Organic Mama

I've been putting off posting about my knit/crochet projects with the thought that I'd finish the booties totally so I could post a pictures. Alas, I haven't stitched up the last bootie, so they aren't felted, which means no pictures. But since I have finished a couple things and am working feverishly on others, I thought I should do a quick update and edit the pictures into the post later.

  There is this great acrylic (yes, plastic, I know) two-ply yarn at the "corp" craft store I frequent called Marble, and it comes in lovely combinations of a solid strand and a varigated strand of complementing colors. I bought one that reminded me of a garden - mossy green solid with rose, muted sienna and black varigation - for the second baby blanket for my new niece. Three skeins and one crochet hook later, I have what has turned out to be my favorite project yet. The fabric folds and lays nicely without stretching under its own weight or bagging out. I haven't washed it yet, so I'm not sure if it will pill (the first blanket did, ick). I used a double crochet all the way through, so the thing grew like mad once I got the knack. And hooray, no curly edges thanks to no knit. In fact, I liked the way this one turned out so much that I bought three more skeins in a beautiful maroon/magenta/teal combo for another friend who is due to have her baby in October.

As for the felted baby booties, I took it easy and bought Paton's 100% wool because it made an inexpensive way to test the pattern I bought in Washington over our last Christmas visit. Turns out the pattern is wonderful and easy to follow, and since the whole thing is maybe 31 rows, it turned out to be a quick knit. This project made me feel like knitting again. After I sewed up the first bootie, I was quite please to find that the shape worked out, thereby negating my fear that I couldn't read a pattern properly and that I might never get the hang of shaping. I might just try socks someday!

The felted shoulder bag is going to be quite a monster. I didn't plan this one well at all. I have figured out what I'm going to do to close off the bottom. However, I may never make it that far. I'm on my fourth skein and it still isn't nearly long enough. Skein five was going to be more body and six was going for the bottom and strap, but I may adjust that up a skein or two so the bag is nice and deep. We'll see how much patience I have left after skein five.

I keep thinking my stash needs to get whittled down before we move, but now I know I'm talking crazy. My stash continues to grow even as I finish off my latest work. Currently, I have yarn for my best friend's felted hat, Little J's mimi (which I've also been working on), a cotton sweater for Little J or my nephew, the blanket for my friend M, an extra skein for more booties, three balls for lime green varigated hotpads (for me?), as well as sundry other balls and skeins without designated projects. In my head, I keep thinking I'll also get around to making a couple things to donate and start working on things like socks and scarves for the next holiday season. I guess this means I should give up on getting things under control, 'eh? And just today I bought my first book of patterns during our weekly soujourn at BN. Yes - give it up, it's for the best.

I can say one really wonderful thing - I actually feel like knitting because now I have somewhere to talk about it. (Dave, that means I don't want any shit about refrigerators, law mowers, or other such. I know you could give a crap, but hey, this is MY blog.)

(Okay, the post title looks a little silly, but it's a reference to Chris Tucker's character in The Fifth Element)

A post by Rachel over at Milkbreath and Me makes me (laugh my ass off) want to share: Jack has finally started accruing a vocabulary. (yay! whoopee! sweet!) So far, he only regularly uses Na Na (mom) and Da Da. But occasionally:

Chee - Cheese
Joo - Juice
Dah - Dog
Shoo - Shoes

Thanks to Big J, he also says "Doh" just like Homer Simpson. You have no idea how frustrating this is for me on several levels. I mean, he's only just now acquiring speech, and my sweetie is already teaching him things that make me worry that he won't be scarred for life by poor English skills. I know, I'm making a bigger stink than is warranted.

Oh, yeah, and you know that show, Vicar of Dibley, with Dawn French? You know the character that dithers? No, no, no, no, no, no...yes. Well, we've taught him that as well. Parents are evil.

