Gianna gets a haircut.

I realize it's been awhile since I've visited my blog, but apparently I've forgotten how to upload a picture so that it's at the top. I'm sick of messing with it so I guess it's going to be at the bottom. Gianna got her first hair cut last week (more like a trim), which she took very seriously indeed. For $20, she got the full treatment: shampoo, trim, and style. It was so cute how she solemnly sat in rapt attention, never flinching at the tugging of the comb and brush. At home, I only brush her hair every couple of days. She doesn't like it and I usually have to hold her down, or more commonly, bribe her. I thought if we lopped off an inch or two, it would be easier to brush, but nothing is easy to do to a toddler if she doesn't want it done. Plus, I was too wimpy to have Kim whack off more than an inch or so, since Gianna's curls are so beautiful. On another topic, I have 3 more weeks of work, then I'm gearing up for a whopping, unprecedented (or nearly so) 3 full weeks off work. Our massive plans involve DRIVING to Wyoming, spending a few days over the 4th with family, and then flying to Kauai'i for 10 days, get this, withOUT our daughter! I'm feeling a little trepidation about the latter, because we've never left her alone for even one night (except on Joe's 50th b-day, but she stayed overnight with her very trusted nanny), much less 10 nights. And guiltily, I'm looking forward to some time "off" from a toddler. ALL of my friends in the area who have children also have family around to help them out. These friends constantly show up at BBQs, girls-night-out, etc kidless because they can just drop junior off at grandma's house. Want to attend that Tuesday night book club/class/happy hour? No problem! Want to snag some drinks on Friday? No problem! Joe and I, on the other hand, must either go out without each other (while the other stays home with Gianna), or just say "fuck it" and stay home, or bring her with. That's why I like afternoon BBQs or house parties, because they tend to be kid-friendly events. Not fond of movie theaters, art galleries, or happy hours because they are decidedly NOT kid-friendly. This is not to say I will always find art galleries irritating, but at least for the next few years. Anyway, so for 10 solid, uninterrupted days I can sleep in, go to adult places, put on a cute dress, and go out and sip drinks without having to be back in the hotel room by 9:00. So I feel kind of guilty for looking forward to all this, while at the same time I know it's normal and people do it all the time. I just don't want her to feel abandoned, or constantly be asking, "Where's mommy?" Guess we'll just have to call a lot : ). Once we get back, we have a leisurely week to make it back to California.

Aug 24, 2010.

So I ditched that Smartphone I had in favor of the iPhone 4. I succumbed. The other phone was too big a pain in the ass with seizing up, or my cheek would hit the virtual keypad and beep whilst I was talking. Worse, it wasn't compatible with my Mac laptop. I did not foresee this very grave stumbling block. I now have the iPhone and am very pleased. Here is a photo. This is from the other day at Artbeast. I don't go there very often, only 3 times now namely, because it's sort of expensive to get in and she's over it within 1 1/2 hours or so. After we left, I decided lunch was in order. I was seized with the sudden impulse to devour meatball at Ikea. I was also keenly aware the place teems with children, so any of her antics would just blend right in. Plus, I wanted to check out the bedding and toys real quick. We got there and I nearly just departed once I glimpsed how long the line was. But to my astonishment, Gianna waited patiently and did not scamper off. Maybe it's because she was so hungry.

We all went to Lander and got back last week. The visit went well and there were no awkward conflicts regarding politics or religion. Joe has a hard time keeping his mouth shut when one of my nieces or nephews says something right-wing or ignorant. But nobody really did....Joe likes to get them started on the topic of Mormons. Since they are evangelicals (at least my bro Jason and Karen), Mormons are particularly irritating to them. They irritate me too (the religion, not necessarily the people, although some do), so I find it highly enjoyable to listen to Karen or Jason's lengthy tirade on how Mormonism cannot be Christianity, and Joseph Smith was a shyster, and how weird those garments are they wear, etc. etc. On the way back to SLC, Karen an mom drove us. I really think that Karen and Jason are really left-wing but don't know it. When things are framed correctly, she nods and agrees. Like, if one simply says, "Corporations are evil," she would likely disagree. But if stated like, "The free market system has been compromised due to mergers, and corporations are not paying their fair share of taxes, unlike us regular folks, and our good pals the small business-owners," she may actually acquiesce. Although, definitely stay away from the topic of abortion, etc. And of course don't even bother to try to convince an Evangelical what a joke religions are.

Anyway, Emily stayed at mom's all week to hang out while Jay went to AZ. Joe and I managed to slip away to the saloon exactly twice, which is good. Nothing like swallowing down a few beers. Joe likes to sit out side, but sometimes I like to actually sit at the sweaty bar to remind myself we're really at a bar. It's more tangible. Otherwise, sitting outside with a beer I could just be at Crepeville or something. Sometimes I want to glance up and see the taps or that bottle of Maker's Mark sitting there. We went on the Nature trail, which was significantly longer than what i remember. Gigi handled it well though and walked most of the way. The swinging bridge made me nervous though, because the fence isn't adequately stapled down at the botton. And of course my pubescent nephews are jumping up and down on it and making it swing wildly. Gigi also made cookies with Grandma, a tradition for us all. We fed the fish, went to City Park, ate breadsticks. All the usual junk one does at a Lander visit. Must say it was fun, and Joe didn't vanish as much. Gigi had a blast too.

I'm dreading Melissa leaving on maternity leave. It'll be me and the bumps-on-the-logs and the Republicans. It reminds me that she's at least 50% of what I enjoy about my job. At least Steve got us a sub, Mike, who is not too bad.

