Joy and Peace, etc.

Dutch has had a spectacularly wholesome Christmas. It snowed more than a foot, and she romped in the snow, built a snowman, went sledding, participated in snowball fights, built a snow cave, climbed a snow mountain, and shoveled the walk several times.








































She also helped make applesauce, bread, and gingerbread cookies, design and sew a quilt, and string cranberries. She wrote a note to Santa. She woke up at 6:20 on Christmas Day. It was like Little House on the Prairie with more money and without the imminent fear of death. I hope you have all had equally happy holidays!

Portland vs Portland

Last Week:

Sunday: Snow, about 1.5 inches

Monday: Snow has not melted, and due to the total lack of plowing, roads are kind of slippery. DAYCARE CANCELLED.

Tuesday: Snow starting to melt. DAYCARE OPENS LATE.

Wednesday: Mix of snow and freezing rain predicted, instead it rains a bit, all snow and ice is gone by midafternoon. DAYCARE CANCELLED.

Thursday: Some snow and rain in the morning. Nothing sticks. Bare streets at noon. DAYCARE OPENS LATE.

Friday: Snow predicted overnight, but daycare opens as usual, to everyone's relief.

Grand total of maybe 2 inches of snow for the week, two days of daycare lost, and two late mornings. The local school district was closed four out of five days.


Now, of course, a week later, there's been all sorts of snow in Oregon, and if daycare wasn't already closed for the holiday, I'm sure it'd have been closed every day. Happily, we are in Maine now, close to the other Portland, and even when 14 inches of snow fall overnight, the streets are plowed before the workday starts, and NOTHING IS CLOSED. Business as usual, except for the huge mountains of snow in the middle of Main Street. Hooray for the East Coast!

appreciating

Cook and I are trying to appreciate two things for the next 4 months: 

1) Time with no baby! Child-free time in the evenings, going to bed in our own room with no kids.  Free time that's actually free. Reading books. Taking a shower without having to rush. Feeling okay about spending a full 8 hours at work.

2) Time with a kid who's got 4 grand years of experience under her belt! No diapers. No naps. Asking her to do something (get dressed, peel a tangerine, put on shoes, put away toys, entertain herself while we make dinner, answer the phone, etc.) and having her do it.  Understanding what she wants. Not having to carry her everywhere. Trying to explain Zeno's Paradox and having her understand a tiny little bit. Listening to her prattle.

Four precious months! 

knocking

Since I'm home due to Portland's inability to handle snow (daycare was cancelled due to PREDICTED SNOW), I'm surfing the internets. No, not getting ready for our epic holiday vacation. Not cleaning the house to prepare for the insanity of the next six months. The internets are way more fun.

Except also not fun. I blundered onto a blog called Knocked Up, Knocked Down, about pregnancy loss, and then onto a zine on the topic.  Reading these articles pointed out to me how hateful pregnancy can be for people who cannot get pregnant, or who have lost a child. One of my  friends expressed to me (in a nice way) some jealousy that I am embarking on my second kid, when she wants a kid more than anything.  I actually have experienced a faint shadow of this - when I see a pregnant woman, or a woman with more than one kid, I am jealous of them. Even though I don't WANT more than two kids, I have this weird reproductive jealousy. It must be hardwired.

But is is strange to know that now that my pregnancy is showing (though still muffled enough in fat that strangers hesitate to ask), I am a walking, complaining reminder for some people of the fertility that they wish for. With this pregnancy, as with the last, I try not to talk about it much unless I know I have an interested (or at least tolerant) audience, and I definitely avoid the smug-looking belly-rub maneuver. That's just annoying, regardless of the parenting/fertility status of the people around you. But... it's hard not to feel smug and excited about your tucked-away baby-to-be. It's hard not to reach out for the mysterious baby-to-be when it's wiggling around your insides.* It's hard to imagine how it would feel to lose a baby, to want a baby, and to have to watch other people gestating happily (or whinily) away.  Since I can't imagine, I think that the best I can do is pay attention, read the stories, not take anything about this pregnancy for granted, and not complain so much about how much I hate being pregnant. I'm lucky to have this pregnancy, with all its minor irritations, and I will be lucky to have a baby at the end. 

* Unless it's pretending your bladder is a trampoline, in which case you want to give it a timeout. 

Sad.

Thanks for trying, everybody. Unfortunately, our new Secretary of Agriculture is... Tom Vilsack. We can expect him to come to work every day to diligently represent the needs of Cargill and Monsanto.

Snow Day

It snowed about an inch and a half yesterday morning. Therefore, Dutch and I are home today, because her daycare is closed.* Here are some photos from yesterday, when Cook taught Dutch the fine art of snowball battling.





















































* Portland has no capacity to handle snow - the streets don't get plowed and people don't even shovel their sidewalks. When there is snow on the road, all vehicles are required to have chains on. When it snows, the city shuts down. City employees are required to work today (so you have to take time off to take care of your children, because all the schools are closed), but are encouraged to come by public transit... you can stop laughing now, Midwesterners and East Coasters.

Logorrhea for Eternity

Cook, in the early days of our relationship, charmed me with a story of how yakkety he was as a child. Apparently he used to stall bedtime by inviting his parents to sit at the foot of his bed "to have a nice chat." Aww. He's still seriously yakkety, in his weird introverted way.

Dutch, however, makes him look taciturn. She also makes him taciturn because she never stops talking long enough for anybody else to get a word in edgewise. Cook and I are pretty fried after this quarter of school, and we spent this morning lying around reading books and not-listening to Dutch while she carried on a continual monologue. We're often able to get away with using "Mmhmm," or "Hm?" or "Ah..." for a while, but somehow after four or five hours, even when virtually no participation is required of you, it starts to feel like you're being bludgeoned with a stick.

But we had a nice day. Dutch and I went downtown to see the big tree in Pioneer Courthouse Square (but mostly just to interrupt the flow of words), and ran into the end of Tuba Christmas. Dutch almost got crushed* by a mob swarming the hapless Starbucks lady giving out free samples, but we did score a tiny free cup of cocoa. Dutch bought another Playmobil figure. We went to the library. Dutch loudly pointed out homeless people to me and said wistfully "I wish nobody was homeless."** We went to the mall so I could pee, and Dutch played on the Reactrix, her favorite thing in downtown Portland. Then we went home. Dutch was great the whole time, and then she spent the rest of the day talking about our adventures and narrating an epic Playmobil drama including the motley assortment of figures she's collected so far (two zookeepers, one truck, a seal, a giraffe, two fairies, a horse, a cat, two rabbits, an equestrienne, a wheelbarrow, a bucket, three flowers, etc.).