It has recently come to my attention that we're going to be moving in a few very short weeks. Like about two and a half, to be precise. That means I have only about two more minutes to freak about before I have to start cramming things into boxes so there will be something to pack the truck with. I have considered very seriously taking it all to the dump (minus hubbo's comic collection and the kid's toys) and then starting fresh once we get there so we won't have to go through the pain of packing and unpacking (and hauling it across country, stuffing things into a miniature storage space, then pulling it all out again once we've gotten to Pote-land and found an apartment). As you may have guessed, I don't much like packing.

The only problem is that the kid doesn't sleep through ANYTHING, and also doesn't like it when I start taping up boxes and putting our things into them. So this should be a really pleasant and enjoyable couple weeks. NOT.

Finally having worked all the ends in and run the sucker through the wash so as not to transmit any scary microbes to my sister's newborn babe, I can say that I am glad it's over. I may think twice before every knitting another baby blanket. Crochet is definitely the way to go when I have a limited amount of time to finish the project. I learned a fair bit making this blanket, like how to determine my gauge and then calculate how much yarn I would need and also that there is no simple solution to curly edges. If I ever do decide to lose my mind again and knit another blanket, I think I will choose to follow a pattern.


I am much more pleased with my first mimi. Okay, what's a mimi, to those uninitiated with kidspeak? A personal comfort device, mostly, and quite frequently they're blankets of one sort or another. I made this one for my best friend's kid with the intent that he could also use it as a cape. Thus the hooded corner. I chose to make a hood on the corner as opposed to on one of the ends so that the blanket would still fold flat and match up at for corners. It's probably a neatness-control-freak-o.c.d. glitch that made me do it - I hate folding things that don't match up neatly. Anyway, I haven't given it to him yet, so I don't know what he'll think. As for what I learned, the hood was the biggest issue. I gauged my yarn and hook needs quite well without having to restart, but I didn't have a plan for the hood and it shows. Easily remedied with a quick jaunt through the pages of The Happy Hooker, I'm sure.

Now that I have one blanket to send my sister, I'm going to postpone finishing the marbled one in favor of a couple projects I need to finish before I leave. I promised my neighbor a pair of felted booties for her new son (now nearly three months old) before the little tyke was born. The summers are hellish here, so I'm making them big. Started them this afternoon, actually, and so far, so good. I'd acutally like to spend a little time on my felted shoulder bag, as it's supposed to match a hat I made last winter. I really love felting, but as usual I chose to go it alone (no pattern) on the bag, so we'll see if it turns out. I haven't gotten a thorough picture in my head of what I'm going to do when it comes time to finish off the bottom and make a strap. I'm thinking I need to read up a little more on felting to see what my options are.

Meanwhile, if you'd like to read a more experienced and much funnier view of knitting than my own, I really recommend popping over to The Panopticon.

Cheers!

Every day, I struggle to maintain a balance between keeping the house clean and playing with the baby. I must've fallen prey to the misconception that being a stay-at-homer means keeping the house spic and span while also being able to cook meals from scratch and raise happy and well-adjusted children. Actually, I'm probably totally to blame for my own high expectations because I've always been a champ at juggling several full-time and high stress occupations at once. Suddenly, though, I feel a lot less capable. And I can't make up my mind about letting the house suffer or pushing the kid to let me get more things done. I know, I know, everyone with kids would remind me that he's only going to be little once and to savor every moment. But to those same parents I would pose this question - are you someone who gets bored being an at-home parent? There are some people who get all kinds of energy out of interacting with others, but I am not one of them, and therefore the daily repetition gets really deadly boring for both of us.

(I am thankful for TV in those moments of utter frustration.)

By all accounts, I love my child. I am finding that loving him means letting my expectations get lower and lower as his need of my energy and attentiveness gets higher and higher. While certain things have gotten easier - I can hook him up with a snack and he'll play happily while I wash dishes - other things have gotten infinitely harder, like taking a shower. These days, I'm lucky if I get to rinse off once a day. A book I read about toddler activities called dinner time "arsenic hour", and my experience definitely relates on that end of the spectrum. I love my child with all my being, and yet I cannot imagine adding a third human being to this crazy mix.