Well, I guess I'll retire. My evenings are so short. After Gianna goes to bed, I really only feel alert for 60-90 minutes.

So here's one of Gianna's favorite activities, captured by my new Smartphone. Since of course it is not compatible with Apple, I have to email them to myself, then download them onto the laptop. Sigh. Should've just gotten an iPhone, but thought it would be redundant given I already own an iPod Touch. She is removing the snails we collected in our yard, and placing them at the base of a tree in the park, their "new home."

At any rate, the 4th of July holiday was quite fun. On Saturday I dragged Joe to the aerospace museum, which turned out to be pretty cool. They had a Star Trek exhibit that Gigi really enjoyed, especially the transporter thing. The rest of the museum was pleasingly cavernous, with most of the planes actually being outside on the tarmac. Some of them were open, and I think even Joe was impressed with the WWII troop dropper-offer one. There's also a space-aged theme playground right next door, with 3 different levels. I was quite impressed.

In the afternoon, we then went to Karen's house for her barbecue. The whole gang was in attendance, and we nibbled hot dogs and the usual bbq fare. Gianna enjoyed twirling the sparklers, but when it came to letting off the larger stuff, she wasn't interested whatsoever. I guess she was scared by the smoke and noise. Joe took her inside the house, and we split soon after that. On Sunday we went to Melissa's and spent a few hours swimming by her pool. Brian always puts on a yummy spread-tacos, guacamole, salads, etc. Then, on Monday morning I met Melissa and Brian, and Julie the Mormon at the movie theater to watch "Eclipse," the 3rd installment in the Twilight series. Silly, sappy books, but nice to escape for a bit. Joe stayed at home with Gigi so I could go.

So on to our Monday in Hawai'i, before my memory fades. We piled into the rental van and headed out early for Waimea canyon. Since it is a some distance (for that island, anyway), we wanted to see that before the week got away from us. The way there was breathtaking, of course, and as we drove along the rim. We stopped at the first lookout....difficult to keep one eye on the toddler while the other eye is soaking up the view. The drop off was precipitous in places and it wouldn't take Gianna long to clamber over the fence. She wasn't too happy at the lookout area, because there were all sorts of places she couldn't go. But we did sit down in some grass for a little bit, as there was a vendor peddling dried fruit and stuff, so we had a snack before leaving. We stopped in Kolo'a near Poi'pu and had lunch at Tomkats. It wasn't very busy and it had a courtyard that was open to the air. There was a kitty there that kept G amused for awhile. She fell asleep on the way back, which was good because the prior 2 days she didn't have a nap at all. After that, we went swimming again, beach, etc. Gianna developed a liking for the hot tubs, which she called "hot bath tubs." Since there were several, I could usually find one that was either vacant, or occupied by kids already so she couldn't disturb too many folks. Mostly she liked pushing the button that ran the jets off and on. We had also gotten a little inner tube that gave her some autonomy in the water (and no doubt a false sense of security) which she enjoyed tremendously. She would sink in, and say, "Feee-yalls good, mommy! Fee-yalls good!"

Well, I'm getting tired and I've got to pay some bills, and task which I loathe. Not even just because money is exiting the household, but I literally loathe writing out the checks, weeding out all the junk stuffed in the envelopes, etc.

June 25, 2010

Gianna likes to look for snails. I guess I started it, exclaiming and pointing whenever I came across one in the backyard, which is often. She likes it when I line them up on the little edging thing, and will watch them until they start to move. Until recently, she wouldn't touch them or pick them up herself. She began to feel brave enough to do so the other day. I discovered a whole cache of them gathered where the fence meets the garage; perhaps it is cool or moist there. We plucked them all off and put them in a bucket. There must've been 25 or 30. Since I really don't want to kill them (much less have Gianna watch me do it, or see me throw them in the garbage or something equally heartless), but also don't relish them slithering around the yard and munching on the plants, we decided to go find them a new "home." So we strolled to the park and released them at the base of a sycamore tree. I guess I may as well kill them, but at least this way they perhaps have some small chance. When they start to emerge from their shells, Gigi says, "it's moving mommy, it's moving!" She'll touch their antennae/tentacles things and watch them withdraw, then unfurl again. Actually, I kind of like to do that myself.

We are back from Hawai'i and I really need to chronicle it. My favorite Gigi moment actually occurred in the elevator in our six-star hotel. We (Joe, I, and Gianna) entered the elevator, as did two men. One man had a glistening, deep green watermelon. It was totally silent in there as the elevator began to ascend. I could see Gianna watching the man, and thinking about something. She blurted out very loudly, "Got waterMELON?" and everyone burst out laughing. He replied he would give her a piece were it cut up. It was so cute.

