I don’t suck! The post with all the links… 10/7/2007

Surprisingly, you people love to talk vajayjays and beer. Or babies. Or my lack of s.e.x life. Or d) all the above. Which suits me just fine because right now, as of this moment, I have nothing profound. Nada. Oh, sure, I’ve been fawning all over Julia Sweeney lately, and her CD Letting Go of God. I’ve even taken notes, as in Hand Written Notes, in a journal, with a pen, and… paper. I know. What’s paper? But the truth is, the sun, my toddler, my newborn

seven week old and my mother are kicking my ass as of late. The type of ass-whooping that entails falling asleep in the recliner whilst rocking the boy child only to find oneself up as the entire family sleeps muttering cusswords under her breath because why-for-the-love-of-god-am-I-not-asleep-i-am-so-screeewweeeeed-tomorrow.

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The promised wrap-up complete with mush and photo 6/3/2007

Parenting

This weekend we travelled back to the familiar. I reflected on our drive down that I was never allowed to grieve over moving. The weekend we left Oregon, we celebrated LB’s second birthday, stayed up until 1AM cleaning the old house, got up at 7AM on Sunday and drove the remaining things to our new, tiny townhouse. On the way out of town, we pulled in to the doctors to get the second blood draw confirming the pregnancy and check the HCG doubling (being only 6 weeks out of a miscarriage, we watched the levels early on). With so much to be excited about and so many things changing at one time, I never had a chance to say good-bye. It felt like another of our weekend trips. Only one day, we didn’t drive back. I never considered how much this effected me.

As much as I snark on Oregon for their completely effed up politics, their lack of actual bonafied mountains, and the inability to let you pump your own gas, the place became home to me. I’ve lived a lot of places in my thirty years. But in the six years I lived in Oregon, we lived in three towns as many as 60 miles apart,  and still we somehow made a home when I wasn’t looking. Somehow I liked the place I swore I wouldn’t stay. At some point, we made really good friends, found a place to raise our daughter, got used to waiting ten years for the old man to pump our gas. Somewhere along the way, we got comfortable.

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When God Speaks 6/2/2007

Or rather,  when the Blog Gods slay you. I’ve talked before about why I’m glad God is not a blogger. I’m going to assume God is out there doing more useful things instead of ignoring her/his children and putting in Elmo for the tenth time that day. I’d like to pretend God does not tune me out when his/her website goes wonky or when there is a deadline for work. I’d like to think God never drops me off at day care or leaves me to nap on cots three inches off the floor while she/he grabs a latte.

But sometimes that God is a hardass. Sometimes when she says, “Thou shalt not blog” and one particular person goes, “Oh yea? You wanna watch?” like the inner-two-year-old she is, God will lay-ith the smackdown on the site.  God and my website have been in the ring for a week now duking it out. I’m really not sure who’s winning. I will say, though, my website is taking a few hits pretty hard. She’s a site for sore eyes, I tell ya.

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Month One: AKA sobbing while picturing you going off to college even as you can’t conrtol your neck 6/1/2007

Parenting

Baby O is one month old. My son, my last born child, the tiny 5 pound little man, is one month old. And I can already picture him walking out of the house in 18 years, loading his car, heading off to college and watching with both pride and tears of remembering the time he was one month old.

We’ve come a long way, Baby O, from people joking about the beach ball under my shirt to those gawking at the beautiful boy I hold.  For whatever reason, yours or my body’s, you blessed us almost a month early because you knew we couldn’t wait to love on you. You grew strong quickly in the NICU and dozens upon dozens of people prayed for you and cheered you on. They cheered us all on as we sat by your side every day stroking your arm and whispering words of love and encouragement in your very tiny ears. The first time I held you, I cried. The second time I held you, I cried. The third time I held you I fell asleep thanking the world for bringing in such a lovely little man and trusting me with this very tiny life, knowing we would grow together. And we have.

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My secret super hero power 6/1/2007

If I was a Super Hero, I’d be super anxiety gal.  I’d probably wear yoga pants because this 19-weeks-pregnant ass should never be crammed in to spandex, but I’d surely have a cape and probably a wrist-watch thing that could read the future and comfortable shoes.

Not that I’ve given this much thought or anything.

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Oh My God, I am the “Days of our Lives” of blogland 5/2/2007

Let’s say, hypothetically, that you used to read this website and then stuff happened and you didn’t get to read much. Then you came back and Lo! I was STILL posting about my sex-life (and lack-there-of) and how my child still isn’t sleeping. I’m like a really bad soap opera minus the hot men and women that can’t act but have so much Botox their eyes pop when they smile.

Dayam.

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