I keep wondering if this will get easier. According to Dr. Sears, things should lighten up a bit around 18 months, and I am quietly hoping this is true for us. I also wonder what I can reasonably expect from my husband after 9 hours at the office and 2 hours commuting. Will things get better when we move, or are we chasing our tails on this issue? I am really looking forward to having a third adult around to help keep Little J occupado, and after that I hope we have a very small apartment and NO STAIRS so that taking the folded laundry to be put away doesn't necessitate an act of god.

As we speak, my house looks like crap. There is food on the floor, as mobile and independent eating is the only way to get food down these days. Toys - EVERYWHERE. The table is a repository of all things not child appropriate. At least the laundry and the kitchen aren't totally out of hand. As always, I hope that tonight will be the night that Little and Big J have a rolicking good time without me so that I can have a moment's peace and possibly a long bath. I can say one really good thing: at least fifteen months of being an at-home-mom hasn't deprived me of my ability to hope.

In honor of E-arth Day...well not really, but I was paying enough attention to notice it was...okay back to the point...we went to the dreaded Barnes and Noble this weekend (oh how I will be happy to be home where bookstores are often independent and stock used AND new) and even though I hadn't intended to buy a single thing, I immediately found a fab little compendium about...wait for it...different E-arth friendly building techniques called Building Green. What the heck would I do with a book like that? Well, hopefully, research. And it goes with my current streak of book buying, which started a few weeks ago with It's Easy Being Green.

The real reason we went to the bookstore was to add to Little J's book collection, as I've gotten dreadfully bored with rereading the ones he has (over and over and over, six times a day every day). We bought something I hadn't seen before called Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge. It is all about a little boy who is friends with an old woman who has lost her memory and how he helps her remember bits of things. The second book we bought is a favorite from my childhood (and a little scarier than I remember): Blueberries For Sal. I always thought Sal should be a little boy when I was small, and I find that my mind has reserved that mistaken impression still. Needless to say, Little J is totally taken in by his new additions, even though they are heavy on the words.

In the world of spots, my kid has hollowed out his own little niche as the munchkin with the most rashes. Okay, gross. But if you really think about it, most things fit for print on an about-my-kid blog are pretty disgusting. Onward, then.

When he was born, he had every form of baby acne known to medical science, and probably a few they don't even have names for yet. I was worried, and then my mom showed up after the birth and in a very off-hand way said I looked exactly the same. Then, two weeks after his birth, Little J breaks out with more (though typical) baby acne. Of course, he had to have cradle cap to complement is ruddy cheeks. At four and a half months, I got desparate for a break from 45-minute feedings, so I tried solid foods. Whoops, allergic reaction indicated by a rash. His skin doesn't like the baby soap I started out using - raised bumps on his abdomen. His skin also doesn't like whatever they put in our water in the winter - allover bumps that feel like sandpaper. It seems to me that from the day this one was born, he's been covered in something red, spotty, and a often oozing. Don't get me started on yeast infections and general irritation in his diaper area.

So last week, he got a mysterious fever for two days that made him generally grumpy and over tired. Yesterday, things seem to be mostly back to normal. This morning, however, he woke up covered in a pinkish-red rash starting on his neck and working its way out. After doing some reading and talking to a nurse, it is possible he has Chicken Pox. But we won't know for several days, and only when the bumps have turned to blisters, popped and started to crust over. Yum-O.

For the most part, I do not lament or get very worked up over his skin issues. The allergy thing has been a great indicator - I know really quickly what not to feed the little guy. The water, well, I feel like there isn't a whole lot I can do. The kid is lucky to have my skin in a lot of ways: I had very little acne as a teen, I tan very well but don't burn much (and since he's blond, hooray for that), and my skin hasn't aged very quickly at all. But I will lament his getting the Chicken Pox now because I have three weeks to get the majority of our packing done, and Mr. Spots will kill a whole week with Aveeno baths if the diagnosis turns up positive.