So let's see if I can remember this stuff: Day 1, June 4th. Our flight out of Sac was at 9:30 or so, requiring that we get up and out of here fairly early. Gianna seemed excited, as were we. We parked and rode the shuttle to the airport. It was immediately apparent what the biggest obstacle to traveling with a toddler is: when you need to go somewhere, or wait in some line, or some other mundane task, said toddler will strongly prefer to do otherwise. Perhaps the other direction is more interesting. Or where does this conveyor belt go? The toddler in question will want to closely inspect every garbage can, rope, kiosk, chair, but especially the escalators. Every where we went, we had to ride the escalators before we could depart. If departure was attempted without indulging in multiple rides, one must prepare oneself for loud and shrill protests, often for a prolonged period. Anyway, everything went smoothly, including the flight. As it was relatively early, and the curiosity factor exceedingly high, there was no chance Gianna would sleep. I staved off her restless for approximately 2.5 hours, at which time I had to produce the secret weapon: this laptop upon which I now type. DVDs and admiring photos kept her entertained until we landed in Honolulu. The connection went very smoothly, and we landed in Lihue. We saw Hoss and Tristan right away. Gigi was very happy and the two embraced. We split for the hotel, but our room wasn't quite ready so we loitered around the beach with Genny and Hoss, somewhat uncomfortably in our street clothes. We were in Sac at 9:30, and Kalapaki beach by 2:30! How beautiful and amazing it was! It's difficult to believe that this place is part of the U.S. From the hotel, one had a spectacular view of the expansive pool below, green knoll, and the beach. Beyond, hulked the craggy mountain that is quintessential Hawai'i, or as Joe and I said on a few occasions, "It looks just like Lost."

As soon as our room was available, we gratefully changed clothes and returned to the beach. The ocean is so warm and inviting. Just cool enough to be refreshing, but not enough that it gives your body that shock upon entry. Nothing like Lake Tahoe even at its warmest. Nothing like the Atlantic, or even Lake Hopatcong in New Jersey. And certainly nothing like the Pacific here or any glacier-run-off Wyoming water. All of the bodies of water I have ever entered require the deep breath, run at top speed, and plunge-in-to-get-it-over-with method. I also didn't expect the weather to be that mild. Intellectually, I understood it was always 80. I had been watching the temperature in Lihue via my iPod for months before departure. It was always 77, or 82 or whatever. But I still expected sweltering, or muggy, or swarms of insects, or torrential rainfall. Maybe those are stereotypes about tropical rainforests, I don't know. I guess I don't know what 82 degrees feels like because Sacramento is 105, and Wyoming is seldom above 65. It was mild enough that one felt downright chilly if emerging from the pool later in the afternoon, or if clouds were obscuring the sun. Perfectly comfortable, all the time. Except when Joe wanted to sleep with the window open to hear the ocean. Then I was sort of hot all night. It was nice to hear the ocean, but then you'd also hear random dudes mumbling things from down below in the courtyard. Or maintenance people scraping around the pool.

I was thinking we ate at Duke's that first night, but I think I just took Gianna to bed since she hadn't slept all day. Yes, that's right. Because I never really ate aside from the crappy airplane meal and I awoke ravenous the next morning. Ravenous, and looking forward to a cocktail, heh heh.

Genny and Hoss said that after each voyage to Kaua'i, Tristan matured, or "grew up" after the experience. Gianna did change a bit, I think. Most notably is that she no longer nurses in the morning. It had been intermittent, but she was still fairly consistent with wanting to nurse in the morning. In Hawai'i her bedtime and morning routines were very different for myriad reasons: first, I could not just lay her down and exit like I do here at home. So I had to dim the lights and lay down with her. To my surprise, I enjoyed this because I would turn on the "Scenic Hawai'i" channel which permanently airs aerial views of all the islands filmed on a helicoptor, all paired with appropriate and soothing music. After she fell asleep, either myself or Joe would move her to the other bed. Usually it didn't take her long to fall asleep, since of course our days were full of activity and the hour would be considerably later than her usual bedtime. Then, in the mornings, rather than slam the door open and run into the bedroom yelling, "nurse! nurse!" she would sleep in a bit more and/or simply say, "Next to Gigi?" or "Next to me?" at 5:30 am or so. As long as I crawled into her bed with her, she'd fall back asleep to the indulgent hour of 7 or even 8:30 one time. Gasp.

Now that we are back home, she just never thought to ask for "nurse!" again. That's not entirely true, but I just patted the bed and said, "Next to me?" and she's been willing to crawl in and if not doze, at least contentedly lay for a while. That's why we nursed for as long as we did: so I could continue to lay there, even just for 15 minutes. It's been almost a month now, so there's no going back. I will miss it in many ways, mostly when her little fingers flitted around my belly, or kneaded. But she needs to move on, I suppose.

Regional parks, here I come.

Since I'm getting a little sick of the same old thing, I've resolved to visit a nearby park, reserve, shore, or attraction every weekend that there isn't some other obligation. I'm also a little weary of taking Gianna to Saturday morning 10:00 activities. First it was Kindermusik for at least 6 months or so, then I switched to Waterbabies. I'm doing gymnastics with her right now, but it's sort of lame because only 2 kids are in the class. Anyway, since Gigi usually rises pretty early, between 6:20-6:40, that's a long time to putter around the house before the class. I hesitate to start a walk or excursion because then she has a fit when we need to leave. I don't know, I guess there's 9:00 classes.....But since this is a beautiful time of year, we could emerge to some new (or old trusty) destination. This weekend we tried to go to Deer Creek Reserve (or whatever the hell it is called). I say "tried," because not only was there a little creek to forge in the car, which Joe wasn't keen on doing, but it became increasingly clear that this was going to be a true hiking situation. I was looking for just a large, open space environment. When you walk with Gianna, it's best not to be in a hurry or have a real destination in mind. Her ambling, diversions, and investigating all things curious IS the destination. There is no hurrying her along. We could have loaded her into the Ergo baby carrier, but we weren't prepared for that sort of trip. So, we aborted the mission and went to the Folsom Powerhouse instead. We explored the old building, then went along a short path and stuck our toes in the river. Then we went to eat at the Hacienda Mexican joint, sitting outside on the balcony enjoying the nice breeze and warm sunshine. On Sunday, we set out on another excursion, to the Mather Fields Vernal Pools. This will be a place we need to visit again, this time bringing picnic provisions and, much later in the future, boats! People were just loading their kayaks in and stuff. There was also a large playground. Again, to truly see the pools, we would need to load her into the Ergo carrier to do any serious traipsing. So, we grabbed some lunch and then drove home.