I guess the point of this boring travelogue is that our free time tends to be framed by Dutch's constant narratives/monologues/conversation. It just never ever stops. Sometimes I think what I'd like most to steal from my old pre-parenting life (other than to be able to sleep past 7 AM) is the option of silence.



* Okay, not exactly crushed, but I did have to do some serious football-style blocking in order to extract her from the scrum.
** Later on we determined that she thinks there are 12 homeless people in the world.

Your mama is so old...

I was working on my umpteenth powerpoint presentation for school last week, and I realized that when I was doing my senior "comps" in college, we didn't use powerpoint. It may have existed, but only the army and Al Gore were using it. I made transparencies for my final presentation. I used an overhead projector. An overhead projector! And... we had email, but it was a text-command-interface email. We used reference books. Microfiche. Those of you who are not as incredibly old as I am will have no idea what I'm talking about.

I don't feel that old, but the technology I used as a young adult is now spectacularly antiquated. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of technology Dutch will use when she reaches the advanced age of 32.

labels

We're trying to come up with a name for our fetus. Cook and I barely managed to settle on a first and middle name for Dutch, and we never did even come close to agreeing on a boy's name. This time around, we have tentatively settled on a first name for a girl, but I don't know what we'll do if the kid turns out to be a boy. Today Dutch (who's been helpfully coming up with names like Snow White, Totoro, and Wall-E) suggested "Oats Corellian Scot," which must have come from some sort of Star Wars naming source.

Names are tough, though, even when you're inspired by Steven Spielberg. It's basically the only thing you can control about your kid, and even then they can change their name later on. (I insisted on being called "Heidi" for a while, and also "Tiffany."*) We'd like something not incredibly common, but not uncommon enough to attract bullying (which we fear will be attracted to our combined gene pool no matter what we name the kid). And it's hard not to feel like you've got to get the perfect one. When I wrote Dutch's name down on her birth certificate and social security application, I felt weird - when you meet people and hear their names, you experience those names as organic and part of the person, so actually assigning a name feels very artificial and awkward, and also sort of rude, like you're imposing a label on this tiny person. Also, when you announce to people your baby's brand-new name, there are invariably some negative responses...

Anyway, whatever we name this kid (and I'm still taking suggestions, folks), I'm sure you'll all be very positive about it. Little Oats will thank you.



* I liked that name before I moved to Connecticut and started at a new middle school, where I met the Evil Queen Tiffany. I guess, looking back on her, that she couldn't possibly have been as horrible as I remember her, but now I have a conditioned fear response to the name, and just typing it makes me feel kind of shaky.

Action Item!

Hey everybody!

Please go read this, and then go sign this petition.

It's important.

I'm done!

Just with school, I mean, and just for three and a half weeks. Hooray!

Turning my world upside down...

Today I found myself reading a David Brooks column, nodding and smiling. This has never ever happened before. You should read it! This may never happen again!!

Give us the bike!

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Clusterf#@k to the Poor House - President Goofus and President Gallant

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Embracing my inner yuppie mommy

Tonight I became the mommy who sits outside the classroom, chatting with the other mommies about our children. Actually, not quite, since I didn't talk to anybody, but I see it coming. I took Dutch to her first ballet class (a free trial, but there was no doubt in anybody's mind that she'd enroll for more classes), and sat there in the lobby with lots of well-groomed mommies, shepherding their younger/older children while waiting for little Sophia/Olivia/Laurel/Helena/Teagan/Roan/Arden to emerge from the tutelage of Miss Michelle. It made me feel a little queasy. Dutch is putting some of her birthday cash toward the classes, it's not that expensive, and I know she'll love it, so I don't regret doing it ... but there's something so... smug-yuppie-mommy about enrolling your 4-year-old in ballet class. I'm not really comfortable with it. Happily, there was one not-obviously-yuppie-y young Latino father there, eagerly watching his daughter through the little observation window, and his presence made me feel a little better. But then I thought about myself, sitting there (studying for my real estate development exam) in my Danskos and down vest, waiting for my own yuppie-named daughter... and it became clear that I should just come to terms with this. I AM a yuppie mommy. A poor, disheveled, frumpy yuppie mommy, but still.

Different worlds

I'm too busy to be cheerful. I'll write something happy on Thursday, when I'll be done with school for the quarter.

Dutch, however, is happy. She LOVES December! Every morning she rockets out of bed to open the day's advent calendar window, and gleefully shouts out whatever is behind the window -
"Mommy! It's a toy mouse! A MOUSE!!!!! I didn't know mice were Christmas things! It's a toy mouse!"

Last night we decorated our small wooden tree. I don't think we'd bother if we didn't have a kid, since we're going to the East Coast for two weeks over Christmas, but there was absolutely no way Dutch was going to let us not decorate. She was so excited she was practically vibrating all afternoon, and shoveled down her dinner without complaint (since it was white beans and escarole, this is kind of amazing - that's the sort of meal she'd ordinarily dismiss without even tasting it), all in anticipation of cocoa and cookies and decorating. The experience entirely lived up to her expectations, too, which also surprised me. No gifts, just hanging tiny ornaments while consuming sugar. A wonderful thrill.

Also, she went to see the Nutcracker on Friday. What a great month.

Enough already

One of my aunties called me up to say* that I should stop whining and write something cheerful. So I feel that I should mention that, in spite of all my whining, I'm actually feeling pretty chipper. And Cook has finished the last project of his last quarter at school, and I'm excited to get to converse with him when half his brain isn't occupied solving some sort of obscure GIS network problem.

Also, the weather today was beeeeyoooteeful. Sunny and cold.

I'll try to come up with some sort of happy topic for my next post, I promise.

* She actually called to tell me when we're going to get to see her and Uncle Taek Won Do this weekend for brunch - hooray!

Halfway there

This week I started feeling Pregnant. I wore a maternity sweater. I almost passed out in the pool.* Two people I don't know very well patted my belly. I suddenly feel really really really really tired.** I have heartburn and restless legs at night.*** I'm feeling a little grouchy about this.

But hey, there'll be a baby! And then, as my midwife reminds me, I will have no more heartburn!


* This is a problem, since if I swim any slower, I run a serious risk of sinking.
** This could be due to the fact that I'm also operating under an enormous sleep deficit.
*** Adding to that sleep deficit.

I think I'm okay where I am.

I'm all tangled up over the bailout of the auto manufacturers. I have a grasp of economics not much stronger than Dutch's (or Barbie's) , and I have an instinctive hatred of CEOs who make more money in a day than I do in two years. Also, I hate cars. But I don't think it's a great idea to let an entire industry go down in flames without taking care of workers. All of which makes me totally confused.