I must remind myself that all of this goes with the parenting territory. Ultimately, I'll be glad if he has a good case of Pox now because, A) he won't be getting the vaccine unless he doesn't get them in his first ten years, and B) he won't have a terrible case and a lot of scarring if this is the dreaded Chicken Pox. No vaccine, you say? Are you insane? Well, yes, but that isn't the point. However, the vaccine issue is a whole other post.

Today was our first dental appointment. To be clear, it was Little J's first dental visit, but of course I felt totally on the hook for the whole thing - what if there were cavities, what if I wasn't doing a good job brushing, what if Little J totally freaked out and puked all over himself while the doc looked at his choppers. Hey, I'm a high-stress sorta person, I like to cover ALL the bases. So here's how the day actually went:

6 am - wake up and get ready. 6:30 - wake up both the kids (a. the teenager who likes to sleep until noon normally and b. the cranky baby who didn't go to sleep until 11pm the night before) and get them ready and loaded into the car. Take Big J to work, go get breakfast and groceries at Whole Foods. Little J napped from dropping off Daddy until I was almost finished with my breakfast - thank you sweet Jesus. 10:30 - go to craft store, get yarn, let kidlet run around and pull things off shelves. At one point, Little J picked up a fifty dollar train set and carried it over with that "hey, this should be mine" look. Yikes. Can we say dis-TRAC-tion, anyone? Then, it's off to the playground to eat some lunch and run amok. Yeehaw. Then, the dentist. Pleasant waiting room, easy to find, nice people. Five minutes with the sweetest and gentlest hygenist IN THE WORLD (who totally got Jack warmed up and interested in the fish tank so that he totally didn't mind her picking him up), then another five minutes with the dentist to take a look. By 2pm we're back home, and having fallen asleep in the carseat, the kid is napping away in our room.

So, does that dental visit sound totally anticlimactic, or what? It cost half of what I expected, and the doc said he was totally not worried about the little bit of yellow buildup on the front top teeth. The most bizaare part of the whole thing was when Jack was stressing out so I asked if the doc would mind me nursing in front of him. He looked like a deer in headlights, poor thing. And it isn't like he got to see boob, for crap's sake. We didn't even do a cleaning because the little guy is too little. Easy, squeezy.

Throughout this whole thing, my step-daughter, Miss Mere, was patient and easy going with Little J. The baby loves her to bits. I feel like I couldn't have had a better time of things, and I feel like it is all due to her. This is the stuff that makes me think twice about moving. She's still underage, so in a way she really needs us. And after we move, we won't have the moola to fly her out (not to mention we won't have a place of our own!) for her entire summer break, which means the first opp to see her will be Xmas, whether East or West coast. That just doesn't seem right, somehow.

As my husband's only blog post in recent memory reminded me, today marks the beginning of the one-month countdown to our move outta here and back home. "WHERE is outta here?", you ask. Well, H-E-Double Hockey Sticks, is how I might choose to remember it, but geographically speaking, it's called North Carolina. Just over a year ago, I wrote this about our little home:

7 April 7, 2005

The Dogwood

There’s a dogwood blooming outside my dining room, beyond the back yard fence. It looks like a dogwood sprig, really, because the branches go all in one direction and the blooms are clustered in a cascade that is reminiscent of a wedding arrangement. It’s overcast today, and very little else has greened up yet this spring, so the dogwood flowers look almost blazing greenish-white against a grayish-brown backdrop of foliage-free trunks and branches.

This tree catches my eye every time I step up to the sink or walk by the dining room windows. It reminds me that before my move to North Carolina, I had no idea what a dogwood looked like. Now that I’m familiar, I can think back to some trees around Padelford, the building that houses my department on the University of Washington campus, that were dogwoods. At the time they struck me as plain and barren looking. Here, however, I’ve come to see their blooms as the promise of spring, and their unique shapes as an interesting variation on the generalized shape of a deciduous tree. These beautiful trees blooms’ have a range of colors from dark pink to green-white, which are recognizable from quite a distance because of their distinct shape and growth pattern. For this reason, these trees seem very prevalent, appearing in virtually every front or back yard, as well as in the “wild”.