Gianna now says, "That's me!" when she sees herself in a picture. She'll also say, "Sorry mommy," after making a mess. She'll also ask stuffed animals or her Thomas the trains if they are ok, or will say "Sorry." On Friday morning, while we were still all laying in bed, Joe says, "We're gonna go to the zoo today!" Gianna said, "Giraffes! Tall, long necks!"

Ciao for now!

Good bye, Darwin.

Here I am sitting with my new Macbook laptop. And wi-fi. After years of Joe being the de facto internet gatekeeper, I have total freedom. I can't tell you how many arguments we got into because I wanted to use his computer for something (usually to mapquest, upload pictures, or look something up) when he didn't want me to. If I so much glanced toward the computer, he'd get suspicious and come investigate. And when permission was granted, he'd grumbled the whole time saying, "Are you done yet?" or, "Don't mess anything up!" Even if he didn't mind, it was moot past 8 pm, because Gianna sleeps in that room. Now I have complete autonomy; mwah hah hah!! Anyway, this weekend was fairly pleasant. On Saturday, we went to gymnastics class, then Gianna and I met Genny and Tristan at Crepeville. Afterwards, we went across the street to the Storybook theatre. Considering that it was at noon, essentially Gigi's naptime, and the fact that she is 25 months old, she did really well. There was some rooting around in my purse and climbing around on me and the seats, but for the most part she paid attention. We had a lot of fun, and I resolved to go to all the plays whenever possible, now that I know she found it at least somewhat engaging.

Today I wasted most of the morning trying to find an animal shelter willing to take the stray cat (Darwin) I finally caught. I sort of feel wistful, and I truly will miss her. It felt good to have the little critter greet me in the mornings and after work. I also enjoyed seeing her snuggled down in the garden in the sun. She was still painfully shy, but I was able to gradually get her comfortable eating in the pet carrier, and today, while she sat munching unsuspectingly, I just slammed the door shut. I felt horrible, as she yowled in surprise and fear. But it's just not practical to delay any longer. She is surely pregnant by now, which means another 5 homeless cats or so. Then more, and more. And we can't keep her due to Joe's allergies. Plus, he really doesn't want any animals, and we don't need another thing to argue about. It's really no life to live, residing under the neighbor Mike's house. She'd eventually get run over, or worse, mauled by some dog. And I couldn't ever get her vet care, being as how it is so difficult to catch her. I considered telling animal control to call me if it came down to the wire and they were going to euthanize her. If she were spayed, then theoretically we could go back to how it was before. Of course, it would probably be awhile before she'd trust my traitorous ass again. Surely life as an outdoor kitty is better than euthanasia, right? I don't know. Maybe I'll call them in a few days. But Joe reeeallllly doesn't want cats around. It reminds him of his ex-wife. I'll wait until Gianna is old enough to do the pestering for me. Anyway, most of the animal shelters were either closed, or refused to take her as I was "out of their jurisdiction." Luckily, they sent an officer to our house rather promptly, once I called. Poor kitty.

Oct. 7, 2009

Last weekend we ended up jettisoning the Oktoberfest plans, because Joe wanted to be at this gig by 4:00. Given the $10 cover charge, there would be no real point in him attending. Karen was going to come along, but I really didn't feel up to chasing after Gianna by myself, especially since she had managed to procure a babysitter for Gavin. Instead, we went to Alana's house where Melissa and Jessica were planning to go, before heading out to Sylvannah's birthday party. Jasem and Livi were there too, so Gianna had a few friends to play with. I could pretty much relax and just let her scamper around. Alana has a cute house; she made it sound like it was a tore-up, delapidated hell-hole, but really it's quite nice. I had a beer and a margarita, but that's all because I was the driver (Karen hitched along with me). We played Wii a little bit, and I kicked everyone's ass at bowling. This is completely out of character for me, but the Palermo step-children are very much into video games, and the last several holidays at Lorayne's have involved obligatory Wii participation. Plus, I actually understand bowling and it's easy to stand around and have a drink while doing it. It also doesn't require one's full concentration. I need to get busy and find Gianna a Halloween costume. We may actually take her trick-or-treating this year, or preferably, someone may invite us to a Halloween party. I'm hoping Megan will do so: even though she'll probably have a 1-week old infant at the time, her daughter Ainsley will still need to do something. I kind of want to get away from our house, because answering the door 300X to dole out candy does not sound very appealing. Under normal circumstances it might, but each time Gianna is going to attempt to flee, and when I restrain her, as I must, she will freak out. And it seems kind of boring to just dim the lights and hunker down. I might put a fake patient in at noon, which just might give me enough time to go to the mall. I can't go this weekend because we're going to Meeks Bay at Tahoe, and I'm worried everything good will be picked over. And the shit at Target just sucks.

I'm trying to decide when and how to fully ween (wean?) Gigi. Ok, I know how, but I have to muster the energy for it. The two times I've withheld, she got pretty pissed. And this morning, when she awoke at 6:15 am, which is pretty typical, I just didn't feel like getting right up. If I nurse her, I can lounge in the warm bed another 20-30 mins. The alternative would be to get right up at 6:15, and start entertaining her. And the first few days it won't be in the least entertaining, because she'll be screaming "Nurt! Nurt" which is how she says "nurse." When she realizes it's not happening, the fury will be unprecedented : ). Well, better get to work now.

