Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

I almost can't believe this.

Oh, Choppable, who knew what kind of joy (and terror) you could spread. I love you Choppable, in spite of myself I do. Well I also love you because if I don't, I'm afraid of what you might do to me in the night as I sleep.

I almost can't believe what I'm about to write is true. I almost think I'm just making this up for comic effect. But I'm not!

MY COMPUTER IS DEAD!!!! AGAIN!!!!!

This is absolutely ludicrous. The rage oozing from my body is toxic. I'm just beside myself with this situation. How can Apple do this to me? How?

I bought this frivolous piece of equipment and now it keeps dying and it seems like the least it could do, since it was an enormous waste of money, is work....all the time!

It bought it in July of 2003.

It died in March of 2004. Then it died again in September. That's right, just under ONE MONTH AGO.

I think it's time for Apple to replace my machine. We'll see if they see it my way.

Until then, all I'll be doing is whining and complaining.

**Update: Yes it's the logic board. again. Yes I have the extended warranty. Sending my computer into the shop, on average, every six months is totally unacceptable. Why isn't Apple replacing this shoddy piece of crap? They've attempted to fix it 3 times so far, obviously it's not getting fixed.

Isn't this really bad business? I'm still oozing rage.

Choppable

I love my husband. He has many charming idiosyncrasies and I love that about him.

He also has eight percent body fat and my goodness is he excited about this. I, on the other hand am not impressed because if we're ever on a sinking ship, my husband is sinking like a rock. I will float to the surface due to the plentiful fat stores in my ass.

Sometimes I wonder how Logan became the odd and lean man he is, then I find it. Choppable.

Choppable was Logan's childhood toy.

Choppable has no business calling himself a 'toy'.

Choppable has the mange.

Choppable is losing his brain.

Logan once cuddled with Choppable (also held him by his tail and used it as a punching bag). Would you cuddle with this?

I cuddled with a teddy bear. A nice, normal teddy bear.

When Maddie was a newborn, we put Choppable on a high shelf above her bed because we thought it was funny. Sometimes, when she wouldn't sleep Logan and I would yell out, "If you don't stop crying Choppable will get you." No wonder she was such a good sleeper.

One day before she turned two she asked us to take the "Old Man Monkey Man" out of her room. I don't blame her.

The most commonly asked question when I pull out Choppable to show guests in our home is, "Jesus, what is that?" I don't know. I just don't know.

Second most commonly asked question: "Why Choppable?" No one knows.

Max is generally scared of Choppable, but look. I think he's finding a soft spot for him. Maybe someday he'll have eight percent body fat also!

Fight Playdate.

While pregnant with Madison I spent many hours looking over the patterns at the fabric store dreaming of the costumes I might make for my soon to be born child. I have this thing for costumes, and my 'thing' doesn't include going to the stupid party supply store and spending an exorbitant amount of money on a piece of shit costume that cost about 25 cents to make. In Taiwan. In a sweatshop by children who will never wear a piece of shit costume to go trick or treating.

I feel like Sally Struthers right now, only less raspy.

I thought I'd have at least the first 10 years of her life and 10 years of Max's to control what they'd be for halloween.

The high water mark was 2001 when I had a chicken and an egg. But then, Maddie wanted to be a princess. How thoroughly Disney of her. And every year since she's been a boring princess.

I'd like to do something fun again, but the children have sucked every last bit of creativity out of my soul. I'm forever doomed to have a stupid party store dinosaur. Damn you Party City!

(Funny thing about his costume that almost makes it okay: Doesn't it look like the dinosaur has swallowed him and only his head remains in the dinosaur's mouth waiting to be devoured? I keep saying, "Max! Look out! That dinosaur is eating your head!!!!" But he doesn't get it. These are the jokes people!)

This weekend, Logan experienced one of those moments where, as a parent, you think...'I never knew I'd be this guy....walking around on a regular autumn day with a dinosaur.' But there he was strolling through the market....with a dinosaur.

The best advice I ever got about parenting was this: "Never say never because you never know."