We’ve been contemplating making this our last spring in the Raleigh area and moving back to the Northwest, preferentially Portland. For me that makes a grand total of two springs. Though this hasn’t been the most intellectually inspiring place to live, there are some things I will take away from our time here with gratitude. The obvious ones – my husband and son – will always take first place. But the more subtle things, like lessons about tolerance, the existence of racism and sexism in the south, and neighborliness unlike anything I’ve previously experienced will also stick with me long after I leave. But the thing I think I’ve learned here was best stated by someone who has lived in Washington State her whole 50-some-odd year life. When your social environment changes, there are bound to be unconscious traditions and expectations familiar to those around you to the point that they frown unknowingly when questioned about said traditions. But for the outsider, these things are glaringly obvious because of their lack familiarity. They are what make you “different” and everyone else seem “xenophobic”.

The dogwood in my back yard is a quiet reminder to me that there are things I’ve seen and learned here that I couldn’t have anywhere else. I’m not sure, but I would be willing to risk the statement that most natives probably don’t notice this little tree as much as I, because their eyes have been falling on it since the beginnings of their lives. But for me, its as foreign as a cicada in Seattle. Not matter where I go, whenever I see a dogwood I will think of my time here and wonder if I couldn’t’ have done a little more to acclimate or assimilate, and I’ll wonder if I didn’t miss out on something because it took me so long to realize that what I see as “normal” would make any southern native just as uncomfortable visiting where I’m from as I’ve been here. I will never regret my desire to leave, but I will miss the beauty of the spring.

* * *

Since writing that, we've been trying our hardest to get home. We've been searching for jobs that would take us to Portland, but in the end we found it would be better just to get back to the West Coast, which means we'll be living in Seattle with my mother when we get back. Despite all our best efforts and intentions, NC has just never become home.

I could go on at length about Big J's job, our lack of friends, the distance we have to travel in order to do the simplest things like grocery shop or get a cuppa, but all that would be code for the fact that this place just doesn't suit us. Much like the dogwood blooms standing out against greening foliage, we stick out like sore thumbs. That isn't to say that we haven't met people like us, with similar mindsets and lifestyle choices. There have been the odd few. However, there is something deeper, a sense of belonging and familiarity that goes beyond just fitting in. Home, I think you might call it.

When we get back, and the ocean is finally back in its proper spot and the mountains greet us from beneath the clouds, we'll start looking anew for opportunities in Portland. Ultimately, we'd like to get a small apartment clost to Big J's employment, and I might actually think about working a little. I've learned by now that life is what happens while you're busy making plans. Okay, that's really friggin' cliche, but it is also cliche because it is true. I hope that I'll be able to finish my undergrad English degree before we get around to having another baby. Then, from there, we're really hoping to open a comic book and coffee shop. For now, though, I'm happy with the fact that we're getting out of here and back there.

My sister had a tax-day baby this weekend. I can't get the idea of this brand new life out of my head. The whole thing was so different for my sister than it was for me, and yet the commonality of the our experiences has brought us together. Both of us gained a lot of weight - we ended up over 200 lbs. However, Little J was 10 lbs, whereas Little A is 7 lbs 11 oz. I wound up having a C-section, and Sis didn't (thank you God, or whomever might be held responsible for this). Sis got really lucky - only twenty minutes of pushing. They checked out from hospital yesterday afternoon, less than 24 hours after the birth. From the sound of things, Mom, Dad and new baby girl had a pretty typical first night home - very little sleep, lots of confusion, and lots of second-guessing by Mom and Dad. I tried to be of comfort over the phone, but right about now the 3000 mile separation is wearing desperately thin. I worry that my sister will wig out, or not be able to handle things, which is my impression of her. However, my gut says this will be her opportunity to shine, to do the best she can just like I did and just like we all do, and that she will probably grow up quite a bit in the next month. When I get there, I'm sure things will be all sorted and I will have worried for naught.