Gianna is 20 months old!

Yesterday Gigi had her well-baby doctor appointment. It was fairly uneventful, and the doctor was pretty much on time which was surprising. Predictably, Gianna was not fond of being poked and prodded, particularly getting her head measured for some reason. The shots, 3 of them!, actually went quickly with only a short burst of outraged shrieks. We then went home and resumed business as usual. I believe they said she is 23 lbs now, and 31 3/4 inches tall. Somewhere in the %20-25 percentile, except for her head, which is 97 percentile, heh heh. She's always had a pretty large head.

Gianna likes playing, "Timber," for which she says, "boon-boon!" It really just involves stepping up on a stool placed next to the bed, and we fall like a log onto the mattress, announcing "Timber!". For some reason it really makes her giggle. We take turns flopping onto the mattress until I finally get lazy, and she just climbs on me. Her daddy calls the same game "Statue," which is sort of confusing, because as a rule statues don't fall down. I guess neither do trees, and in either case it's an unfortunate affair when they do. Except may for the Saddam Hussein statue toppled by the Americans, but doubtless that would have eventually toppled on its own without any forcible takeover on our part.

We stopped for a break at Farson, Wyoming. It's pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Joe grabbed the camera and got several cute shots of Gianna, who was extremely enthused about the prospect of getting out of the car.

Rats of Life.

Last weekend we spent a lot of time outdoors. The weather was beautiful, the beer cold, and we had a lot of work to do on Gianna's sandbox. Gianna likes to run around with her shoes off in the back yard, so I'm just a teensy bit glad we no longer have an 80-pound beast making thrice daily fecal deposits back there. We really had a great dog, don't get me wrong. Even though both Joe and I regretted her passing (the dog, Shanna, was a 14-year old yellow Lab), I think we breathed a guilty sigh of relief. I don't think either of us are dog people. Or perhaps put more honestly: I think both Joe and I tend to be lazy people. We'd squabble over who did or should pooper scoop more, over how much dog hair was in the house, who's got to take her to the vet, etc. Anyway, since Joe is allergic to cats, that really leaves just one or two options when Gianna inevitably begs for some sort of pet: fish or rodents.

I kind of think of my life as a series of pet rats, at least up until fairly recently (2004) when the last one traveled across the rainbow bridge, and I was gone too often to take care of a new pet. I still remember all of their names: Sal (1986), Asia Azalia (1989), Margaret Thatcher (1989), Mirage (1992), Raven and Hazel (1993), Zoe (1996), Sadie and Isabella (1997), Reepicheep (1997), Corleone (1999), Chloe (1999), Ramone and Rafael (2000), Maynard (2001), Harry and Ron (2002). When Harry finally died in 2004, I threw in the towel for awhile on the whole rat thing. Joe claims they smell, and plus I was moving and/or gone much of the time. So throughout much of my life (around 20 years), there was at least one rat in the backdrop witnessing it all. I wistfully think of my rats: of them all, I miss Sal, Asia, Reepicheep, and Hazel the most. Some of them died naturally, of very advanced age (2 1/2-3 for a rat), others met with a grim end. Asia, who liked to amble around the basement in my mom's house, leapt up into the toilet and could not get out. I found her drowned body when I came home from swim practice. I called her name, but she did not come. Alarmed, I searched everywhere. I sobbed for days after that.

I think of my rats as representing 3 periods of my life: the high school rats, college rats, and Sacramento rats. I have rats buried in 3 states of the union. All of my exes have been forced to dig a grave for some rat or another. (They've also all had to see The Cure in concert as well). Reepicheep was a total sweetheart. Her mom was actually Sadie. When I bought her along with her sibling Isabella, she was pregnant, although I wasn't aware of this at the time. I was living in a complete hovel at the time. I had just gotten back from England, and had blown both semesters worth of loan $ in one semester. I also owed my mom some money. I moved in to this basement apartment with Vinnie. It had one grimy window high above the kitchen sink. If I stood on my tip-toes, I could see out of it. There was no heat, so we had to run these electric heaters all the time to keep up with the Wyoming winter. The rent was $225 per month. Chris (who would be my future boyfriend) set up a tent in the living room and paid us $75 per month, so rent was actually only $150, or about one week's wages at the swimming pool where I worked. The toilet in the bathroom was on this weird pedestal, so you had to go up a step to sit on it. From the bathroom, there was this door that let into this creepy earthen cave. We stored some crap in there, but I tried to stay away from it. Anyway, one day I heard little squeaking sounds, and there was Sadie with her litter of 13 pups. One was stillborn, so I buried it outside our crappy window. I played with those rats constantly, but they grew fast and I knew we didn't need anymore babies. Once they were old enough, I gave 11 to a pet store that promised not to sell them for snake food. I kept Reepicheep, the only one with a stripe down her back. Because I'd been there since her infancy, she was utterly at home on my shoulder, in my hood, wherever. When we finally moved out of the hell hole and into decent accomodations, she would always surprise guests by ambling around the corner and into view. They would say, "My god, there's a rat!" Usually I put her in her cage when visitors were around, though. I didn't want any wayward drunks to sit on her or something. Sadie was never the same after the pups; she never tamed well and kept trying to escape. That's a story for the next post, though.

Gianna in February at the Sierra 2 Playground.

Greasy hair and glad.