You never know when you'll decide that it's just not worth fighting about the stupid Party Store dinosaur costume your sons been wearing for 12 hours a day for the last 4 days. Five years ago I never thought I'd be eating dinner at a restaurant with my son dressed head to toe in green polyester, but here I am and I lived to tell.

Max is having his girlfriend over tomorrow. Her name is Zoe. She's his girlfriend because she's a girl and a friend. She's also his girlfriend because they both like to color their faces with yellow chalk (note the yellow tinge to the photo.) He's been touting this playdate as the "Fight Playdate".

I'm not entirely clear on why it's called the Fight Playdate, except that they've both agreed to wear their halloween costumes to the 'Fight Playdate'. Between you and me, her Pokemon is totally kicking his Dinosaur ass.

Has everyone seen this?

Because this is hilarious.

Also uncanny because this is exactly how I act during interviews.

Summer Party.

If Logan was on the B List for your next party, you should move him to your A List. He doesn't even know these people, but look how much fun they all had together.

Going through pictures tonight, I found these from a party we attended with Logan's writing partner and her friend Maria. I'd suggest you invite them to the party too.

You should invite me too, mostly so I can operate the camera. But sometimes I'll pose for pictures too.

*You should know these pictures were from August, the weekend of the spectacle that is The Woodward Dream Cruise. Our neighbor has a HUGE party each year, and we go...because it's right across the street and if you set your watch timer for 10 minutes...you can walk across the street and check on the kids and not worry about a babysitter!

Anyway, I had these pictures but this summer was so full of Drunken Galavanting, I started to feel a little self concious about it. You should know, now that it's autumn, I was DRUNK every minute of every day all summer. I mean, it says so RIGHT HERE ON THE INTERNET!!!

My sense of shame.

I have something new up at Dotmoms today.

I missed my last deadline because I wrote something and then slaughtered it at the alter of 300 words and in the end I hated that piece so much I felt physically ill.

(Reason I need to be medicated #431.)

Anyway, you can read this piece, which I didn't slaughter, here.

Enjoy.

Birth Of Dad Vein.

Logan: "Unless you're in the mood for a spanking, I suggest you go to bed now."

I'm anxiously waiting for the day she says, "You know...I actually am in the mood for a spanking."

It's not because I want Madison to get a spanking...because we really don't spank in this house. I'm dying for her to say it because that will mark the birth of Logan's 'Dad Vein'.

You know that pulsing vein on the forehead that would come out when your dad was really pissed?

That's going to be so great.

T days.

If I ever start a religion the Holy Days will be Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Tuesday and Thursday mornings Max goes to school for two and a half hours. At drop off the teacher shoots a starting gun and I sprint from the building and peel out of the parking lot to go and do things. I race to the coffee shop (vroom!) or the bookstore (VrooM!) or to the gym (VROOM!) or home to lay flat on my back eating cookie after cookie right on the rug and while I do this no one asks me why they can't have a cookie on the rug at nine o'clock in the morning.

They can't eat cookies on the rug because they're not home on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Only I am. Alone.

Unless a disaster happens.

"Mommy. I think I threw up."

"But honey, it's Tuesday, you couldn't have thrown up."

"Mommy...I think my spleen is hanging from my body."

"But honey, it's Thursday. Isn't it show and tell day? Why don't you put your spleen in your back pack. There, see? You're all set for school, bye!"

T Days are sacred. Do not threaten my T days. I spend every M, W, F and both S days dreaming of T days.

I told Logan how my whole week was ruined because on Tuesday 'I have to go to the doctor to care for my fragile mental health! And on Thursday I have to work in Madison's classroom! Ruined!'

He rolled his eyes when I implied working in Madison's classroom was ruining my week. He's a Robot.

I want to work in Madison's classroom. I want to see what happens there and I want to see who her friends are and how she interacts with all the kids. I'd also like to see what they all think of her spleen.

But come on, those cookies aren't going to eat themselves on that rug.

I have an internet friend who lately ends her emails to me: 'My God this is my life....' [She then lists her latest discovery of torture in motherhood.]

My ending for today: My God this is my life....waiting for T days. Not even T days, T mornings. And this week they're ruined. Ruined!

Don't Over Do It.

