I'm having an Eeyore moment.

Myeh.

Don't let me knock you over with my bubbling enthusiasm, K? Sadly, though, that's how I'm feeling these days about pretty much everything. Nothing's wrong. In fact, everything is fine. There are just a few things that are nagging the hell out of me.

I N.E.E.D. to get off my ass and start walking or jogging or something again. I'm pretty sure my sloth-like habits are why I've had so many colds and tummy viruses this year--my immune system isn't as pumped as it was when I was in shape. And I'm not talking about weight. I've officially returned to pre-pregancy weight, but I'm not doing any of the pre-pregnancy activities like walking and running and lifting weights. That taking care of a baby thing kind of eats into my evening hours.

And speaking of taking care of a baby? Remember back when he was brand-new and slept a lot and just kind of lay there? Remember how I was all "y'all, this is haaaaaard" back then? PSHAW. This kid is running my ass ragged. Energetic, curious, moody, sassy, with his little hands into everything. He's at school during his most active hours, yet I am pooped. Also, without really meaning to, I think we've slipped into a reverse cycle kind of situation--well, except for the part of reverse-cycling where the baby sleeps a lot and refuses milk during the day. Yeah, take away that part, and what's left (sucking on the Mama all. night. long) is pretty much what's happening here. I've started taking him to bed with me around 8 or so just so we can get a semi-full night's sleep.

And then there's this site. I suck at updating. Several times I've thought of doing one of those "I'm taking a break, guys" posts, but just as soon as I do that, I'll be inspired to write a slew of entertaining entries about really cool stuff (let me dream, OK?), and then the "break" post will seem pretty dumb. And while I'm OK with mundane and mediocre and trite, I'd still like to avoid the dumb, you know.

Oh, and I almost forgot: Happy Halloween. Al dressed as a chicken. He looked as cute as all get-out.

Quick--Stage an Intervention!

Recently, I acquired two little luxury items that have changed my life. The first? A changing table. Yeah, for some idiotic reason, I thought I would just make do without one and change the baby’s diapers on the floor or something. Not hard to deduce that this is my first time around the parenting block, is it? So after nine months of bending and squatting and chasing and battling an infant who grows more squirmy and strong each and every day, I got online and ordered a changing table. Now, all of the diapering paraphernalia is right there, all together, and my older-than-the-average-first-time-mom’s ass doesn’t have to squat or bend or chase, even. That was one of the best Benjamins I ever spent.

Then, as I mentioned earlier, we got DVR last week. And no, although Erika’s comment was completely reasonable given the po-dunk region that we live in, it wasn’t because DVR hadn’t been available until now. Actually, our little mid-sized city has pretty good technological offerings. The problem was that the Mr. and I are so tight that we squeak when we walk. Then, in a fit of spendthriftery last week, we bought a new HD television, and in order to fully enjoy the HD part of the HDTV, we had to upgrade our cable and so finally, we have DVR.

And now for the big question: What did I select for my inaugural DVR recording?

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…ptsh. (That was supposed to be a drum roll, by the way.)


Ghost Hunters.

Shut up.

When Suddenlink finds out that I use my DVR to record nerd shows, will they take my pretty little box away? I just can’t help it—I love me some ghosts, and I also have a teensy little crush on Grant Wilson, and I just want to hug Brian because he’s so sweet, yet such a screwball. And is it just me, or does anyone else think there’s something going on between Donna and Jason?

Or is it just me that watches Ghost Hunters?


Consider this my cry for help, dear Internet. My DVR lineup consists of What Not to Wear, Ghost Hunters, and that Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders show on CMT (CMT—that in itself is enough to make our shiny new television self destruct). What should I be watching? What’s new and cool and good and not Grey’s Anatomy or Desperate Housewives or Lost (I think I’m a little late to the Lost party, no?)?

I think it's contagious.

I require that my students keep a daily journal. They must complete five entries a week, and these entries must all be at least a half-page in length. Last week, as it inevitably happens each fall, a student only wrote three lines because he "couldn't think of anything else to write." I replied with the same answer that I've been giving my students for the last several years: "If you can't think of anything, then write about that. Even if the whole half-page is filled with 'I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write,' over and over, at least write something."

So, dear internet, here you go:
I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write.


Oh, wait, hey! I'm getting DVR this week (Yes, I've been living without it until now. Oh, pick your chin up off the floor.) Maybe I'll write about that later.

I'm not a real hippy, I just play one in real life.

In terms of politics, my rightness or leftness tends to be somewhat relative. Ask any of my coworkers and they will describe me as a straight-and-narrow conservative. Ask any of my family members (including the Mr.), and you'll hear that I am quite the liberal "Peace, man" Earth mama.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that you'd be hard-pressed to find a more conservative hippy.

Which brings me back to the whole every-other-week pattern of Al's ailments. At some point last week, the lightbulb went off, and I realized that it was time to return to hittin' the herbs (not those herbs, you freak! The legal kind). I once used lots of herbs, but that was back when I was doing yoga and practicing vegetarianism, and lately, the need for convenience and speed has twarted all of my efforts to nourish my family with natural and gentle and good nutrients (It's true. Sadly, M & Ms are not nutritious. Nor are they all that natural. Bah.).

But then, hello? Just how convenient is it to see the doctor and miss work every other damned week? Maybe the tiny inconvenience of planning a few meals and mixing a few herbs would pay off for us around here. What a thought! So, I headed off to the health foods store (or the "hippy store" if you ask the Mr.) and spent about the equivalent of one doctor's visit's copay on some basic supplements for boosting immunity and troubleshooting if/when another ailment arises. And then it was off to the grocery store for more whole foods and fewer Doritos and no (NONE! Woe is me.) M & Ms.

That was Friday. The Mr. and I were sick all weekend with heinous colds. I could only convince him to drink one dose of my magical hippy herb potion instead of the three daily doses he needed, but he said something about it tasting like ass. He's still sick. I'm much better (I drank my salve religiously). Baby scathed through with a little more than a runny nose. And yes, I researched all the herbs that are safe for infants and children and Al is on his way to being a proper hippy just like his mama.

But don't worry, I won't stop shaving under my arms.

Wasn't Breastfeeding Supposed to Increase His Immunity?

Y'all, I promise that one day soon, I will say something positive. Really. But today is not that day.

I've hesitated to even mention this because at the end of the day, Al's daycare rocks. They love him and he loves them. He is happy, so I am happy.

But.

Every other effing week, he gets sick. And it's something different every time. First, a high fever with no other symptoms (I was getting over a heinous stomach flu, so maybe it was that without the spewing?), then it was an ear infection. After that, we had PukeFest2006, and today? Pink eye. That's eight weeks, four ailments, 3.5 days of work missed, and $120 in copay, not to mention prescriptions.

The pattern has become so regular--on Thursday or Friday of every alternating week, there's something--that I've begun planning my lessons around the inevitability that I will be calling a sub at some point during the week.

Thank God I didn't use all the days I'd saved up on maternity leave.

I'm Bringin' Bullets Back

• I've decided what I want to be when I grow up. More later.
  
• Yesterday, for the first time since June 2005, I left the confines of my own home in a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans.
• Also yesterday, after 18 months of amenorrheal bliss, my body pronounced itself "back to normal." (TMI? Get over it.)
  
• As a result of above bullet, I have morphed into a hormonal, touch-me-not, chip-and-chocolate-devouring lunatic. Or rather, an even more hormonal, touch-me-not, chip-and-chocolate-devouring lunatic. The Mr. is simply thrilled.