Isn't it truly amazing how self-centered I can be about someone else's joyous event?

All this contemplation of what things must be like right now for the new parents has caused me to think back over what it was like for Big J and I that first month. Little J has never, ever been one to sleep peacefully. Then the colic hit. He kept us hopping, that's for sure. He still does, but not in the same ways. My best friend is right - parenting is the hardest job I'll ever do, and only another parent could possibly comprehend and empathize.

So, congratulations love, I'm sure your gorgeous baby is in the best of hands. I can't wait to meet her. Enjoy all those awestruck stares and firsts. The whole infancy thing passes like a flash - the next thing you know she'll be walking, talking and running the show. I love you and see you soon.

 
What a weekend! Had the kid's picture taken Saturday, and he just didn't want to smile. Have I mentioned that Walmart just doesn't do it for me? Sunday was a blast and totally busy - hunted eggs at home and with the grandparents. Much loot. I am running out of ways to organize and store all LittleJ's toys. I'm thinking we need to pack most of them up and donate them anyway. Does one really save things for the second child? And Miss Mere, my stepdaughter, has been here since Friday. Poor thing got poison ivy - on her face! Yipes. Sorry for the stream-of-consciousness post, I just woke up. 

I've just managed to finish another book. Now, if you're a reader from Jeepers Creepers, you know I lamented how much I couldn't read while LittleJ was, well, little. That hasn't improved at all. In fact, I'm really looking forward to the days when he'll be big enough to run amok on the playground while I get some good time on a bench with a book. I assume this means we'll be frequenting playgrounds that aren't crazy busy. Whoa, back to the book at hand, woman.

My latest reading habits have really run to non-fiction, with a heavy streak in the cooking section. I read cookbooks, yes, but I mean things like "Tender at the Bone". I guess I spend so much of my time cooking that I'm curious to hear how it has been in other people's lives. At any rate, Anthony Bourdain's travel essays about eating in all manner of interesting places was something I'd picked up months ago at the height of my obsession.

Recently, my interesting in all things foodie has cooled quite a bit. Anyone with children knows that you only have a certain amount of time and energy to expend on things that aren't absolutely necessary. I've found that I can do about two things for myself at a time - read a book and work on a craft project. Or blog and read my RSS feeds. If I try to do all four of those things at once, like I have been recently, all four of them get very little attention. So, finishing a book was a big accomplishment. Bigger, almost, than getting the kitchen totally clean.

Bourdain has a fixation, shall we say, on all things cretin. Describing the morning after some bad tete au veau requires the use of the metaphor "getting head". The carnal and the culinary are constant bedfellows in "Tour". Not that I'm prude. No, no, definitely not that. However, the sexual referents tended to distract from the actual experiences being recorded. Bourdain has balls, though, to eat and travel in places I would never have. Vietnam, Cambodia, the underbelly of Russia, Morrocco, etc etc. That isn't saying much - I'm a spineless wimp when it comes to travel. This book may be the only time I get to really "experience" any of those places.

I'm going to attempt to get back "on the book". I'm working on a book about Shakespeare's life, maybe I'll make real progress in that. Expect my blog to suffer if I really get engrossed.

FINALLY, I've finished knitting the first baby blanket I planned to make for my sister's new bambino. As she went into labor this morning, I'd say that's pretty darned good timing. I tried to take a pic of it, but as you can see I'm not very skilled with the digital yet. The thing about this blanket is that I totally hate it. It stretches out funny, the border flips over no matter what I do, and it is totally huge. I feel like I wasted six weeks of effort.



