February 2009 Archives
I've been a vegetarian for almost 20 of my 35 years. Today my toddler son was walking around looking for this week's favorite book, and in the most plaintive tone of voice imaginable asked me "Ham? Ham?"
A guy I dated in college founded the omnivore society* on campus. If he's reading this, he's going to be so entertained.
* The society was called Macalester Omnivores Organized, by the way. So high-larious.
When I was pregnant, everyone loooooved to tell me how I was going to forget all about how bad it was as soon as the baby was born, or by the time he was two years old, or I was going to decide it was all worth it, and so on and so forth. If there's anything I like less than clutter, it's people telling me how I feel or how I'm going to feel. All your wisdom gained from lived experience... was gained from lived experience of being someone who is not me.
So this weekend, I gave away my maternity wardrobe. Grace's neighbor is pregnant and in need of garments, so I turned over my painstakingly assembled stash. Barring freak accident, I'm not birthing another baby, and that's final.
Because of this, I will never have some of the memories and experiences that I always wanted. I am more of a captive to the traditional sentimental snapshot moments than you might imagine, and the loss of potential for some of these moments does cause me some pain. Sometimes when I read other women's blogs and they describe jumping jup and down with excitement about the two pink lines, or tears of love in their eyes during the first sonogram... well, honestly, I want to smash a bunch of windows with a baseball bat. What pregnancy and birth were like for me is absolutely nothing compared to some of the horror stories out there, but it was bad enough for me, and I look forward to someday not being so incredibly angry about it.
That makes it sound so dysfunctional, doesn't it?
From in here it feels more like how I imagine a hangover would feel. It's ugly, but you know it's the "after" part of the experience. You know if you just wait a little bit longer, it's going to be better, and after that it's going to be better, until you're just going on about your day and everything is normal. (The analogy breaks down here because unlike my pregnancy, alcohol has some entertainment value.)
If I were feeling some deep anguish about how I'd always wanted another baby but everything had been so awful and my dreams were shattered, maybe I'd feel like this decision was broken - but I don't. I don't feel like anything's missing from our lives, and if it starts to feel that way in the future, we'll decide whether to explore other avenues.
I just feel done. In addition to angry, in a place separate from that, and one that feels much more permanent and peaceful. The teensy little bit of my heart that used to twist when I saw cute girl baby clothing, back when Boy Detective was still in onesies, barely makes a noise these days.
So bye bye, maternity wardrobe, and enjoy your new life. If I have need of you again in the future, clothing will be the least of my problems.
The Ultimate Rejection Letter.
Stay-at-Home-Dad Training Guide on STL Homeboy.
25 Things I Said Today at Production, Not Reproduction.
Why Adopt? at Peter's Cross Station.
This one time. I met Morgan Freeman. at Slynnro.
This good writing on this post at Domestic Bliss is the title, so I won't spoiler. (It's a photo.)
Sent in by a faithful non-reader, to whom anonymity has been promised:
Okay, so, um, I checked out a large print book because it happened to be the only copy available from the library for the particular book I want to read. I found it extremely refreshing. Then I found myself skipping the regular book (the next in the series) to ask for the large print one.
Is this how it begins?
An Open Letter From My Open Window at Not a Girl, Not Yet a Wino.
I Never Dated Much at Basically Unemployable.
2009 New Year's Anti Resolutions at Write Anything.
Protect That Good Thing at Ministry So Fabulous.
Evolution of Love at Bacon is my Enemy.
That person is an IDIOT.
So I have this toaster oven. I bought it in 1993 or 1994. It has always been a good little toaster oven. I know exactly where to set the dial so that my toast comes out perfect. If I want to bake something small, like a sweet potato, I don't have to heat up the big oven, which is an advantage in July in Texas. It has one small quirk, which is a lack of ding when the toast is done. It didn't come with one. No idea why, but over the years I've learned to listen for the click of the lever popping back up instead.
Late in 2008, the baking aspect got a little hazy. When one small batch of frozen tater tots took something like seven and a half hours to get done, we suspected that perhaps the temperature control was going out. Since I have toast way more often than tater tots, I decided I could live with that. Then the toast lever thingy stopped staying down when you pushed it down.
Uh oh.
I set the toaster oven in the garage, planning to put in on craigslist to see if anyone wanted it, because people from craigslist have taken all kinds of crazy stuff from my house that I have no idea why they would want. Then we went to Target to get a new toaster oven.
What we came home with was less than satisfying. We tried to get the simplest possible toaster oven they sold, and it had two dials instead of a lever, and they were really hard to turn, and you had to set both of them to make toast, and then there was a ticking sound the whole time it was toasting, and then it toasted too much or too little because the horrible little dials were as previously mentioned sticky and thus impossible to set precisely, and did I mention the time one of them didn't bother to work its way down as it was supposed to and my blackened toast SET OFF THE SMOKE DETECTOR?
So yeah, it went back to Target. I should have left the burnt toast inside for effect. Why do I always think of these things two weeks later?
We tried getting a convection oven thingy that was on sale at Costo, but when we brought it home and unwrapped it, we realized it was the size of our car. With a kitchen smaller than a garage, this was problematic, so back it went as well.
My mother in law went to her Target and got the simplest toaster oven they had, which strangely was different from the simplest one they had at our Target, but it still had the accursed two dial system and I am just not interested. My eardrums will not survive another assault from the smoke detector. (Which also means C-Man is no longer allowed to break eggs directly on the pan if it's already on the stove, but that's another story.)
My mother in law then suggested I call a place in town that deals with parts and service for small appliances. Perfect! I will have the toaster fixed, and we will go on with our lives. Except that the gentleman on the other end of the phone said exactly this:
"Ma'am, no one is going to fix a toaster oven."
Even if I am willing to pay MORE to fix my current toaster oven than I would pay to buy a new one, he was certain that my quest would prove fruitless. All he could suggest was that I put in a request to the company who made it and see if one of their authorized service centers would handle it at my expense, but he didn't think it would do any good. I did put in a request for information online, but I am not hopeful.
So now there is no toast unless we make a LOT at one time and can justify heating up the regular oven. This is great when my sister brings her three ravenous children to visit and we must create large quantities of cheese toast quickly, but that's only happened once in the two years we've lived here. C-Man has often said that my personal slogan should be "powered by toast," so you can see how this is creating a bit of a crisis.
Before you ask, no, I do not want what we have taken to calling a "toaster toaster" to distinguish it from a toaster oven. That kind that holds the pieces of toast upright in slots, you know? Can one toast cheese on a tortilla in a toaster toaster? I think not. Also, what if I want to slice my bread thicker than the slot?
This is why I am skeptical of capitalism. I am not asking a lot from capitalism. I am not asking it to end war, remedy injustice, and level the playing field for people of all socioeconomic backgrounds. I am not asking it to develop a health care system that is simultaneously fair, generous, and affordable, or to ensure that our nation's youth all become educated, moral, and productive members of society by the time they turn 18. I'm just trying to get my consumer desires met. Isn't that what capitalism is supposed to be FOR?
I should just dig a pit in my backyard, put a piece of bread on a stick, and start a fire. We have an unslightly deck that is falling apart on its own. I wouldn't run out of firewood for a really, really long time.
The Princess: What would make me feel better is to sit down and hack on something with you, something with my Movable Type?
C-Man: Sounds good.
The Princess: But I can't think of anything, so I'm going to do something else. I'm sorry.
C-Man: Whatever.
The Princess: I know you're deeply disappointed that I won't be sitting there telling you a bunch of extraneous bullshit while you're trying to concentrate.
C-Man: Well, I think we often have fun working on projects together when I'm not yelling at you for no particular reason.
