Ramblings of a pseudo intellectual

I’ve just been generally unposty. Sorry! And it’s not just here. My family picture blog is painfully neglected, too, and an online message board I frequent of other moms that I’ve been chatting with since before Lane was born probably thinks I fell off the face of the Earth. No real reason for it… just not in the mood to be very verbose.

In me news:

Things are progressing on the purchase of the house next to the in-laws. There was some talk over the last couple days of backing out, due to a festering insect infestation that the current owners were resistant about treating properly, but news that infestations means buyers can have trouble getting mortgages on their property seems to have changed their tune.

I’ve had a couple small electrical type things in my life die over the last week. The first was my cell phone. One minute it was happily in my pocket, the next it was on my in-laws’ driveway during my visit to water their vegetable garden. I didn’t notice it was missing until the next morning, and didn’t find it in their driveway until that afternoon…. after about 12 hours of good, soaking rains. The amazing thing is that after it dried out, it worked at all. The unfortunate thing is that functioning was spotty, it wasn’t keen on staying powered on, and it would press its own “9″ button at random, so it would involuntarily save my messages to voice mail when I was trying to listen to them or speed dial Frank at work.  Not necessarily the behavior one looks for in a cell phone.  So I abandoned it after a couple days, and visited my friendly local Verizon Wireless store.  Where I learned, even though I didn’t have insurance on the phone and even it wasn’t yet time for me to get a new phone with renewing my contract, because they gave me 20% off my bill because they think I still work for my old company, they gave me a new phone for free anyway.  Score one for corporate back-scratching.

The other death in the family was of our waffle iron.  Yes, our just-got-it-for-Christmas, super souped-up waffle iron.  We were making waffles … and two came out just fine, and then it just stopped being hot enough.  The next one got to formed-but-white status, and that was it.  We tried turning it on a couple more times, wondering if the cease of proper performance was more just a quirk, or a temporary temper tantrum (perhaps the waffle iron was expressing its own views over the conversation in the kitchen that morning) but alas, it turned out its demise was quite permanent.  Costco happily took back the waffle iron and gave me a merchandise credit.  (They also took back the orchid I bought that there promptly committed suicide the second I brought it home.  I am sticking with this story, as I have another orchid that I have managed to keep alive for over a year.)

Last in news is that we are headed to Sesame Place this weekend, which is a veritable smorgasbord  of fun and adventure if you are a  preschooler.  And, we have one of them!  And a toddler who will certainly enjoy it, too!  And we’re meeting  friends there as well, who have 2 year-old twin girls, so I think we’ll have a good time.

Today is Bailey’s birthday. She’s 42.

Well, in dog years, anyway.

Bailey joined our family in 2002. I’d grown up with dogs but had never had MY OWN DOG, and Frank had never had a dog at all, so we figured we should get a dog of a breed with a reputation to be ‘easier’, as far as dogs go. We went back and forth and decided on a golden retriever. It seemed like a safe choice - smart, easy to train, good with kids.

I wanted to put a puppy picture here, but most of our pictures are in storage, and back then I was film-only. So this is the best puppy picture I can offer for now. The big black dog was my Grandpa Bill’s dog, Rocky.

Dog ownership has had its trying moments. Like for the while when we couldn’t figure out how to stop Bailey from jumping. (Somehow we got the idea to cross our arms, look up and ignore her, and it’s like magic!) Like when she had a spate of urinary tract infections - let me tell you, it is not fun trying to get a urine sample from a dog (but a pie tin, slid under at the right moment, works well enough). I lost more than one pair of beloved shoes to her puppy teething phase. And, as retrievers tend to be, Bailey certainly has her share of dependency affection and hyperactivity exuberance and destructiveness energy, but nothing anyone could call abnormal for a golden. She brought a bit of chaos to our generally quiet and predictable lives, and our days were better for it.

This is Frank and my brother, Mark.

But she has been a great dog. She is really smart, and was a cinch to housetrain. With just a bit of work she learned a lot of other useful stuff too, like sitting and staying and crating up. She’s a great dog for car trips, she isn’t at all anxious in the car, and stays relaxed throughout the trip (with occasional bouts of excitement to be going somewhere).

And then the kids came along, and she has proven her great-dog-ness in spades. In her they have a playmate, a jungle gym, a pony, a confidant, a partner in crime, a pillow, a teddy bear, and a guardian all in one big, furry package. She tolerates every bit of toy stealing and ear pulling and being sat on and and stepped on and laid on and jumped on with the patience of a saint, and still all she asks for return is an occasional cuddle and bowl of food.

With Lane when she was a week old.

With Lane last month.

As fitting for a family member, we will celebrate her birthday in a small way. We ordered her this ‘cake’ - it was Lane’s idea. She picked out the design, too.