However, this makes me utterly furious. I can't believe that these idiots have the temerity to come ask for my money without having considered giving up their salaries. Mulally has come around, under pressure, and offered to cut his salary to $1 for the year, after refusing to cut his own salary at ALL even as the company floundered.

What I don't get is how anybody on the planet could possibly think that what they do is worth $21 million. Actually, I don't see how anybody could think that what they do is worth more than $1 million a year. And that seems kind of inflated. I'm a natural socialist, I guess.

So from my socialist, non-economist perspective, I'm thinking we take that $34 billion and invest it in something else. Like worker retraining and jobs creation in sustainable transportation businesses. Universal healthcare would be really helpful for the economy. I'm just saying.

What I really want for Christmas

I want a wife. I really do. Cook and I have talked about this; we feel that we need a wife and a husband to support us, especially with a new kid gestating happily away. I still can't believe how much work it is to run a household, even to our slovenly standards. So the wife will really come in handy in 2009 - maybe you can order one for me off Amazon.

Festivity

I went to a small party last night, for a friend who was briefly back in town. The party-goers were all thirty-something liberal over-educated white people like me and Cook - a freelance reporter, a musician, a teacher, a non-profit employee, etc. It was a nice party, and there was a warm, low-key feeling to the event, but over everything hung a pall of fear. Everybody was talking about their dim prospects for the future.

Cook and I don't have a lot of friends in Portland, and we're scrambling just to keep up with our lives at the moment, so we really haven't talked to a lot of people about the economy, and the people we talk to aren't generally in the same boat as we are; they're employed people worried about losing their benefits or their jobs. At my internship workplace, they're having regular meetings to figure out creative ways to trim the budget without laying anyone off. At Cook's workplace, they're laying people off. I find it's changed the way I look at people. Listening to my coworkers complaining about their pensions disappearing, I find myself bitterly sneering (silently) "well, at least you have a damn pension. And HEALTH INSURANCE!!!! And how exactly are you more deserving of those things than I am? How the hell did you get this job, anyway?" I have no sympathy.* And let's not even start talking about all the Baby Boomers who tell me they now have to work 5 years longer than they'd planned, which oh by the way means one less job available for the next generation of workers.

But at this party, everyone was like us. Employed, yes, and paying their rent, but only just barely, through part-time or insecure work without benefits, unable to get health insurance due to the terrible sin of having reached 30. Nobody is dreaming of the future anymore. We're crouching under the table, hoping the future will only crush us a little bit. It was really sad.

* Okay, I do, but not that much. I'm sure it's awful to blithely take all your benefits for granted, have your life unfold comfortably before you in the expected manner (college, a career, a family, a house, etc.) without too much effort on your part, and then WHAM! have the rug yanked out from under you. For those of us who have been early disabused of the notion that anything will unfold comfortably in our lives, this is not so much of a surprise. But we're also pretty freaking demoralized.

Not practicing

This is Dutch, in the closet, with a small portion of her Stuff. She ONLY wears dresses and tights now, and won't even wear pajamas, only nightgowns.

Yes, it's a bull.

One of the Things Dutch recently really really wanted (and bought, for $6 at the thrift store) was a bull stick toy.*



















She loves it. She gallops it around the apartment, and tends to it lovingly when it gets sick. (It gets sick a lot.) It's a "girl bull" and her name is Alice.**

*Apparently that's what it's called, though when you google that, you get some really unpleasant results.

** Incidentally, AZ, this is YOUR fault for sending her $4 for her birthday. Please come visit soon, so you can spend hours helping her tend to the sick bull.

Also, too much NPR

Portland is trying to decide right now whether to give a giant heap of cash to finance a sports stadium. The lovely ironic twist to this is that the guy who wants the stadium (for a major league soccer team) is actually Henry Paulson's son. This makes for lots of jokes about father and son asking for taxpayer money.

But the whole thing drives me nuts. I keep thinking that the data on this issue is pretty obvious - public financing for sports facilities is a Bad Idea - and it keeps coming back. Rich people always get what they want, seems like, even when it's obviously a Bad Idea. If you're not rich, you have to pay for your mistakes, but if you're rich, you can screw up whenever you like, and walk away with a big old cash payout.

This morning I was listening (of course) to NPR, and heard a story about nonprofits struggling for money right now. The need for social services is skyrocketing, and the public and private capacity available to help those in need is plummeting. They highlighted a shelter in DC for abused families that's scrambling for financing. Then they moved on to a story about the impact of the economic collapse on PROFESSIONAL SPORTS. Apparently, GM is not going to sponsor Tiger Woods anymore.

Poor Tiger. Poor professional athletes everywhere.

The Springiest Guy in Spain.

Obviously I'm reading the New York Times too much these days, but this article is just awesome.

Ugh

Okay, this article is driving me nuts. Go read it, or at least look at the picture and the caption, and then come back.

So what do you think? Is McKenna lucky to have a mommy who forgoes her designer jeans to give her what looks to me like hundreds of dollars worth of toys?

These are the things that annoy me about this article:

1. Kids are part of the family.

“I want her to be able to look back,” Ms. Hunt declared, "and say, ‘Even though they were tough times, my mom was still able to give me stuff.’ "

Lots of stuff. I know I'm a miserly and misanthropic Luddite, but sheesh. Cutting back on Stuff for yourself so you can give them (excessive) piles of unnecessary Stuff is silly. I'm not talking about parents giving their children all of the 14 corn kernels they have managed to forage to eat that day, which is seriously not silly. I'm talking about making your kids part of your family experience. Giving your kids tons of useless Stuff when the whole family budget is reduced is silly. Making your kid believe she is the center of the world, not a part of a family and a society, is silly.*

2. Designer jeans are silly.

3. It is NOT A BAD THING TO NOT SPEND MONEY!!!!!!!! It is a GOOD IDEA!!!!!!!!

4. Shopping kills people.


* I'm not sure I practice what I preach. Dutch definitely thinks she's the center of the universe. Dutch is a tremendously lucky kid, with wonderfully generous family and friends, and she has a ridiculously large amount of Stuff. But she knows we can't afford most of what she wants (or we want), and she knows that if she wants something, she can buy it with her allowance... we'll see if she turns out a miser or a spendthrift.

Ambivalence

When we were expecting Dutch (not that we were really expecting HER, exactly), everyone around us was delighted and supportive.* I quit my job to be home with her fulltime, and Cook was working at a fulltime job with benefits. While we were on a pretty tight budget, at least we had some stability. This time around, we have a much tighter budget, no stability, no benefits, and not exactly terrific financial prospects. Plus, we're older, and have been living in a post-collegiate, starting-up-a-career limbo state for 11 years, so we're starting to look like the irresponsible, never-grows-up characters in a family drama, not the go-getter young family. Not to mention that the whole economy is blowing away like a sand dune. So the responses we get to the statement "We're having a baby!" are less effusive, and frequently fall into the category of "On purpose?!"

