we're leaving, where we're staying or when we're coming home, nor have we talked about anything else holiday-related.

Oh yeah, and the weatherman is calling for a big storm where snow will fall "in feet, not inches." Hopefully this one isn't as badly forecasted as the one last week where we got 8-10" out of a storm that was supposed to just drop a "dusting."

It's another day in paradise, er, The Hobbit Infirmary.

All of our agents are busy right now ...

Baby Girl's social security card hasn't ever shown up.

Today, I finally had the half hour necessary to remain on hold to find out what I can do about it.

"Welcome to the SSA, blah blah blah about our website. For English speak/say one." Okay. Easy enough.

"Blah blah blah about our website and all the fabulous things you can do there. Let me go through some options."
It gives me a list of options for things I can do through the automated process or over the website. Locating your baby's social security card is not one of them. I hit zero, hoping I can cut through the automated nonsense and speak to a real live government drone.

"I'm sorry. That is not an option." At this point, I'm using my handsfree system in my car, driving up State Street on my way to a meeting. Frustrated, I yell, "I just want to talk to an operator!"

The voice-activated system says, "Just one moment and we'll transfer you to an agent." SUCCESS! Except, I forgot I was talking to the government - and the SSA generates almost as much red tape as the IRS.

"We're sorry. All of our agents are busy now. Let me blah blah blah about our website and everything you can do through the automated drone." Which knocks me back into the system I just left - which still doesn't have an option for finding out what happened to Baby Girl's social security card. I yell in frustration, "I just want to talk to an agent!!"

"We're sorry. All of our agents are busy now. Let me blah blah blah about our website ... if you would like to continue holding, please press or say 2."

Of course, I follow the command, which immediately says, "Thank you for calling the SSA. We're sorry we are unable to help you at this time. Goodbye."

At this point I'm staring straight at the state capitol and have half a mind to march myself in there (my meeting was across the street) and find out how on earth I can talk to a real, live government SSA drone. I refrain.

Two hours later, after the meeting, I try again. This time, miracle of miracles, I get through to hold music. Elevator music has never sounded so good in my life. Thirty minutes later, it's not sounding so good. Finally, a real, live government drone gets on the phone. I explain that Baby Girl has never received a social security card. (My comments, or rather what I would have LIKED to have said, follow the SSA drone's statements).

"Well, Baltimore issued her a number." Um, that's nice, but she doesn't have a card.

"Maybe you moved?" No. Not since she was born. What I'm really worried about is that the card was swiped and someone else is being Baby Girl and using her SSN. The nurses at the hospital told us that the postal carriers were not allowed to deliver to a mailbox that didn't have our last name on it somewhere, for just that reason.

"Well, ma'am, there isn't any way I can tell to where the card was sent or if it is being used by someone else. But I wouldn't worry about it. The envelope says right on it 'if this person doesn't live here, please return to sender'." Um, right, and that is going to deter someone from stealing someone else's identity. Who can I talk to to make sure it isn't being used?

"Ma'am, that isn't going to happen ... the envelope says right on it ... I don't know who would steal it." Um, I live on a BUSY, five-lane street. My mailbox doesn't have a lock. I realize it's a far cry, but it was supposed to be here WEEKS ago. You say it was issued and sent - so where did it go?

I resign myself to just trying to get her a new card and then worrying about identity theft.

"You have to request a new one. We sent you one, which you should have received if you gave the correct address. You have to fill out a form. It will take 6-12 weeks to arrive." Okay, but what if the SAME problem happens again? That's what I was told the FIRST time I filled out the form. I was told to call if it didn't arrive.

"Well, there is nothing we can do here. The card is issued in Baltimore." Fine. Can I go online and do it?

"Yes. Print out Form XYZ and send it in. But Baby Girl is going to need identification." SHE IS 12 WEEKS OLD - what kind of ID does an infant have? What about her birth certificate?

"I'm sorry. That is not an acceptable form of identification." It's her birth certificate - the only thing I own with her official name on it. I had to use MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE to get a driver's license (which, by the way, IS acceptable identification - unless you're 12 weeks old). I also used it to get my social security card changed when I got married (along with my driver's license). They didn't need ID the FIRST TIME I filled out the form (when she was 2 days old).

"I'm sorry. You'll have to provide some other form of ID." Like, what, exactly? "You can have her pediatrician write a letter, stating she's a patient, last seen on xyz. Make sure it's on letterhead." Okay fine. Whatever. Because my pediatrician has time to vouch for my child being mine.

"Oh yes. And since she's too little to request her own replacement card, you will need to submit ID." Okay, so I'll enclose a copy of my driver's license.

"Ma'am, we can't take copies." Um, you told me I could SEND it in. How can I SEND an original of my driver's license or other ID?

"Well, you can't send in a copy. You'll have to come to our office then." And then what? You can give me a new card?