Today I skipped a shower in order to stay in bed with my 15-month old daughter Gianna a little longer. She's been sleeping alone now, in a play-pen crib type thing. She sleeps well now and doesn't seem to mind, but when I look down at her, she looks so small and lonely in the crib. I don't like how it looks like a little prison. She slept in our bed until about 6 weeks ago. I really liked having her there, and hearing her soft baby sighs and feeling her little warm body nearby all night. However, instead of sleeping better and more soundly over time, she actually began to wake more often, and needed to nurse to be able to fall asleep again. Gianna would wake every 90 minutes or so, and since I have to go to work all day, I was constantly tired and getting headaches. What worried me more though, is that each time my sleep was interrupted, I was starting to feel resentful, which would then make me feel guilty. So we made the decision to move her and things have been fine, and I think she sleeps better too.

So an era is over. I miss her at night. In the mornings, around 6:15, she wakes up and cries out. I go in to get her, and then bring her into our bed to nurse. After 15-30 minutes of leisurely nursing, she's usually ready to get up and play. Today, however, she nodded off again and I enjoyed this rare chance to snuggle.

After awhile I crept out of bed, and before too long she appeared in the hallway looking for me. We went about getting ready, and I turned around to see she had gotten into some coffee grounds. She had the grounds smeared all around her mouth and proudly held up the discarded filter. I laughed as I wiped her off, because I could see in her quizzical expression she was trying to decide if she liked the taste or not. I said, "Stick out your tongue," and she did so I could wipe it off.

This girl misses nothing. If she sees something new, she immediately wants to come and investigate. If I have on a different bracelet, or set down a glass of something to drink, she wants to see what it is. When I got new glasses the other day, she was so determined to get ahold of them, I actually had to remove them and put the old ones on for awhile. Of course, she gets very upset when thwarted, but usually can be persuaded to look or play with something else. I'm so pleased she loves books now. For the longest time, she had no interest and would slide off my lap or hurl the book to the ground. She got very impatient. Once she was around 9 or 10 months old, she began to tolerate the interactive ones, and now she'll sit through them all, one after another. She also loves to go outside. I found a beautiful wooden sandbox on Craigslist. It weighs a million pounds and we had to borrow a truck, but once we get it fixed up and painted, it's going to be marvellous. It's 6' X 4' with room for several children. Each end has a bench so an adult can sit there too. If the weather cooperates, we'll work on it this weekend. I really look forward to the weekends when I can spend all day with Gianna and my husband.

gulag, glasnost, gargoyle.

The field of audiology has been shifting from a Master's level to a doctorate level for a couple of decades now. I was caught in the middle and ended up with an M.S. for a profession that now requires a more advanced degree, at least for newer graduates. The geezers will be grandfathered in, but since I was just starting my odyssey in audiology, and my belly dancing career never took off, I went ahead and obtained the Au.D. via distance. So now I have the damn thing and that's that. I went to an optometry school, actually. Those of us who have done so now introduce ourselves as "doctor" to the patients, although it's a little hard for the receptionists to get used to. It's rather incongruous when I hear them say, "Jannette will be with you in a moment," and then I introduce myself as "Dr. Palermo" five minutes later. I've never liked patients calling me "Jannette." It's a little bit too personal and friendly for my taste. I'm a very private person with just a few close friends, and not even that many acquaintances. I don't mind if the patient is very nice, and I've seen him or her several times. But otherwise I think that barrier really needs to be there. Until the Au.D., though, it also seemed weird to be "Ms. Dayton" or more recently, "Ms. Palermo." That would just make me feel like a 3rd grade teacher.

The audiologists who still only have a Master's for whatever personal decision tend to be a little resentful. We're not allowed to put "Doctor of Audiology" on our business cards, even though that degree has been legally conferred upon me, because as I was told: Patients might feel they are receiving a different level of service. It's not out of some sense of superiority, or arrogance, that myself and others want to call ourselves "Doctor," (and we do). The purpose of the change is to elevate the field to a doctoring profession, as what we do is very similar to optometry or podiatry, both of which are limited license practitioners and can bill Medi-care. It's also to distinguish ourselves from slimy hearing aid salesmen. To deny Au.D. recipients the ability to use their title shortchanges the profession, not the person. I also don't think patients are that stupid. A brief explanation would satisfy most. Even if a patient wanted to switch providers, this happens all the time based on some perceived insult or notion. I did this myself when our ultrasound on our baby was questionable. I requested an M.D. rather than a tech. This happens and no one was insulted. It is what it is.

I write this now because tomorrow we are having a meeting about the debate. Fortunately the "boss" is now sympathetic, and moreover, there is no legal basis to deny one use one's own title. We don't misrepresent, patients know we are doctors of audiology, not medical doctors. Anyway, I'm sure one very conservative audiologist in particular is going to squall and loudly protest. If the economy hadn't downturned, she'd probably be retired by now....

It's for the best. Who wants to be on first name terms with, say, their gynocologist? I'd be appalled to hear him/her say, "hi, I'm Bob," then dig in my crotch. I don't want to call the doctor "bob," or "Natalie," or whatever. They are not my friend, just provider. Not even my husband says my name very often. Usually he says, "Sweetie," or "honey," or whatever.

It's 9:22, and my day has scarcely begun. I have done absolutely no work whatsoever.