This is probably also affected by the way we present it. While this is (really) a planned pregnancy, both Cook and I were taken aback when the "plan" actually came to fruition, before we'd really thought it through carefully. It was a pretty reckless decision. There are two issues here - whether to have a second kid at all, and if so, when to have it. There are actually pretty good reasons to have a second kid now rather than later (aging eggs, flexible schedule, availability of cheap and excellent childcare, etc.), but there aren't really any good reasons for us to have a second kid, except that Dutch will need help hunting and gathering enough food and bartering materials to support her aging parents in the post-apocalyptic world we're anticipating. Our philosophy on this can be more or less summed up as "what the heck - why not?" but we're definitely feeling a lot more ambivalent than with Dutch.

Anyway, yes, we are thrilled about the impending arrival of our offspring. It's going to be a pain in the ass, and I don't have a clue how our future will pan out. But having a kid is an investment in the future, and while that's a scary thing to invest in right now, it feels like the right thing to do. Plus, I really can't wait to meet our new person.

However, anything you can do over the next year or so to fix the economy and create new jobs for planners and cartographers would be greatly appreciated.

* Though I was a mere 28 years old when Dutch was born, which is more or less the equivalancy of a teen pregnancy in my peer group, so many people were surprised.

Daddy was a history major.

The scene: Dutch and I are riding a bus, as usual.

Me: Good thinking, Lincoln!*
Dutch: Lincoln, like the Lincoln sisters!
Me: Well, there was a famous president named Lincoln.
Dutch: Yes. Boof killed him.
Me: What?
Dutch: Boof killed him!
Me: Yeeesss... how did you know that?
Dutch: Daddy told me!
Me: Oh.
Dutch: Also, Lincoln made there be no more slaves anymore.
Me: Uh, yes. Sort of.
Dutch: What show was Lincoln going to see when Boof killed him?
Me: The limits of my historical knowledge have been reached.


* Something my parents always said to me. I have no idea where it comes from.

It's a...

???

The fetus kept its legs demurely crossed for the ultrasound, making it impossible to see if I should be investing in pink lacy wraps or plain navy-colored ones. The tech and the doctor both leaned toward girl, but cautioned me not to "invest any emotional or financial resources" in its femininity. The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, and all that.

So it could be a girl, could be a boy, could be... something in between! Fortunately, even Dutch doesn't have a preference, though we would have liked to know. Also, we don't mind dressing a boy baby in pink. Most importantly, s/he appears to have all the important body parts, and is exactly the right size. And hey, look, isn't s/he adorable?

What a kid.

Today was kind of a marathon. First, there was Dutch's last circus class, which included a 10-minute "performance" at the end for parents to watch. Dutch, in a sparkly leotard,* with her hair in pigtails, like a small, very very unathletic Nadia Comaneci, followed all the directions scrupulously, beaming. Other kids tumbled around chaotically, or were distracted by their parents in the audience, but not my girl. She had a fantastic time, and she worked really hard. I was pretty proud of her.

Then she and I went to the library, the bakery, and the grocery store. Then we went home, ate a quick lunch, and went to a birthday party. Then we went straight downtown, where I handed the kid over to Cook so they could go to a play together. I came home, made dinner, and am now sitting down for what feels like the first time all day. I rode seven buses and waited an hour and half at bus stops. Which brings me to my second point of pride. That kid can WAIT. Due to some combination of personality and 4-years-and-one-week of waiting for buses, she's really great about waiting. She plays weird games (today she was, among other things, a robot, Velvet Brown, and a kid in desperate need of surgery [as would you be, if your liver was IN YOUR HEAD]) and she sings tuneless songs that surely drive the other waiters nuts. I don't mean that she's terribly well-behaved or that she's always so patient; she often whines and complains and demands attention. But if you've got to wait in the rain for half an hour for a bus with any 4-year-old in the world, I think this one's a great candidate.


































And, wait! There's more! There was a pinata at the party, and Dutch whaled the bejeezus out of that thing! I was so proud! The other kids her age tentatively tapped the thing, but not my girl. Screw ballet lessons; this kid is ready for baseball!













Anyway, she's a great kid. That's all I wanted to say.


* We inherited a box of gymnastics and ballet clothes from a classmate of mine who has three daughters, and Dutch loves them. They make for a hilarious contrast between Dutch's appearance of competence and her ACTUAL competence.

Exhausting company.

At Dutch's party, we were reminded of how ruthlessly forthright 4-year-olds are. I was in Dutch's room with one of the girls, and she turned to me and said accusingly "you guys don't have very many toys." A while later, another kid said something pointless (as 4-year-olds also do) and I said something like "that sounds nice," and she looked at me witheringly and said "I wasn't talking to you."

It's kind of refreshing, for a little while, but it only took about half an hour of five 4-year-olds in my apartment before I got to wishing for some nice adult white lies.

REM

This morning Dutch told me, for the first time ever, about a dream she had had. She dreamed that she went to watch Cook play frisbee, and the "coach"* told her that the police were looking for her, because she had gone to the game without her parents. Then she ran away and hid from the police. Age four seems like a good time to launch a life of hiding from the police.**


*There is no coach in pickup ultimate frisbee. It would dampen the free spirits and merry companionship.

** Actually, this whole dream was probably prompted by a weird experience she had a week ago. She and Cook were sitting on a log by a trail in the wildlife refuge, eating crackers and drawing pictures of leaves, when two police officers approached them and said something along the lines of "We have a call in for you." Cook says his blood ran cold, in spite of his completely square and legal lifestyle. The officers said they were looking for a man and a missing child. Cook explained that this was not, in fact, a missing child. The officers called their dispatcher, and determined that what they were looking for was a man in his early twenties in the company of an 8-year-old boy wearing a white sweater, not a man in his early thirties in the company of a 3-year-old girl wearing a blue dress. Close, though.

A day of thrills and candles

The Birthday is winding down. Dutch was up at 6:30 for her birthday breakfast and lots of presents:

































































Then we regrouped in time for the Party, which consisted of five little girls in party dresses, teacups from the thrift store, bubbly juice, lunch, cake, and the spontaneous invention of a game involving all five kids hiding under Dutch's comforter at once.














Dutch blew out another set of candles.



















Now I'm supposed to be writing a paper.

O happy day!

It's a gorgeous sunny day today, our apartment is remarkably tidy, and I just put on a new pair of comfortable but not horribly frumpy maternity jeans* I bought last week at the thrift store, and found FIVE dollars in the back pocket! I did pay a whopping $10 for the jeans, so they didn't pay for themselves, but still. An excellent beginning to the day.