Today in the crowded doctor's office waiting room/petri dish of dark illness waiting to infect me, a young dad held a tiny newborn in his arms and an older man asked him how old she was. (Actually he asked if she was a girl, because the head to toe pink clothing didn't tip him off.)

"Is she your first?" the older man asked.

"No, I have another daughter at home," the dad answered.

"Well two is nice, maybe even three but, you know, don't over do it," the older man said.

Whenever anyone asks me if we're having more children I'm saying that from now on:

"No, we didn't want to over do it."

Feel The Love.

Our cats should be named Siskel and Ebert...since Logan and I only ever refer to them as The Fat One and The Other One.

Madison was annoying The Fat One today and Logan in a rare moment of 'compassion' toward the cats said:

"Please, be relatively nice to the cat."

Worst Playgroup Ever.

I joined my local MOMS Club when Max was just a baby and Maddie was about two and a half years old.

I joined the group even though I have a general disdain for large groups of women. I also tend to have a general distrust of mothers, especially mothers who stay at home because it's 'The Best Thing'. Because I don't actually believe there is such a thing.

But I joined the group anyway because, just like in every group, there are always some nice people. There may even be people who have a realistic view of motherhood. People who are maybe as frazzled and overwhelmed by the job as I am. Also, I'm lazy when it comes to making new friends. Setting up play dates makes me break into hives. With this group I am able to be a passive participant in social activities. I like that.

Of course that's not to say I have been a passive member of the group. I wrote the newsletter for many months. Created the calendar. Ran the babysitting co op. Hosted playgroups and planned field trips to bagel shops and farms. Threw holiday parties and sweated my ass off while doing it. I've been involved.

I've continued to participate in the MOMS Club, in spite of it's obvious failings, because I am socially lazy and this group allowed me a lazy social outlet. And honestly not all the mothers in the group are one dimensional. Some are funny and interesting and have a rich life outside of being a mother and I like those types of people.

But then there are other women in the group who...burn me up.

A few months ago I attended what may always be remembered in my personal log of experiences as "The Worst Playgroup Ever"

I haven't written about it until now because I was willing to give the situation and the woman involved a break. Perhaps I misunderstood her. Maybe she's just retarded and judgmental in this one area...not as a person overall. Also, as I've said many times, I only say things on this website I would be comfortable talking about in real life. Possibly with less swearing and taking of the lord's name in vain.

Obviously I don't talk about my father's suicide in general but if someone reads that about me, I'm no longer ashamed of that part of my history. My depression isn't something I talk about in general (it's, you know, kind of a drag?) but I'm not ashamed of it. I don't care if someone knows I'm depressed. It's an illness. Similarly, I am not ashamed for you to know I have a small head cold right now.

Recently I had 'words' with a member of "The Worst Playgroup Ever" and I said, in so many words: 'I don't like people who gossip. I want nothing to do with women who behave like you do.'

[I won't bore you with the details. This is a bored housewife with nothing better to do with her time but gossip and be generally annoying]

I have a friend who keeps plastic rats on her desk. When someone in the office does something stupid or annoying...she turns a rat over and that person is 'dead' to her. If I had a desk or plastic rats, this woman would be a dead rat on my desk.

Back to the "Worst Playgroup Ever."

It began with various stories of the most atrocious forms of mothering. Abusive mothers, stories from a social worker friend which were so stomach-turningly horrid, I began to wonder what could possibly be the point of sharing these kinds of stories?

Does this make us feel like better mothers because we wouldn't shake our babies and put them into a coma? Do we feel like better mothers because we're not living in poverty and addicted to drugs, neglecting our children while we try to get our next fix? YES you're a great mother! Do we need to discuss how horrible other mothers are to prove we're good mothers?

I don't know, as I sat and listened to this particular woman share horror story after horror story, my eyes began to glaze over and I felt my soul leave my body.

Soon the conversation moved on to breastfeeding.

Before I go further, you should know how much I TOTALLY LOVE BREASTFEEDING! I love it! I love boobs! And milk for babies from boobs is GREAT! I can't imagine anything better for a child! And if it works for you and your baby then WOOO HOOOO! I think that's great!