Yes, I know, it’s a cat - there was a dog picture in the flyer right next to it. I even pointed it out and said “Don’t you think a dog picture would be more fitting? Bailey’s a dog, after all.” Lane said, “Yeah, but she likes cats too - like I like cats!” I couldn’t really argue with that logic. So, tonight after dinner, we’ll all have a piece of cookie cake and we’ll toast Bailey’s health.

So, Happy Birthday, Bailey! And thank you, for being a great dog. I hope we have the pleasure of your company for another six years.

At least SOMETHING good happened today.  Frank found out he passed his Final Assessment!  He now unofficially has his ASA!!  (It’s not really official until the Society of Actuaries puts out their official list of ASA’s and he’s on the list, but that won’t be until June, I think.)

Congrats, honey!  Not that you read this blog, but I am very, very proud of you.

Lest you think this means our days of studying are over… he’s already decided to go for the FSA and has begun studying.

It’s funny though… we initially planned, way back when, that we weren’t going to have kids until he got his ASA.  And then I accidentally got pregnant and all that changed.  I couldn’t even imagine my life today if I didn’t have Lane and Jake around.  Fate does seem to know what’s better for you than you do, sometimes.  I wouldn’t change it for a second.

We’re going to Aruba in a week and a half with the in-laws.  Yes, I’m excited about going to Aruba… not quite as excited about spending 8 solid days with my in-laws but I’d rather be in Aruba with them than here in the cold without them.

Lane is going down with them, two days before we go.  We’re talking up how she’s going to go to the beach with Grandma and Grandpa and how much fun she’s going to have, and all in all I think it will be good.

Tonight and tomorrow night, though, we’re doing a sleepover trial run, where she’s spending tonight and tomorrow night at the in-laws’.  Despite missing her a bit, I certainly don’t need the trial run.  When we suggested it to the in-laws, it was intended with two purposes - for Lane to experience two nights away from us before she has to do it a five-hour plane ride away from us, and for the in-laws to get a feel for what it’s like to spend 48 straight hours with Lane, without a break except at night.  For either part of the equation, I’d like them to experience any kinks now, when we’re just a phone call and a 4 minute drive away.

And… just maybe… I can get the house cleaned up tomorrow too.  Jake doesn’t have the knack for utter destruction that his sister has.  But he does like to put his feet in the dog’s water an awful lot.

I have to say, my body and nature get along well.

As in, my body tends to just be generally healthy and predictable and well.  I have regular periods, when I have them.  When I try to get pregnant, I get pregnant.   I try to breastfeed my kids, and they breastfeed.  And breastfeed and breastfeed.

And so it goes with my postpartum period as well, it seems.  Right now, as nature surely intends, such that I can continue focusing my parenting energy on my youngest nursling, I have not yet experienced the return of my period.

Chalk that up as another benefit of breastfeeding — the cheapest birth control imaginable.

However, what comes with that is a libido to match.  That being, none.   Chalk that up as one of the breastfeeding minuses.

Granted, neither of these are automatics with breastfeeding.  Some women see their periods return after a few months no matter how much they are breastfeeding, and I’m sure some also are veritable hornballs through their time lactating.  However… not me.

After Lane was born, I had an IUD inserted six weeks postpartum.  Seems now that that was a rather redundant action.  At least it bought me peace of mind.  This time, I skipped such formalities with the inclination that they wouldn’t really be necessary.

This is not a bad thing.  Even if we wanted to conceive again, I don’t see how we’d manage.  Sure, we could slip in the occasional lovemaking, but really, I’m just looking at our current reality and laughing at the idea.  Right now, Lane and Jake are running circles around the ottoman in our living room.  Jake is giggling, and Lane is singing “Please Bring Honor To Us All” from Mulan, only it seems she doesn’t know any of the actual lyrics and is thus substituting gibberish.  Frank is looking feverishly for the remote that I managed to misplace during the day.  I know I used it… but I don’t know where it went after that.  Unfortunately our two crazy, mobile, mischievous children present the possibility that neither of us adults could know where it ended up.  If I were due to ovulate and this was the prime time for conception, I just don’t see how we’d make that window without giving the kids sedatives.

But that is totally OK, because I really have no inclination in the world to add another body to the mayhem at present.  I have friends getting pregnant (a big shout-out and congrats to Amanda and Dave, Amanda of BFF notoriety, who will be greeting a baby around Labor Day… so apropos.  Oh and if you ever get the chance, ask Amanda how to pronounce “apropos”.) and having babies (congrats Kim!) and trying to have babies and I honestly and absolutely have no desire whatsoever to join their ranks again right now.

Anyway, I should go help Frank find the remote.  I think he’s getting D.T.s from missing the hockey game I know he wants to watch.