Dutch is in agonies of anticipation of her birthday tomorrow (she's having her birthday party on her actual birthDAY, so all her festivities will be crammed into a scant 13 hours). She gets a birthday breakfast (at which she gets to open all the tantalizing packages that have arrived recently) with muffins and JUICE (a rare and precious treat), and then a birthday party at lunchtime, with four friends and a teaparty. Then we will spend the afternoon recovering. This is our first Real Birthday Party, with guests chosen only by the birthday girl, and we have to provide all the accoutrements, like favors** and child-pleasing-but-not-terribly-unhealthy food for lunch, a cake, a clean apartment, refreshments for parents, and so on.

Dutch also appears to have some very strong ideas of what birthdays should include. I found out yesterday about her expectation of confetti (which should apparently be tossed festively in the air after the Eating of the Cake), so she and I cut up some magazines last night, but I am anticipating some tempests of disappointment tomorrow when all the other expectations about which she hasn't told us are not fulfilled. Like a clown, and a pony.


*Yesterday I had to unbutton my regular pants every time I sat down, so I figured it's time, though I'm dreading the experience of having to wear the same six items of clothing every day for the next five and a half months, and had been hoping to postpone it a little longer. Also, my tiny parasite appears to be displeased by tight waistbands and spends lots of time poking grouchily and feebly at my pants.

** Favors seem to have gotten more elaborate since my childhood. We've walked away from parties with stuff that cost more than the gift we brought to the party.

oh, it gets worse.

I just finished my consumption post, and tried to work on my paper. (I think Cook's asleep in Dutch's room. Friday night! Wooohooo!) But then I got distracted by endless internets full of baby stuff, and now I can see that what I REALLY need in order to become a fabulous parent is THIS!!!*

*Why leopard print? Because Dutch looooves leopard print stuff. And hey, why not?

thoughts of consumption dance through my head

I am not a big fan of pregnancy. The waiting drives me nuts, the physical discomforts drive me nuts, and the knowledge that it'll all get much worse before it gets better drives me really nuts. My only solace (besides, hm... the fact that there'll be a new kid!) is the fact that I get to think about acquiring baby stuff again.* Especially baby carriers. I love baby stuff (it's so little! so cuddly!) but I really love baby carriers. I hate strollers, which make me feel like I'm just the engine behind the baby rather than a human being, disconnect me from the baby, don't allow for nursing-while-walking, AND are cumbersome on public transit. With Dutch, we used a couple of slings and then the fabulous Ergo, but I wasn't thrilled with the slings, and I'd like to improve on them this time around (we've still got the Ergo, thank goodness). And our recent visit to the Baby resold me on the many kinds of carriers that I'd coveted when Dutch was wee. So now I have a new consumption goal: the purchase of a wrap.** I'm pretty sure, as I am with every new baby product, that it will make parenting easier and more delightful. Actually, the fabulous Ergo*** did do that, but so far no other parenting product has met my expectations.

Anyway, send me your baby clothes! Your used, stained, tattered baby clothes in random colors and patterns!**** While I feel as sad about the economy as the next person, I see no point in stimulating it by buying new clothes for babies, who don't care what they wear and grow out of things in about 3 days, and I certainly can't afford to buy any. I need to save up my money to buy wraps.

* We saved only a few things from Dutch's infancy - big ticket things like a carseat and stroller, and a few beloved items of (mostly striped) clothing. Having so little space and no plan to create a sibling until Dutch was at least out of diapers, we figured it was for the best.
** Plus world peace.
*** If you're shopping around for an expensive baby gift to give your pregnant friends (other than me), I highly recommend an Ergo.
**** But not the kind with lots of snaps all up and down the legs, because those make Cook cry, especially at 2 AM. Apparently, he's not alone in feeling this way.

The kind of things you push to the back of your mind every day so that you can make it through the day

When we went in to get an initial ultrasound (which showed no "gross abnormalities" and indicated that I'm going to give birth to a tiny ghost with a big chin), Cook and I, on our way out to the bus stop, waited for a very slow elevator in the hallway between the perinatal clinic wing and the children's hospital wing of the medical complex. I looked over into the hospital hallway as a procession moved by at a funereal pace. There were four medical-type people pushing a gurney, and two blank-faced regular people walking behind. On the gurney, which was dressed in colorful cartoon-print linens, was a baby, maybe around a year old, its face turned toward me, asleep, wired up to a bunch of scary machines. I watched the procession go by and I thought I hope they're all going to be okay... and then I thought I am so lucky... and then I thought so far... and then I decided not to think about it.

Your questions, answered

Yes, I am fat, and I am also pregnant.

No, I'm not glowing.

It's due in April.

We do not yet know the gender.

We told Dutch several weeks ago, and she is Very Excited.

Yes, we're excited, too. Also, scared.

No, we have not decided on names.

No, we're not going to move.

No, I have no idea how we're going to fit another person into this apartment. Got any suggestions? We're considering a hammock-type sleeping system, old-school-British-Navy-style (less the floggings and rum, probably).

That's the news.

Remembrance Day

Ninety-one years old, and, regrettably, still so relevant.

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

-Wilfred Owen, 1893-1918

Tooth stars and other nice words

Fillings are in. I escorted Dutch into the room, saw her installed on the chair and doped up with laughing gas, and then I left. I left my daughter to get her first fillings all by herself. The dentist said I was welcome to stay, but that they felt it was usually better for parents to go away, and I can see why that's the case, since I was kind of stressed out. Dutch thought it would be fine. She really likes her dentist. I sat in the waiting room reading O magazine and crying over stories about brave women with breast cancer, and finally Dutch and the dentist emerged together. "Mama!" yelled Dutch, "I got TWO tooth stars!"* and she showed me her fillings and then she showed the fish in the fish tank her fillings. Under interrogation, she allowed as how it did feel weird when they put the teeth stars in, but overall it seems to have been an entirely positive experience. I deduce this from the fact that she declared that she'd like to have tooth stars in ALL her teeth.

We had a nice morning, actually. Cook and I both have the holiday off from work and school, and Dutch is off daycare. I took her out all morning so he could get some homework done, and we did some grocery shopping, hung out at a coffee shop, wandered around... we talked about how saying nice things to people makes them feel good, and we practiced saying nice things to each other. On the bus on our way home, I leaned over and smooched her on the cheek, and she said "Mommy! Guess what you gave me with your kiss! Happiness!" I said "Do you want another kiss?" and she said giddily, "MORE happiness?!"

Aww. She did throw some whiny fits that made me feel substantially less warm and fuzzy, of course. Life isn't ALL about tooth stars.