However, I also tend to see situations in shades of gray and I think breastfeeding isn't THE BEST THING, because as I said earlier...I don't believe there is such a thing, globally.

But this playgroup quickly went from HORRIBLE ABUSIVE MOTHERS (who make us feel more secure in our own mothering...I guess?) on to HORRIBLE MOTHERS WHO CHOOSE NOT TO BREASTFEED!

It started with polite disclaimers about 'I mean if you can't...well okay...but if you can, how could you not give this wonderful thing to your baby?'

Then it went onto, "My husband [a resident at the local hospital] says, it's the 'country club mothers' who are breastfeeding. Not the lower class."

Onto, "My husband tells the women he sees, 'This is a magic pill for your baby. Scientists can't create this and you can give it to your baby.' "

As this woman listed all the great things about breastfeeding, I stood up, grabbed a jump rope from the corner and hung myself. Right there in the middle of the living room.

Actually I said...in my dry and off handed way that's 'off putting' for stupid people who are making stupid sweeping statements to a group of women with several different experiences...."Well I didn't breastfeed and just look at my children...they're sickly! And STUPID!"

Awkward laughter followed.

At that point I grabbed a horse tranquilizer from my purse and jammed it into my thigh.

I thought perhaps the comment about how stupid and sickly my lower class formula fed children are would stop the boob lady from talking about how WONDERFUL the boobs are and how lower class people don't breastfeed their children. Not surprisingly, it didn't stop her. On and on she went.

But as she spoke, she grabbed her bottle of diet soda and filled her children's sippy cups with it. Her children are three years old and 13 months old.

I looked around the room, looking for someone else to notice the absurdity of this moment. Does anyone here see the absurdity of this?

Diet soda is better than formula feeding your baby? Is this the message here? How could you not breastfeed! How could you feed your child DIET SODA? Doesn't the caffeine and the aspartame and the nutrasweet and the acidic tooth eating carbonation kind of cancel out the Magic Pill of breastfeeding?

Even more so than the insane things you're putting in your child's breastfed body with a sippy cup of diet coke, my point is: We all make choices and sometimes those choices may not be 'As Good' as another. But there are several factors that go into our decisions and we're all doing the best we can.

My kids were formula fed and formula isn't 'As Good' as breast milk. But then diet soda isn't 'As Good' as a lot of other child friendly beverage choices...and I don't give my kids soda. So maybe, in the end, it all kind of balances out.

We're all really just doing the best we can.

Well we're all doing the best we can and then some of us are being extraordinarily judgmental (and also as gossipy as a school girl) and making our own set of choices that may not always be 'The Best'.

Sunk.

In Chicago I realized how far I've fallen into Pure Geekdom.

First of all a few weeks ago I saw this picture at Dooce and thought that looked like a pretty fun night and started to think about which of our friends could bring their laptops over and hang out.

Then, in Chicago, I attended the most ridiculous event ever. The Health And Fitness Expo. A whole convention center of people who like to run until they are broken. They want to buy special clothes and food to help them while they break themselves. I was obviously bored at this event so in the New Balance booth I found computers set up for entering a sweepstakes.

I didn't think it would let me connect to the internet but it did! So I checked my email and then I checked blogs....and you can imagine how embarassed I was when the staff informed me these computers were only for sweepstakes entries.

I did what anyone would have done. I lied. "Oh, I had no idea!"

On Saturday afternoon we took a fatal left turn and ended up trapped for 5 hours on Michigan Avenue, right in the heart of the Miracle Mile! People, everywhere. Everywhere!

Sometimes I think I would like to live in a big city but then there's that part where I hate all people? And masses of people make me want to cut people? Me living in a city could be very bad for everyone.

While stuck in traffic I pulled out my laptop and caught someone's wireless network and I got to check my email! I realized then I'd really become a geek of mammoth proportions.

I pirated quite a few signals throughout the weekend. Some had clever names like, "VOTE_BUSH_OUT" and "Disco_Connection" and "Pull My Finger". Sorry if I stole your signal. If it makes you feel better, generally traffic was moving pretty quickly so I only used your signal for 1-2 minutes. Except if you live on Michigan Avenue.....then I used your signal while we were stuck in traffic for 5 hours I think.

