Friday, July 25, 2008

Miley Cyrus

I am so glad that my daughter is an infant and not a tween. I am exhausted with her presence in every medium, and I don't have to submit to my child's pleas to watch Hannah Montana. I can't wait for her to go away, but I know that another star like her will just reappear.

Monday, July 21, 2008

At the Lake

My dad took us to Navajo Lake yesterday. It was wonderful. The sun was out, the water was smooth and clear. The wind was low. I loved every minute of it. We brought my daughter, and she took the the lake like a fish to water. She didn't fuss when put into the constricting life jacket, and she enjoyed the roar of the outboard motor and the splash of the water.

I spent much of my childhood at the lake, and it is good to see that my daughter will also build many memories there. I want her life to be filled with water skis, aloe, crawdads, and sand castles. I also want her to be comfortable in her skin at the lake, and that requires something of me.

For all of the positivity associated with the lake, there is the fact that many of the activities require the wearing of a swimming suit. As a kid this was no big deal. But I did hear my mom and aunts often complain about how fat they looked (uh, not at all by the way). Then, as I got older, my hips grew, and I got stretch marks. They were no big deal, until someone asked me what "happened" to my legs, as if I had been abused. It was then that I realized that I didn't look like I "should" in a swimming suit.

Following this I spent much of my adolescence nervous about my body (and in the words of Joy Nash, "I should have been wearing pink hot pants!"). Which brings me to this trip. I had fun, and I tried to water ski, after a two year hiatus. I didn't succeed (I kept drowning myself), and I began blaming my fat. I didn't blame my stupid mouth for staying open in the face of streaming water, nor did I blame my arms for being not strong enough to hold on. I blamed my fat, and I felt nervous about hanging out with my family. Then I reminded myself that I was at the lake to have fun with my daughter.

I decided to have fun, and to love my body.

Monday, July 14, 2008

On Motherhood: Childcare

Here's one for the "that's why men work and women stay at home" crowd.

My school district offers daycare for its employees. This sounds fantastic, and I was really excited about it, so I called. Turns out that what they really provide is pre-school, as they only enroll children ages 2-5. One would think that an employer based in education would know the freaking difference.

So I'm an employee, and I have a child, so I need a place for her to be while I work, but that is only allowed if she is 2 or older. My district is implying that all employees should stay home until their children are 2. And I happen to work in a field that has traditionally been held by women.

The message that I am getting from my employer is this: "You are not supposed to be working. Stay home for another year."

That is not a message they should send. There are other professions that offer child care for infants. These professions also pay more. Yet schools are losing teachers left and right.

I WANT TO TEACH. I WANT TO DO THIS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. I know I am not alone, but districts are making other careers look more appealing because of the way they treat their teachers. This is part of the crisis in education.

Now I am calling every day care in the phone book, and it seems that they are either on a waiting list (many several months long) or they only take ages 3 and up. Grrr.

Note: Any of those "types" that I mentioned at the beginning of the post that feel the need to force their beliefs on me will be deleted. My blog, my rules.

Thursday, July 10, 2008


I just signed up for Netflix. My queue includes...

G.I. Jesus
Hotel Rwanda
The Business of Being Born
Can Mr. Smith Get to Washington Anymore?
Rescue Dawn.

I will review as I receive. Does anyone have experience with Netflix? Is it good? I'll add my two cents soon.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Oh Shit!

New house, new problems. The home that my husband and I moved into is a bit older, but by no means ancient. My husband has been here for about 3 weeks, and my daughter and I have been here about 5 days.

Today while I was showering, I noticed that the water wasn't draining very well. I shrugged it off, and finished up. Then I got out of the shower and I heard the toilet gurgling. Not good. I lifted the lid and noticed that the bowl was empty. Suspicious, but not nearly as alarming a toilet incident as I have experienced (if I get three requests for the story, I'll tell it).

At this point my daughter was fussing, so I moved on and tended to her. I went into the laundry area to get a diaper, and I noticed the floor was wet. Gross on bare feet. I called my husband and he said he'd look at it when he got home.

Then I decided to wash the clothes that were now soaked on the laundry room floor.


About 15 minutes later I heard more gurgling, and I saw soap in the toilet bowl. I opened the shower door and saw something horrifying.

Poo, in chunks, was spread about the surface on which I stand when I attempt to get clean. Ugh!

So I turned off the washer (I should have known better, but I'm gonna go ahead and blame jet lag), and called my husband. He said a plumber was in order.

So I called a plumber and they promptly came to snake the drains. It was gross, but they said it would only be 183 dollars. That is fair for running a cable through a tube of poop. Then they had to remove the toilet, because every other avenue was not solving the problem. Turns out that is 159 dollars extra.

Oh Shit!

Monday, July 7, 2008

Moving: Part II: Decisions

The move has been odd. My family and I are currently in our new home, and I am trying to get all of the boxes unpacked and things set up in the house. It is weird to take something out of a box and decide "That goes there, forever." Now I know that I could move the pasta to a new cabinet if I decide that I don't like the location, but it feels very permanent out of a box and into a new home.

I have never really moved before. I lived with my parents, then I left for college and lived with my uncle. All I had to move then was a carload of clothes and some knick-knacks. Then my husband and I moved into an apartment, and I just shifted things over a few blocks. When we bought a house, we bought the furniture we needed, and so it didn't really feel like moving, since we didn't have a place and affection for the items before.

This move has been strange. We have had to decide the layout of the baby's room, the positioning of the office, which bathroom gets the most towels; all of these decisions present a dilemma for me. I don't know how to make small decisions. I had someone to do that for me for my whole life, up to about one week ago.

My sister helped me decide how to do laundry, how to organize my wardrobe, what to make for dinner, and how to pack.

Now that I have moved, I do not have my sister's constant advice. I call her, sure, and she gives me a piece of her mind. But her physical presence is what motivated me. Now I am wandering around trying to picture her wagging her finger at me. I miss her greatly.

I am also feeling a bit juvenile. I moved closer to my father and step-mother, and all of the old feelings about being a step-child are rising to the surface. It took one visit from them to send me back to the days of being 13 and striving to be noticed by my father. Many of my decisions about how to set up my house also seem to find their way back to "What will Dad think of this?" That is not how I want to spend the next decade of my life.

I have to decide to be happy for me. I have to focus on my (and my family's) needs and decide how to live my life. I still love advice, but I need to let go of the fear of judgment.

So I begin by saying, Amanda, I will put the Elvis picture wherever I want to.

Saturday, July 5, 2008


I haven't written in a while, mostly due to the move and the wonderful trip to Alaska, and I don't even know what to write about now. I just have the itch to blog, and so I think I will do some fluff.

About Me

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Farmington, NM, United States
Old enough to know better, young enough to change.