*There are all sorts of weird euphemisms in the world of pediatric dentistry. My online reading suggests that the standard term for local anaesthetic is "sleepy juice."

Miscellany

Since the Obama-holding-babies website is bound to slow down now, here's another website for your enjoyment.

And hey, guess how I'm going to be celebrating Veterans Day? By holding Dutch's hand while she gets a bunch of cavities filled at 8 AM. And then if that goes well, I think I'm going to take her on an outing and buy her this, breaking my policy of never getting her any gifts beyond the parameters of birthday and holiday, because:

1. cavities suck and I always feel like I should get a reward when I have a filling,
2. she has just discovered the wonders of Playmobil,
3. cavities really suck, and
   
4. she's totally stressed out about the whole thing - poor kid.

Anyway, Playmobil. The new obsession. She was given a Playmobil gift on Saturday, and now she wants to buy every single Playmobil item IN THE WORLD. I took her to a toystore yesterday with her $6.07 in saved-up spending money, and she got pretty wild-eyed. What with all the Playmobil stuff, the baby dolls with pacifiers, and the little model horses, she almost passed out. This did, however, lead to the sort of Model Parenting conversation about Budgeting that I never expected to actually have, in which we discussed how Cook and I have to make decisions like this,* and it's just really hard. At one point she semi-wailed "Mommy, I can't afford ANYTHING I want!!!!!!!" and I said something sensible and gentle, and I didn't say "Welcome to life, honey!" which I think was very good of me. And she didn't freak out, which I think was very good of her.


* Which to buy? The baby bottle with disappearing "milk"? The fairy princess Playmobil kit? The doctor-with-premature-baby Playmobil kit? Don't you struggle with things like this everyday?

If wishes were horses

A few weeks ago, Dutch asked Cook, of the blue, "Daddy, what do you wish for?" He told her that he wishes for stability. She mulled this over for a few moments, and said "Well, I wish I was a fairy princess."

My legacy

Dutch just told me this: "My favorite thing in the whole world has cheese with it! My favorite thing in the whole world would be unspicy, not healthy, and have cheese on it. Because that's what I like."

Me too. Except I like a little bit of spicy.

Symbolism, somewhere in here.

I'm moving furniture and cleaning up in preparation for Dutch's party next weekend, and it's at that awful stage where things have been moved, stuff has been picked up off the floor, and the mess is just bigger than ever. Our apartment is so small that any mess is a big mess. Cook just went off to buy groceries, and he looked kind of relieved to be leaving (even for the 2-hour odyssey of shopping without a car).

So... I guess I should be cleaning.

My marriage

So my marriage is pretty good, I think. There are some bad parts, and it's a lot more work than I'd ever expected. But you know what would make it way better? If anybody who wanted to get married could get married. That would be super-nice. I'm taking an economics class this term, and some very helpful terms I've learned recently (while desperately cramming for a midterm) are "nonrival good" and "nonexcludable good." These are "goods" that you can use without reducing the amount available to other people and without preventing anybody else from using them. Like breathing air, or watching TV, or ... hmm... getting married. Marriage is, in my opinion, a nonrival, nonexcludable public good. And hey, isn't it better to have more love in circulation? Isn't marriage terrific for our economy? Couldn't the economy use a little help?

So I'm kind of mystified by the "defense of marriage" line of reasoning. If your marriage is vulnerable enough to be shaken by the marriages of two people of the same gender, I think you should go see a marriage counselor (and it would be good for the economy, too!). I don't think you should waste my time with your vicious, stupid, economically inefficient ballot initiatives.

Dangerous, but happy!

I can hear people cheering and setting off fireworks in my neighborhood.

Wow, this feels good.

I am so relieved. I know Obama isn't going to be my favorite president ever, and I know he's going to disappoint me and piss me off over and over and over. I don't care. I just want the last eight years to be over, and I want somebody responsible to take care of the mess.

Also, yay for us, for electing the first nonwhite president. I feel... proud of my country.*

Anyway, in spite of my compulsion to follow election results, I did make dinner, and it was nutritious. But right now, Dutch is sitting in the bath (with a bellyful of chard) playing yet another weird game, and she's been there for half an hour. I suppose I should put her to bed or something. But then I wouldn't be able to refresh 15 web pages every three minutes...


*Hey, did you notice I've linked to Fox twice tonight? I must be infused with the spirit of bipartisanship and whatnot.

The guilt.

Every day I wave to Dutch when I leave her daycare. She stands at the window, and I stand on the corner outside and wave to her. Half the time, she stands at the window but is clearly too engrossed with something going on inside the room to remember to wave, but I ALWAYS wave. Except today. Today I forgot.

I came to pick her up, and stopped in the classroom to round up her stuff before going out to the playground to summon her. In her cubby were two pieces of paper. One read (in big caps, written by a teacher: " Mama when I wave at you I want you to wave at me." The other was an indecipherable drawing. When I fetched the girl herself I apologized for forgetting to wave. She showed me the drawing and said "This is me. These are my tears..."

Apparently there is a God.

Ha! Take THAT, Elizabeth Dole!!!

Think Hoosier.

I should be cooking dinner right now. Dutch is in her room playing some weird game. Cook is at school, taking some weird exam. I am wandering the internets while listening to NPR, pretending that if I position my feet just so and concentrate VERRRRY hard on Indiana, it'll make some kind of difference. I know it's pointless, but I can't stop.

addenda

1. The dentist told me that Dutch has very large salivary glands. We're very proud.
2. Just outside our apartment building last night, we noticed a stretch of bare, rocky earth (a sad example of a neglected parking strip) that was fringed all around the edges with earthworms, their bodies extended nearly all the way out of their burrows. I'd never seen that before. We watched them for a while as they stretched out and poked around for food. (Dutch tried to feed them whole leaves, undaunted by their disinterest.) Seriously, I have earned a biology degree, taught (sort of) sustainable agriculture, composted with worms, and researched and answered eight billion questions from a small child, and I had NO IDEA that earthworms come to the surface at night for snacks. I guess it's appropriate to be reminded on Halloween, the night when the separation between death and life dissolves,* that I actually know almost nothing. Also, it was neat to see so very many earthworms going about their enormously valuable** business even in such an unlikely place. I like to imagine billions of earthworms tunneling around under the paving of Portland.***

*At least, that's what Wikipedia says.

** To EVERYBODY!

*** Not to mention the potential for a terrific Kevin Bacon moment, should the worms become enormous and try to eat us.

Ted, we'll miss you* and your sour face.

*I hope.

Early Birthday

Dutch got a sleeping bag. She really likes it.

Halloween!