Silent Stalker/Speaking Stalker

When you run more than any human being should ever run, your body rebels. It's pissed off and I can't say I blame it.

Logan has been hobbling since Sunday. At dinner Sunday night, he nearly broke down into tears when he saw our table was located on the second floor. If I could carry him, I would have. This morning I watched him hobble out the door to board a plane. If I was a nicer wife I would have driven him to the airport and got him a wheelchair so he wouldn't have to walk through the terminal. But it was early and I'm not that nice.

Between you and me, he's chafed in unexpected places. Places that are never, ever supposed to chafe. Oh, it's awful. Let's all pray Portland is gentle on my husband...he's very tender right now.

On Saturday after we had brunch with Patti and Sofia we went to a little shop on Clark. But this was no ordinary shop, it is a sex shop owned by none other than the clever and smart Flea at One Good Thing!

I've come to realize I'm a lot funnier in print. I have a phone phobia already. I always sound like an idiot on the phone and so I avoid the phone. Unfortunately, I also sound like a bumbling ass in person. Soon I will be forced to communicate soley via typed word. I will carry my laptop everywhere and instead of speaking I will type my messages to you and I will sound clever and/or witty!

I knew we'd be in the neighborhood and I've always found Flea's blog wonderfully entertaining. Also, I love taking Logan to sex shops and this one is so nice you would never guess there's a latex vagina right inside the door. How does she work day in and day out with that latex vagina staring at her? See, that's how cool she is, she doesn't even care.

'Vagina? So what!'
'Butt plug? Small, medium or LARGE?'

So we went in mainly to say hello since our vacation budget was created via Ebay and bottle returns (.10 a bottle....an inefficient savings method but it worked). This left our C*ck Ring budget a little limited, since we like eating and also drinking. Also I mentioned how Logan's feeling a little chafed?

I debated introducing myself at the shop, but then I felt like a total asshole and I thought....'What am I going to say? Hi! I read your blog.' Logan answered this by saying, with a confused look on his face, 'Uhm...yes?'

I felt very stalkery and in the end decided to introduce myself after my friend Patti and I discussed it. Her theory is that a stalker who speaks to you is less scary than a stalker who silently visits your sex shop and never says a word.

So I said hello and on the way to the car I vowed to never speak again except via my laptop, because I am obviously nothing but a bumbling doofus who should remain locked inside away from normal people.

Of course today Pinky emailed to say she'd like to meet in November while she's nearby to see her parents. I hope she's prepared to communicate by keyboard.

Chicago, I love you....I Miss You.

The thing about Chicago is...it grows and changes and becomes better over time.

Detroit on the other time stagnates, decays and has the most retarded city council ever. I hate Detroit. I hate it. I want to love it. I try to love it and it just keeps being so stupid.

Detroit, why you gotta be like that?

But Chicago...Chicago is beautiful. I love you. I love everything about you. I even love you when a man urinates on a building as I pass by and I have to skip to avoid stepping in his urine. In fact, I think I love you more because of the man peeing on that lovely brownstone in Lincoln Park.

Oh Internet there is just so much to tell you about my weekend away. And I'm going to write it in one installment because I can't wait to tell you all about it.

First of all. HOLY SHIT it has been a long long long time since Logan and I went anywhere by ourselves for a long, very long weekend. In fact on the drive to the big city I screamed at the top of my lungs at least 8 times, "OH MY GOD!!!!! WE'RE ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And we were! We were alone and we drove along and I didn't know what to do with myself. I read and I knit and I talked and I listened to the radio and it almost pains me to think about that feeling of freedom because it's over. Not that it wasn't wonderful to come home and see our kids and my mother's bloody ear drums. Not that it wasn't wonderful to hear my mother say, 'Thank God you didn't breastfeed them.....I can only imagine how much they'd talk then."

It was wonderful to see my beautiful kids and one of the things I've missed out on, being a stay at home mother, is the reuniting at the end of the day. I love missing my kids because it's much easier to remember what I love about them when I've been away.