On the other hand, crochet seems to be re-entering my life in a serious way. I'd thought to try crocheting the second baby blanket, seem here in its beginning stages. Low and behold, I got a package from Amazon this week that I DIDN'T ORDER. Turns out my MamaK (Best Friend's Mom) took it upon herself to send me a few things off my wish list, which included Debbie Stoller's "Happy Hooker". Ms. Stoller was JUST IN TOWN! I missed the signing, of course, because LittleJ and I were busy recovering from the double-ender. But, BUT, so I called to say thank you for the books, and we got to chatting about my projects. MamaK told me that crocheting a blanket always goes faster than knitting - so I jumped right on the second blanket before weaving in the ends of the first. I've already made it through the first skein, though as usual I'm losing stitches and I'm not sure how. I've resolved myself to the fact that it won't be perfect. But I don't have that "this is going to take the rest of my life" feeling, either. Whoopee!

 

We learned about building forts today. Little man cackled with laughter and ran around and around and under and through the thing. We built this sort of thing all the time when I was little, but I'd forgotten the joy of having your own little fortress of solitude. I tried to take a couple pictures to commemorate the event, but (as I can't seem to spell anymore either) the camera wouldn't cooperate in the way I wanted and the pictures turned out crap. I chose to post this one because of the look of pure joy on the kid's face. Ain't I lucky! 

I feel no ambivalence about the Bush administration's attitude towards educating people. The cocksucker needs to get smacked around a bit and stop appointing assholes to make decisions about funding and oversight for America's schools. Now, it seems, the shit is going to hit the fan for Universities as well.

This article in The New York Times give a small sampling of the most recent Bush Education Debacle (or BED, as they may be known in the future). If you go on to the link for the Dept. of Education provided in the article, you will find a list of reports written by folks on the commission, including one called "Setting the Context":

"graduates who contribute positively to economic development through increased private and public revenues, greater productivity, increased consumption, more workforce flexibility, and decreased reliance on government financial support; services that fill economic and social demands in agriculture, commerce, health care, energy, defense, human development, natural resources, and other subject areas vital to our society; and research that contributes to the growing fund of knowledge, fires the engines of innovation, and advances the future of the nation."

My interpretation of this excerpt is that Humanities departments like History, English, Art, and Music, will see an even sharper decrease in support and funding in the future. I also see a lot of emphasis on molding graduates for usefulness by big business. What once was a last bastion of hope for a true liberal arts education will become yet another finger puppet (with all the fist-in-ass imagery that brings up) for global corporations. Hello, sheeple. Good-bye, independent thought.

It takes me around six months to absorb most information properly, or acclimate to a new idea. I found this out while I was back at university for, like, the millionth time. I would take a class, work my butt off and get a good mark, but the term would end I still felt like I didn't have a proper grasp of the material. This was especially true of theory-heavy classes, or the classes I took on Shakespeare and Joyce. But I found that about six months or so after taking these classes, things would start to come back to me, things would start to click.

I'm finding that this might actually be true of most of my heavy learning curves. Childrearing is definitely one of those. I always feel behind in the game, scrambling to keep a handle on what my child might want to do for entertainment, eat, or make mischief with. I can look back on what happened several months ago and wonder at my own ignorance while simultaneously wishing things were more like those previous times. I don't wish my child to stay young forever - I'm not nuts and I do want to have a life someday - but sometimes I wish he wouldn't grow up quite so darn fast. I have found that reading about others' experience provides some small solace, so whenever I feel really at my limit I sit down with one of my Dr. Sears books. It sounds really silly, but so far they're the only folks that have the wisdom to put things in a non-judgmental way. Like everything other situation in my life, my family is of no use. And don't get me started on the in-laws.

Strangely, I feel the same curve of adjustment seems to have happened with blogging. I stopped blogging about six months ago because I got sick of circling aimlessly in my husband's blogging community. I have nothing against any of them personally, with the exception of the idiot master So'Con and his pathetic wife, but they just weren't the kind of reading I wanted to do. Taking that time to get clear has helped me get that there needs to be a purpose to a blog - not "just cuz" - or the posts are pointless and rambly. I think I will also feel better building my OWN community and readership, rather than inheriting someone else's.

With that, I'd like to welcome myself back. Say good fucking riddance to So'Con, the brainless wonder. And welcome back Dave and Joe as readers. It's worth coming back to. As for parenting, we'll see if I survive.