Last night we went trick-or-treating! It was Dutch's first time ever, and Cook's and my first time as parents. We had a good time - I'd forgotten how charming Halloween is, with its license to knock on strangers' doors and be welcomed. Dutch was kind of nonplussed by the whole thing, and could NOT remember to say "trick or treat" when people opened their doors, so she'd just stare up at them silently. I think she was pretty overwhelmed by the asking-strangers-for-stuff element. But she enjoyed herself, and really liked all the decorations (though she did nearly jump out of her skin when this animatronic spider started flashing and twitching on somebody's porch). Just as Cook and I were starting to speculate about how soon we could wrap up the event, she announced firmly "when we get to the end of the block, I will be done trick-or-treating."

She dressed as a princess. She was very low-key about this - wore a "fancy" dress and tights that are part of her regular wardrobe (she's been wearing dresses and tights every day lately, in emulation of her favorite classmate), plus some random accessories and new sparkly shoes that arrived just in time, courtesy of the Shoe Fairy. That's my kind of costume - requiring no expenditure and virtually no effort. And she thought she looked fantastic, so I think we can count the evening a roaring success.

Putting pinkeye in perspective, or the cost of failing to floss

Forget pinkeye. Dutch has cavities. Dutch has FOUR cavities. FOUR!!!!!!!!! The dentist says that her diet and brushing are clearly good. The problem is that we don't floss her teeth (because we're lazy, and I never had a cavity until I was in my 20s, so I thought why bother with these trial teeth...), and her teeth are all crowded together like... super-crowded teeth. I'm being noble and not blaming Cook, who had to have several teeth pulled because they were too crowded.

So... $600 for this round of dental treatments, and the expectation of the same again in six months. I wonder how much we saved on floss in the course of failing to prevent these cavities.

Also, she will have to have braces in the future,* and they're going to have to be the serious, long-term, massively expensive, adolescence-ruining kind of braces.

*because SOMEBODY gave her those crowded teeth genes!

Oh, the internets.

I just wandered, blog-led, to the BEST WEBSITE EVER. Seriously. It'll make you cry.*

I think this would be the time to mention that Cook knows somebody who claims Barack Obama hit on her at a party ten years ago. So he may have slightly uneven moral fiber! And somebody told me today that the fact that he's a smoker is really depressing for her. However, pictures of the man holding babies is really all I need to be reassured that he must be a fantastic guy. And as for McCain? Pah. Also, pah.

* For any number of reasons, depending on your age, gender, political affiliation, etc.

The price of pinkeye

• Lost wages (intern wages, but still): $84
• Cost of medical personnel weighing the kid, poking her in the eye, and saying "yup, that's pinkeye"*: $25
• Cost of antibiotic eyedrops (the daycare says she can't come back until she's ooze-free AND has been on antibiotic eyedrops for 24 hours): $16

Total cost of mild case of pinkeye that would probably clear up on its own without medical attention: $125

Plus the three hours of time we spent at and going to and from the appointment and the pharmacy. But at least we can dump her back at daycare tomorrow! And her eye does look much better already.

And today was Cook's last day at Crappy Old Job (which is why I won the lottery and stayed home with the full-of-beans "sick" kid). Tomorrow, a brand new day at Spiffy New Job!


*That's a paraphrase; you needn't be concerned about the caliber of our healthcare.

whoa nelly

We're pretty busy. Not as bad as last fall - I have time for blogging, but not time for thinking about semi-interesting things to blog about. Hence, no blogging. However, Dutch appears to have conjunctivitis, so I'm likely to be home (and at the doctor's office) with her tomorrow, so perhaps I'll try to come up with some sort of clever blog topic. Or I'll sleep in. Whatever.

So, the election's coming up, eh? Voted yet, those of you with the option? Packed your stand-in-line-all-day survival kit, those of you without the early voting option?

Not much going on around here, except lots of homework and some fall-themed activities. We scored some homemade pumpkin doughnuts last night, courtesy of Emma Goldman, and today I'm taking Dutch to "Spooky Saturday" at Portland State. We're going to do "kiddie yoga"* and a candy hunt. Also, the leaves are turning kind of yellowy and orangish. It's cold. I was serious about the not-much-going on.


*Were you not clear that I live in a non-real part of the country?

My Middle Name is Hussein

Okay, I know it's totally ridiculous, but if you want to join a list of people who have signed up to (unofficially, obviously) change their middle names to Hussein, please go to this website to join those of us who have already become temporarily handsome.

identity confusion

Dutch is going to be Pippi Longstocking for Halloween. Or a princess. Or a hammerhead shark. She can't decide. She's all in a kerfuffle (thanks, Mama Big Cook!) about all the festivities that fall is ushering in - my birthday, Halloween, her birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas... It's going to be a hectic two months. Last year, by the time January rolled around, Dutch was convinced that she was going to get a party and/or presents every two weeks.

That's all. We're pretty busy these days, and I've got to go make a Halloween costume of some kind.

Voting is Complete

My voting, that is. And that of some other people. The rest of you are a little behind. Dutch, feeling left out as Cook and I filled out our ballots (we're more rested now, and feel competent to make reasonable decisions, sort of), made her own ballot, which consisted of a crumpled piece of scratch paper decorated with rows of filled circles. "We all voted for Barack Obama!" she announced happily.*

And hey, news! Cook got himself a new job! Okay, another temporary job with no benefits, but it's WAY better than his current temporary no-benefit job on every front - more money, more interesting projects, more prestige (really!), shorter commute, etc. In Portland, even temporary no-benefit jobs are in short supply, and this one's pretty desirable as far as such things go. For our next step, we're hoping he'll get a bad permanent job. Personally, I am planning to stay in school for as long as it takes until the market clamors for inexperienced planners.


* A coworker of mine knows a 4-year-old who is such a passionate Obama fan that she fundraises for him with a lemonade stand, and reached a point in the primary season where she had to go stay with her grandmother for a week because she couldn't bear to stay with her Clinton-supporting mom. Dutch is not so committed.

Jon Stewart TOTALLY reads my blog.

Proof.

Sun Food

I meant to post this link last week. I love Michael Pollan.* If you haven't read The Omnivore's Dilemma yet, you ought to!

*Yes, as much as Bob Herbert.