"No. Baltimore issues the cards. You have to come in and show your ID and Baby Girl's ID and we'll send the form on to Baltimore." Do I need to actually bring my baby?

"Well, it would be helpful...you know, because you don't want anyone representing her fraudulently and using her SSN for identity theft..."

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS. I am so not having this conversation again. *Banging my head repeatedly.*
No wonder new mothers go insane.

Corporate Christmas

In a prior life, late October was the time for The List. An e-mail would go out to all mid-level and senior management, with an attached spreadsheet of last year's corporate gift recipients. You were supposed to scan the list for your clients/vendors/partners, remove anyone who know longer warranted a gift, declare what level of gift anyone staying on the list should receive and shore up your defenses should anyone challenge your decisions.

Then, The List was sent up to the executive suites to be vetted. Typically, executives of other companies got the top gift - aged scotch. Lesser beings got champagne. Known non-drinkers or mere minions (if any were lucky enough to make it on The List) got a gift basket of assorted edibles. Nothing, however, is black and white or etched in stone (or the powers-that-be wouldn't have needed an entire month to vet The List of any imposters).

Just because someone was a senior-level executive didn't automatically warrant aged scotch. You had to be influential in some way - or a "close, personal friend" (corporate speak for we're going to ask some enormous favor of you or we offended you somehow and this is how we're apologizing) of a senior executive on our end.

Just because you got aged scotch last year did not guarantee the same level of generosity in the present. Perhaps you are no longer a "close, personal friend." Perhaps the buisness of which you are reigning emperor is no longer critical to this business. Perhaps your company contact did not advocate as loudly for you this year. All reasons warranted a drop on "The List."

Wo to those who specifically requested something non-alcoholic. It didn't matter who you were, if you had such nerve (or your company contact had such nerve), you were automatically permanently relegated to the gift basket portion of The List, regardless of stature or status.

It was a throwback to the old world feudal system - with a lord standing at the top of the pile beating down the minions with a club, 'No you impertient soul - you're neither a firstborn, a clergyman or of royal blood - no Christmas gifts for you!'

The whole thing turned a group of mostly Ivy-league-educated senior managers into a group of hysterical, oversized kids as they bartered, begged and sleuthed to make sure their clients/vendors/providers were well taken care of. There was a whole social heirarchy - both in who got The List circulated to them and who really had authority to do anything more than glance, nod and say, "no changes this year." The List was taken very seriously. After all, one didn't want to be in the position of having to admit one of their clients/vendors/partners weren't worthy enough to maintain the same gift status - or remain on the list at all - as last year.

Each year, as The List was circulated (I was important enough to receive the list, but typically not important enough to move anyone up to the next gift level), the senior-level managers frenetically tried to figure out who belonged where. The rest of us mid-level minions tried to remember who typically gave the best gifts (gourmet cheeses and Mrs. Fields gift baskets were the most coveted) and squeaked like little mice, lobbying for better gifts for those who were likely to give us the best gifts, gleefully grabbing an open champagne spot, should someone higher up on the food chain deem his or her contact unworthy of such a low-level offering.

I can't say I missed "The List" frenzy this year. Though I do miss the cheeses and Mrs. Fields coookies.

No Panty Bunching Here

I am a bad person.

* I don’t get fired up about the things I sometimes feel I should.
* My panties sometimes don’t get twisted into a knot over some things that probably warrant having one’s panties in a knot.
* I work in corporate America (though no longer in big business - not that I cared).
* I shop at Wal-Mart (occasionally, and I really don’t like it because I prefer the cleaner stores and shorter lines of Target, but I do shop there if I need something they have and I’m in the neighborhood).
* I send out religious Christmas cards (to friends who are Christian) and non-religious holiday cards (to my Jewish friends – sidenote: have you tried finding Hanukah cards in a place like the Frontier?)

There is something floating around decrying several stores for calling their Christmas trees “holiday trees” or “family trees.” It urges me to pass it on.

I deleted it.

I’m probably going to hell for it, but it’s not one of those “panty-bunching” issues to me. I am a good Christian. I believe in the religious reason for Christmas. I loathe the fact that Christmas has become more about getting more than the next guy, Black Friday and not offending anyone in its observance than about peace, reflection and Christ. It is, after all, a religious holiday. (Not to mention my prior post on pet peeves about e-mail forwards).

But I’m not offended by Christmas decorations being called holiday decorations. More accurately, I don't have TIME to be offended by it. I'm lucky I even put my decorations up this year - I don't have time to worry what I should/shouldn't be calling them or if I need to be offended by someone else's reference. You know - good will to men and all that.

It does bother me that people get offended by those using the terminology “Merry Christmas” – as if it’s okay for me to be bothered as long as someone else isn’t. But it doesn’t offend me that people choose to use “holiday” instead of Christmas. Again, I don't have time to worry about it or be bothered by it.