But back to Chicago.

We stayed in the biggest heap in Lincoln Park. But it was cheap. Seriously cheap and it was across from the Lincoln Park zoo and we went running through the park and were close enough to run along the lake and Chicago, did I mention how much I love you?

Because I do. I love your parks and your lake....you're lovely. I have this fantasy where I will actually be a happy stay at home mother if we live in Chicago. It's an entirely unrealistic fantasy but one I will cling to because it's how I am.

I love you even though we spent so much eating dinner here that we didn't have enough money to eat the tomato and watercress benedict I've been dreaming of eating here for 2+ years.

Friday night we visited Trader Vic's. Logan's been dreaming of this place since our visit to Kahiki in 2000.

It was a lovely place and Logan forced his old writing partner to endure the Tiki with us. He did the art and Marguerite did the writing...she also endured Logan. (Some things never change.)

I met with my friend Patti and her lovely daughter Sofia at Cafe 28. Sofia was not thrilled with our brunching and was not buying into Logan's attempts to charm her. However, she was perfectly adorable once we all got up to leave...because she was riding the train back home. (This furthered my belief that being a Stay at Home mother in Chicago would make my life happier somehow....see how happy Sofia was to be riding the train? This would be me every single day!) Logan took our picture at our brunch, but photography is obviously not his forte (backlighting? Hello!)....running 26.2 miles however is his forte.

See this is getting so long and I'm not stopping.

Yes, Logan ran 26.2 miles. Here he is after it was over looking sufficiently pained, but not really. He's a God damned robot, look at him. Not bleeding, not swearing, standing still to allow me to take his picture. I'd be ripping the limbs off anyone in a 5 mile radius had I just run 26.2 miles. But there he is smiling through the pain because that's how he is. I love him. After this photo was taken I trotted him all over the city. Later that night we had sex and that medal bruised my face because he's not taking it off....ever. (Kidding...see he's such a robot he doesn't even need you to know he ran the marathon!)

Okay now this is getting really long and it's 12:44 right now and I have a real life you know. God Internet! Logan's leaving tomorrow, hobbling off on a jet plane for Portland, OR. I feel bad for him but I mostly feel bad for me who has to face the two beautiful children we created together and tell them that, no....the fun parent won't be home tonight. It's just me. Your alcoholic crabby mother here to entertain you!

Weeeeeee.

Before I go further into our Chicago weekend you should go here and here. Start thinking about where I'm going with this.

Holding Pattern

This weekend is the God Forsaken Marathon. But, it's also the first time in, let me think, forever, that we've been away without children.

In the early days of our child rearing adventure, we got away fairly often. At least once a season with numerous overnights thrown in for good measure. Maddie spent her first overnight with my in laws on New Year's eve of 1998...she was just 6 weeks old at the time.

My in laws are certifiably insane in the sense that they love babies so much that being awake for a couple of hours in the night, for them, is fun! They were so insane that even though Madison was sleeping through the night....they woke her up to hang out! But they had 6 kids so they were obviously insane to begin with.

They loved having our kids overnight before things turned so horribly ugly and, oh, how we loved sending our kids on overnights.

Non Traditional Student.

I'm taking a writing class each Thursday night for the next 4 weeks.

I think the class will be useful and ultimately helpful, but when I walked in the first night I saw them.

Remember in college how there were the 'Non Traditional Students'? And a lot of the time the non traditional students were really excited to be in school and they were really anxious and their way of dealing with the anxiety might be to ask a lot of questions? For the entire class? Their hands were always in the air. Asking for clarification, or sharing a 'funny' (or not) anecdote with the class. Every time their hands went up your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you wanted to peel your skin off because it was all so annoying?

Good things.

Last night we had dinner with friends.

A lot of really good things have been happening to Logan and I lately.

For example, my iBook came home on Friday after just a 2 day abscence. Also there are other things.

Our friend commented on how great things are going for us.

And you know things are going really great for us and I want to talk to you, Internet, about Scientology, and the place it has in our lives.

Unfortunately, the Big Deal continues to loom large. But everything else is falling into place and eventually the Big Deal will too.