Right about last Wednesday, I decided we should all pack up on Friday and go to Buffalo and visit my family for a long weekend.

A bunch of stuff has happened in the last few days, nothing hugely groundbreaking, but mostly interesting.

I watched part 2 of Pride & Prejudice.  I enjoyed it a lot.  My BFF Amanda constantly soaks her panties thinking about Colin Firth in this movie, and yes, he was dashing.  Though… sorry Manda.  Just not panty-soaking-dashing for me.  But I can see why he would be for someone else, even if I can’t experience it first hand.  This was probably good, because I watched part 2 in the car on the way to Buffalo and since my minivan has leather seats, I didn’t have to worry about sliding off of them.

I was offered some work on - I think it was Thursday.  And, I accepted.  My old boss called to see if I would want to take on some once-a-quarter work that needs to urgently get done each quarter but is time-consuming for the full-time staff and nobody wants to do it anyway.  It would be about a week’s worth of work every 3 months, and the hourly pay is more than I was making when I was full-time.  It was really a no-brainer, and it is an excellent excuse to buy the laptop I’ve wanted to buy but had little justification of the expense.  Ahh, justification!

The visit to Buffalo was good.  My dad goes on these weird whims and this weekend was no exception.  We discovered he’s thinking of moving.  These seems to be partially fueled by his general and ongoing overwhelmed state for upkeep of the small 3 bedroom house we grew up in, and partially by the fact that “black people” have moved into the house next door.  Though according to all accounts the new neighbors are friendly and quiet and just generally good neighbors so far and my father made sure to tell this to me many times to try to dissuade me from believing he is a narrow-minded bigot.  Not that the fact that he actually felt like he needed to tell me this is evidence itself of the bigotry, but whatever.  It also doesn’t help when he ends the story with “Well, at least they are friendly drug dealers.”  [insert animated eye roll with slow head shaking here]  So, he wants to start looking at houses.  In the same neighborhood.  3 blocks away.  Umm, OK.  Since he won’t admit that at least part of his motivation is not because of preconceptions of his new neighbors, he’s planting it firmly on not wanting to clean the house anymore.  I don’t think he gets a couple things about this whole transaction - first, it will cost thousands of dollars to move to a new house, and second, he could hire a cleaning service for those thousands of dollars.

Dad also has that girlfriend, Linny.  A small part of me suspects there is talk of moving in together and that maybe she doesn’t want to live in my mother’s house.  That’s fair enough.  But geeze, just be honest with me, Dad.  I’m a big girl.

But besides that it was a good visit.  We saw my grandparents, and it was fun watching my dad and brother hang out with my kids.

We were supposed to see a house this morning at 9:30.  The owner is apparently particular about when people can see this house, so will only let people book morning appointments.  No sweat, Frank could go too.  (I’ve been previewing some houses just on my own to cull the lot of ones that Frank might go back to see, too.)

We get there, and our realtor - my MIL’s best friend and a lovely woman and someone who is perpetually early for everything - isn’t there yet.  This is odd, so I immediately check my cell phone for messages.  I discover the phone was set to silent (oops) and there are four messages.

Message 1 (8:30 a.m.):  Our realtor.  The people have canceled the appointment, and she doesn’t want us to go out unnecessarily with the kids.  OK.

After hearing this message, I tell Frank the appointment was canceled and he gets back into his car and heads off to work.  I get back into my car, where the kids are still in their car seats, and continue to go through the messages.

Message 2 (9:09 a.m.):  Realtor again, trying to reach us.  She also tried emailing me.  If I get this message, please call her.

Message 3 (9:14):  My mother in-law.  The realtor has called HER because she can’t reach us.  Um, why, I wonder?  MIL wonders why I’m not answering the phone and please call them and the realtor.

Message 4 (9:27):  My father in-law.  Why aren’t you answering your phone, Lisa?  The appointment is canceled!

OH MY GOODNESS.

I start driving away, and notice a familiar Lexus in my rear-view mirror, honking and flashing its lights at me.  The in-laws have driven to where the appointment was (I’d told them the evening before the street the house was on that we were supposed to see today).  They have come to notify us that the appointment was canceled.  Oh, and scold me for being unreachable by cell phone for a whole hour.

Oh, my goodness.  OH MY GOODNESS!  Can I say it enough!?!  OH. MY. GOODNESS!!!!!

I’m not sure if the inclination to make a mountain out of a mole hill is particular to my in-laws, or if it’s a Czech thing in general (my in-laws are Czech, they came to the U.S. in the late 60s).  Why on earth is it necessary to turn this minor non-event into a crisis?  If they weren’t so normal and nice and reasonable most of the time, I might think they were lunatics.