Maybe it should bother me. After all, Christmas is as much a religious holiday as Easter.

Though come to think of it – Easter doesn’t seem to cause big controversies. No one seems to get their panties in a bunch about people saying “Happy Easter.” I wonder why...? It’s an even more religious, more solemn observance than Christmas.

Maybe people are right – the East corrupted my sensibilities and turned me into a crazy woman with an all-black wardrobe, an attitude and far too open mind.

Except, looking at that list, I moved to the East with everything but the all-black wardrobe.

Maybe I’m just wired wrong.

FWD:

Okay, it's Monday, the roads are still slick and winter has settled in for a long, comfortable stay. Therefore, I'm allowing myself the luxury of dragging out a pet peeve.

E-mail that starts with FWD: that comes from someone who never bothers to send anything else.

*Duck*

It shouldn't bother me, but it does. I, as a general rule, don't mass-forward anything. Generally, if I forward something, it's to the one or two people to whom it might matter. Or it's fun and interactive. Or it's a one-time lapse in sanity. And I'll hide your e-mail address.

I'm a cynic by nature, which means I don't believe in good or bad luck. I don't believe in coincidences either (for an entirely different reason). I don't believe that Microsoft or AOL or anyone else is going to give me money for forwarding an e-mail. I'm in marketing - if they were going to do it, the industry press would be all over it. There are bad people and bad stuff in the world, and I like to stay informed, but I prefer to get my news from reputable news agencies (okay, I'm willing to debate the word "reputable") rather than some person, usually Anonymous, who claims to know of a sister's, friend's, cousin's, grandmother's, aunt's, niece's, cousin's, friend of a friend who had x, y or z happen to them. Target is still not a French-owned company. I've been to the corporate headquarters in MN (okay, just the outside, but still ....). Shampoo is not going to give me cancer. Nigerians are not going to magically give me money by cashing a check for them or giving them my bank information.If a bank with whom I've never had an account contacts me about needing me to update my account information, it's a phishing scam. I am not an activist. I have quiet moments of outrage, contemplation and activism, but they are generally either a) generated by someone I know (as in directly) or b) my own philosophies and beliefs - not by a forwarded e-mail started by who knows who. I am paranoid by nature, which means I drive with my car doors locked, don't talk to strangers and run in the opposite direction from strange men (or try to). I shred my mail. I don't mail anything important from my mailbox. And so on ...

If I've heard from you once in the last year (whether via Christmas card or e-mail or phone or anything else), I am not talking to you. If I know the names of your last two kids, it's all okay. If you know that I moved thousands of miles and had a kid this year, you're probably okay (that lets anyone reading this off the hook, so you can all stop worrying if I'm posting to you ... in reality no one who does any of this even knows I blog). UNLESS ... you send me hundreds of FWD messages. Then I might have to think of something equally as annoying. Like signing you up for all those sweepstakes offers out there. :)

Okay, rant over. Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

How Do I Hate Thee...

Winter, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways (in no particular order);

1. Snow. Pretty snow when it requires no driving (as it was on Saturday) is fine. But it must be gone from all streets, parking lots, sidewalks or any other hazardous place by Monday morning.

2. Melting & Re-freezing - see above (especially when one has to lug Baby Girl, a laptop bag, a lunch bag, a pumping bag - and this morning, a diaper bag - across said frozen water).

3. Inversion. A special winter evil in The Frontier.

4. Smog (worsened by inversion).

5. Hills - making 1 and 2 particularly nasty.

6. Dark mornings, dark commutes home.

7. Gray. When the valley fills with clouds, fog and even the mountains disappear - it's hard not to feel gray inside too.

8. Below freezing temperatures. I finally bought a good winter coat - just in time for my old coat from college to be located. Doesn't mean I like wearing either one of them.

9. Tourists. I liked tourists in DC (as long as they stayed off public transit and downtown streets during rush hour), but tourists in The Frontier are (generalizing, stereotyping - forgive me) generally hot shots who think they're coming to the world's most backward state to have a little fun, complain about the locals and then jet back to their fabulous McMansion.

10. Lake effect. Warm water + arctic air = LOTS of white stuff.

11. Bad weather forecasts. A chance of a "slight dusting" on Saturday morning turned into 10" along the east bench.

12. No snow days. At least before I could hope for a storm bad enough to close work. No more.

13. Dress shoes. I'm wearing my ugly (but oh-so-comfy) Aerosole loafers with the tassles and my clunky oxfords every day. They have rubber soles, slightly minimizing the fall factor. My cute shoes worked in VA because my car was garaged and snow was scarce.

14. Salt. Icky, saltiness covering everything.

15. Mountain passes. Bad storms render one virtually stuck in one place.