Bowels, blogging, beleaguered

I'm back after a two year hiatus (from this blog). Honestly, I was actually surprised to find it still here. My profile photo was mysteriously missing, though. Or maybe I never had one, I don't know. For those of you who are interested, which is nobody, I'm sitting here at work over my lunch hour. I'm waiting for my Lean Cuisine ravioli to heat up in the microwave. I hate that I eat that shit, but they're so convenient. I long ago got sick of going out to eat every day for lunch. It wasn't even the money, but just the monotony of menu choices around here. I could bring my own lunch in, but that would require forethought and planning, and actually going to the grocery store on Sunday. And it's no fun to try to prepare my lunch at 7:46 am with a toddler tugging at my pants. So, I'm very sorry, body, but I'm going to ingest a $2.69 little carton of pure preservatives. I'd skip it altogether, but when I'm hungry, I get cranky.

On a lighter note, I have a daughter now. Apparently, Joe and I have very compatible genes, gauging from how intelligent, curious, and beautiful she is. She's particularly special to me because she is the only person I know who is genetically related to me. I love looking into her little face, and seeing a bit of myself. Other people take it for granted when someone says, "Oh, you look like Aunt Myrtle," or cousin Fred acts like cousin Mike, etc. That doesn't happen with me. I don't really care to know her, but I've always wondered what my mother looks like. I could probably scrounge her up someday, but I guess I really don't relish learning all the gory details. She's probably this obese, Republican loudmouth running over poor people with her Medi-Caid scooter. Or my genetic father was her rapist. Yeah, best to let these demons remain buried. Without knowing for sure, I can always continue to fantasize that she's an activist lawyer or doctor working for people's rights in the Congo. So, Gianna, I'm very glad you're here.

confuse, abuse, refuse

Goddammit. My taste in music is so lame. On my commute home from work today I switched from the usual NPR blather to the CD player. I realized I've had the same goddam CDs in my 6-disc changer for about six months. Oh, it's not like they were in there and I wasn't listening to them and then "rediscovered" them. Oh, no. I listen again and again to the same shit. (They happen to be Cat Stevens, Front 242 which I unearthed at some used CD store, Tori Amos mix, Sarah McLachlan, Coldplay and the Cure--Bloodflowers) Part of it is because I'm too fucking lazy to get the disc changer out of the car, hunt down the jewel cases, and select new ones. The latter is the most daunting task of all as I am faced with an embarrasingly outdated collection. Normal people don't even buy CDs anymore, and have these astonishingly complicated gadgets that plug in to the car and crap. I'm so fucking retarded, I even had an iPod for awhile, but gave it away because I couldn't figure it out. It wasn't for lack of trying, but I could only use Joe's computer (also called "The Husband), which he hates because he is certain I will inadvertently erase entire manuscripts (not an unrealistic fear since I bet he doesn't back his stuff up). It seemed to take a damn hour to download one measly song, at which time I hear Joe yelling, "what are you doing now? get off of there!" So I couldn't deal and figured I'd get all my CDs on ebay. My inattentiveness and laziness guarantee I do not discover any new bands, and thus I rely on old familiar bands to keep putting out new shit, such as the Cure, or Foo Fighters, or Tori Amos. And how many Bob Marley remixes will they come up with? The last new band I discovered was John Pryne, who is old. I'm even too lazy to listen to old artists' new shit. I bought the new Tori last Tuesday, fully a week ago, and still have not listened to it. Why? Yep, too much of a loser to go out to the car and get the disc changer. At least I took it out of the wrapper and admired the collector's edition bonus postcards. Somebody help me, and email me a list of decent music, with exactly which albums to buy, so I can get out of the pathetic rut. I'm too ashamed to listen to the Violent Femmes yet again.

Regusci Winery

Our $48 bottle of Cabernet. Totally worth the splurge, and for a few precious hours I could forget I had a job and a mortgage.

Sojourn to Boonville and Napa

Callous Christians

A patient remarked to me today, "I don't buy all this global warming crap; it's all just a scare tactic." As a Christian, she said, "Besides, God is in control -- the glaciers have melted before, and they will melt again." This patient is otherwise very nice, friendly, conscientous, but typical of a lot of Christians I know. I've always wondered why Christians are so hostile to the idea that humans could be contributing to the problem (a worldview that aligns itself nicely with corporations with no interest whatsoever in conservation or any limits on pollution, etc). I understand that the Bible says we have dominion over everything (apparently, since I've never read the Bible), but does this really mean we should trash the joint? Since the Messiah might take his sweet ass time returning, shouldn't we try to leave a few trees standing for our unsuspecting posterity to enjoy? Sure, it might cut into the profits of a few lumber companies, but the lumber companies aren't going to heaven anyway since they won't be able to fit through the eye of a needle. So given that most reasonable people think we should leave the Earth at least as habitable as we found it, why is it that so many Christians vociferously deny environmental degradation? I think my patient allowed a glimpse into their mentality -- If God is in control, it is much easier, much cheaper, and conveniently much more business friendly to just kick back and do nothing.

If God is in control, he really sucks or is totally malicious and unfair. It is not at all comforting to know the guy in control allowed my dad to suffer 20 years with muscular dystrophy, or children to go hungry, or my patients having to leave retirement to go work at WalMart because they can no longer make ends meet. I wouldn't trust God with a damn thing. If we just let him "be in control," then why study cures for diseases (after all, if these diseases exist, isn't it because God made them? Or if he is punishing us, then he really sucks for punishing practically everybody on earth)? Why fight for civil rights or world peace? God will take care of us all, right? That's why Marx called Christianity, "The opiate of the people." Lucky for my patient there were so many people before her unwilling just to yield the helm to this indifferent god. Without strikes and unions, physicians, chemists, peace activists, her grandkids would probably be consigned to indentured servitude working 100 hours per week with no overtime, sick pay, or health care. Good thing so many of us didn't leave it to God. thanks for nothing, God.....thanks for sitting on your ass for century after century.