Home

Phew. We're home, after a whirlwind trip to Vermont to see Antarctic Uncle and Green Thumb Girl get married. We were gone for just about 60 hours, and according to my rough calculations, this is how that time broke down:

• 34 in transit (bus, train, plane, taxi, and car, visiting the cities of Chicago, Las Vegas, Manchester, and Montpelier)
• 11 sleeping (more for Dutch, who got a few desperately-needed ad hoc naps here and there)
• 8 at the wedding

I guess we must have spent the remaining 7 hours showering, brushing teeth, eating some meals, using the bathroom, trying to convince Dutch to go to sleep, and lying awake wishing for sleep ourselves. I can't remember. I do know that there was scarcely a moment of down time. (Flying across country with a 3-year-old and a pile of homework reading does NOT count as down time.) By Saturday afternoon I was exhausted, and by Sunday afternoon I was in an altered state. By the time we got home, Cook and I were in that hideous stage of fatigue where you can't finish a sentence, you trip over things, you can't remember why you're in the room you're in, and you mistakenly brush your teeth with your wife's toothbrush, an act which seems to your sleep-deprived wife like malicious cruelty and brings her to the verge of tears. Dutch, having napped through the entire landing, de-planing*, and baggage-claiming, was actually relatively peppy at that point. (She had some seriously bratty moments over the weekend, but generally behaved herself extremely well under the circumstances. During layovers, we drilled her to do jumping jacks and high kicks and sprints in the gate areas.)

Our ballots arrived! We were so excited we actually considered filling them out on the spot, and then wisely decided we couldn't be trusted to make responsible decisions. I might have woken in the morning to find I'd voted for the Libertarians or for some evil ballot measure that would leave me sick at heart.

This kind of experience highlights something that I consider to be one of the best and worst aspects of parenting. When you feel truly awful and sorry for yourself, you still have to behave responsibly and take care of your kid. Sometimes this feels downright heroic, like when you're carrying your sleeping child through the airport at the end of an 18-hour day, staggering with exhaustion, juggling luggage, and hurrying to catch the train. It certainly adds an element of extra stress to already-stressful situations, though.

We're glad that we went, though. It was fun to meet Green Thumb Aunt's family, and it was wonderful to see Antarctic Uncle and Green Thumb Aunt both looking so gorgeous and happy. Also, Dutch got to be a flower girl, a job she took extremely seriously, and she also got to ride a horse. She was thrilled.

Anyway, we're back. I decided I was too tired to go to work today, and Dutch is too sick to go to daycare anyway, so she and I are at home together mopping up all the household tasks that didn't get done this weekend. Cook got up at 6 to go to work, because he is stronger or more foolish than I am. Today I feel just Really Tired, but no longer in an altered state. After I unpack, do the laundry, and buy groceries, I think I might vote!


* I love that word.

Real People

I've been thinking lately about the idea that rural or suburban people are "real," and city slickers aren't. Some of the neighborhood planning work that's going on at the Planning Bureau is indicating pretty strongly that people who live out in the more suburban parts of the city think that one of teh strengths of their neighborhoods is that the people are Real. The rest of us, apparently, aren't. The idea is also being relentlessly beaten to death by McCain and Palin, and it's driving me nuts - isn't is wrong to dismiss people based on where they live, no matter which side of the urban-rural divide you're on? Don't we all pretty much have the same concerns? When non-urban people consider themselves Real, are they contrasting themselves to the old idea of cities, full of poor, criminal non-white people, or to the new idea of gentrified cities full of arugula-eating, hybrid-driving rich white people?

Anyway, this post about the geographies of Palin and Obama pleases me - it's the first I've seen looking at all beneath the surface of what constitutes Real in the campaign.

My child should have been born a century ago.

These are two of Dutch's favorite books right now:
Seabird
Raggedy Ann & Andy

Seasonal

We have these friends, Emma Goldman and Brendan Behan,* who are completely fantastic about holidays. They invite us over for all sorts of holiday-related events, like Christmas-cookie-making, St Patrick's Day parties, and so on (and, of course, Thanksgiving), and there is always some sort of craft, and also heaps and heaps of food. This Halloween, we have been over to their house to make a scarecrow for their porch, and this weekend to make masks (one for Dutch to wear, and some others for their decorations), and pick pumpkins! We went to the same enormous place as last year - a vast empire of harvesty consumerism. Better weather this year, though!














































This year, Dutch got to go on the Cow Train, that she wanted to ride so badly last year. She paid for her ride with her own money, and went all by herself, on a "cow" with limply dangling front legs, wheels for back legs, and an unpleasantly butcher-themed name. She was thrilled













This is what she looked like running toward us after her adventure.













Then we went over to Super-Crafty House to paint the papier-mache masks that we had made the day before. It was a nice day.













* We really have very few non-kid-related friends in Portland, so we cherish those we have.

Also, Bob and I don't call people who disagree with us terrorists. We don't even whip our nitwit supporters into a frenzy and let them call our opponents terrorists. That's because we're not awful people.*

Anyway, for your horrifying edification:



*It's okay to call people "awful," though.

Saturday

I just love Bob Herbert. He's like LOLcats for my political needs - easy to think about and makes me feel happy. Okay, not HAPPY, because he's usually mad about something, but satisfied because I agree with him! I don't have to think at all! This must be how Republicans feel when they watch Bill O'Reilly. The difference, of course, is that Bob and I are right and Bill O'Reilly is, as Bob would say, a nitwit.

Postscript

So I did some intensive internet research to back up my crotchety theory, and I'm totally wrong that college students are smoking more. Though, sheesh, one in five is still an awful lot of smoking.

Free! I'm free!

Okay. So I'm sorry (kind of) to keep gloating, but I am soooooo totally stoked about my free time, dude! OMG!!! I have now quit that graduate research assistantship,* dropped my 1-credit class and picked up a 3-credit class. I am a Full Time Student, people!!! I'm interning only 18 hours a week and taking three classes, which leaves me with acres and acres of free time. Time to swim** three times a week, do all kinds of homework during the week, eat leisurely lunches while reading a book for pleasure, blog ad nauseam,*** run errands, stare into space, go to seminars, pick up Dutch early, etc. Over the summer, because I was responsible for dropping off and picking up Dutch (Cook has a super-long commute in the other direction, and my internship is a mere 15-minute walk from Dutch's daycare), any extra time I added to my workday for all those activities listed above meant that she spent even more time at daycare. And I just don't feel really great about leaving my kid at daycare 9-10 hours a day every weekday. But NOW!!! Now I can do it all!

Actually, it feels pretty irresponsible. Sort of .... student-y! Lazing around with my ipod, wearing jeans and t-shirts. However, I refuse to take up smoking - what's up with kids these days, anyway? I swear more of them are smoking than ever. The old, crotchety, burdened-with-responsibilities, no-free-time me would have scowled at them and shaken her cane, but the new, relaxed, full time student me just holds her breath and scoots on by, humming along with the soundtrack of Black Hawk Down, which is inexplicable installed on that ipod.



*Which is a bummer, because I liked it, and I think I would have learned some stuff, but hey! Free time is even better!
** And OMG again! I love the swimming! I've only been doing it two weeks and I feel GREAT!!! Hence all the exclamation points!
*** Your nauseam, not mine. I would happily blog all day!