Irritation level rising

Somebody at work's been stealing my sodas. I can't hide them either, due to my inclination for cold sodas, I have nowhere to put them but the fridge. I try to put gross-looking things on the sodas, like grocery bags, cheese, or wilted lettuce, but the thief is clever. Said thief could either be the receptionists, 2 fellow audiologists, or maybe the security staff. I'm leaning towards the latter. First of all, 2 other audiologists are mormon so I know no caffeine passes their lips. They're exonerated. Besides, if I were mormon and going to sin with caffeine, I wouldn't choose Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper. Too wimpy. I would choose good old Coke or I heard Mountain Dew has the highest caffeine level. So I know it's not them. The receptionists seem like they would ask....but I don't know. It could be several people, each one thinking, "She won't notice just one." OOOh, I notice though!! Those sodas are central to my existence, my mid-day oasis of pleasure, without which I would slip into despair and possibly violence. It is second only to my morning coffee, which luckily no one can steal because I bring it here each morning my own damn self.

The second annoying thing is that a certain one among us has decided he doesn't want to see any consults. Oh, I applaud the concept. None of us actually wants patients. If I could get away with it, I would see zero patients and let my colleagues do all the work while I sit here, or not even show up. The aforementioned audiologist has declared (secretly and furtively-- I know only because the receptionist is my back-up mom) that all new patients get booked with me, and only then with him or this other colleague. A 4th colleague doesn't count because she's soon departing for maternity leave. Anyway, the ally colleague did a tally of consults: I had 57, whereas rogue colleague had a measly 35 or something like that. The problem isn't that he is so much more bogged down than I, in which case I would be understanding, albeit grudging. It's not. But one day my back-up mom booked him a walk-in consult. Nobody likes this, but I had to suffer the same a couple days before that. They try to spread out the agony. I thought I was done, but came out and saw that there was an hour-long new patient consult on my schedule. The worst kind. (Unless they have a full benefit which is a different story, although only slightly less vexing). He was clearly irritated, especially since I coincidentally had a fairly open schedule that afternoon. My bad luck. So he proclaimed from thenceforth that he has "too many patients" (he doesn't), and i should see all new consults if the schedules are both open, I get that person.

No quicker way to subvert goodwill at work. First, he should just talk to me, second , who says he gets to make executive decisions? Thirdly, I am too cowardly to say anything, but instead will resort to passive aggressive behavior, such as calling in sick on a day when I know his schedule is empty, if this continues.

I'll keep updating on this riveting information, as it unfolds. For now, I'm going to have to buy more sodas.

Irresponsible, irrascible, irritating

I just got done with this class, "Interprofessional Responsibilities." It was one of the 21 I have to take to finish my AuD, which, incidentally, I am obtaining not for any lofty goal of higher knowledge, but because I know in the future I would otherwise resent all the new 26-year-old Audiologists with their freshly minted doctorate. Little sluts. (not pimps, since hardly any dudes go into audiology). Anyway, the class was basically a cheerleading session for our field. We learned what makes us professional, how to continue to strive for autonomy in the future, blah blah. I learned my professionalism is woefully inadequate, and I deserve nothing more than to file charts all day. If it paid the same, I would. Yes, I would waste 8 years of knowledge crammed into my cortex to do a task an orangutan could do. See, what I REALLY want to do, nobody would pay me to do. I don't really want to waste my cortex at all, but instead put it to use reading books all day, or gardening, or figuring out how to replace that electrical socket without killing myself or leaving a scorched mess. But that sort of shit doesn't pay well. And, since I have to sacrifice 8-hours a day, I may as well earn a decent sum doing it, right? Like, this beats flipping burgers, and definitely beats slitting the jugulars of steers at the local slaughterhouse. (Not that we have a local slaughterhouse. We leave the states who are hostile to unions to that savory task).

So I fail on all accounts to be a professional. The class says the qualifications, that is, what makes us professionals in a professional field, is 1) sense of calling to the discipline 2) ethics 3) crap I forgot some already. It came as no surprise to learn I have no calling. In fact I randomly chose audiology, stumbling upon it while muddling through various health science courses. I also obtained another degree, initially with the intent of leaving the profession. I'm too lazy to be all active, promoting the profession. I prefer to let others do the work, then reap the rewards. If something better came along, like my modeling career takes off or I become so fluent in Arabic the government would pay six figures for my talent, I would bail in a heartbeat. I'm also highly unethical. At least half my CD collection was heisted from Hastings. I would've snagged more if I weren't so worried about being caught. It wasn't my fault, if they weren't paying me a measly $5.30 per hour, and sending me home whenever things got slow, I wouldn't have done it. That's what pissed me off the most--I count on that paltry $5 per hour, and withing the first 5 minutes the store would earn my entire days wages. How pathetic that 8 hours of my life was worth only $40, or the price of 2 1/2 CDs. No wonder my student loans are so massive.

But back to the issue at hand. I'm unethical not because I am stealing white-out from work, which I would do if I truly needed the white out, but because if some manufacturer offered me a trip to Hawaii, I would take it, man. I don't care. We're not even supposed to give the appearance of impropriety. yeah, yeah....

Well, despite my class I certainly do not leap out of bed every day with eagerness. Unless it's Saturday. I just learned how lame I am. No, I didn't even learn that, because I already knew it. Lame and lazy, heh heh. But at least I'm not a republican. That's something.