Here comes another year.

Are you ready?

I would have liked to spend this evening with friends or family. But, thanks to lack of planning, lack of babysitters and the fact that most of our friends also have little children who need to keep to their schedules, it's just not in the cards today. I was hoping to get a New Year's kiss from my husband, but he seems to have passed out in our son's bed. So, if I can hold out long enough, I'll treat myself to a glass of wine and a New Year's cookie, then I might prod my husband for my New Year's grunt.

I was in a similar situation last year and I seem to recall being a little put out and feeling a lot lame when I rolled over in bed, prodded my husband and whispered "Happy New Year," only to be greeted with a snort. This year I don't feel quite as lame or at all annoyed. I got in a good, hard workout after enjoying an afternoon with my son. We had a fun, relaxed dinner as a family at home, I've lost another few pounds and I get to sleep in tomorrow. As far as I'm concerned, that's as special as it gets.

Anyway, enjoy your New Year's Eve, wherever you are and whatever you're up to.

The History of Sex.

I'm watching the first part of the History of Sex on the History Channel. It's an interesting premise for a show, and not at all surprising that they'd choose to make something like it. Basically it describes people's notions about sex, including morality, monogamy, love, etc. throughout the ages. I must say, it's kind of disappointing. No, I didn't expect to experience any arousal watching it, though there are some pretty graphic pictures. Intsead, I was hoping that they would have more information on pre-Mesopotamian sex or something other than the standard Mesopotamian, Egyptian, Greek. As someone who used to study archaeology in North and South America and who's also dabbled in European Stone Age archaeology, I can tell you without a doubt that every other culture thought about it just as much as the Mesopotamians did and some may have written about it even earlier.

I'm always frustrated by the dogged focus the History Channel demonstrates on Egyptian and Middle Eastern archaeology. I think it's a hold over from the heyday of British archaeology when people thought that Egypt was the seat of civilization and didn't use common sense to get that, with so many people all over the world, "civilization" will reasonably develop in several different places in tandem or at slightly different times. What's truly fascinating is that so many civilizations separated by a vast amount of land and sea appear to have evolved more or less in tandem, which tells you a lot about the people who created them.

What's also interesting is that notions of sex and love are very similar in most places. Were I to create a similar show, I'd probably highlight that and also South American attitudes toward sex, prehistoric and current. I'm betting it would be similar to Middle Eastern attitudes, though with different stylistic elements to the graphic images.

Oh, well - can't have everything. I guess if I can write smut, I can research a book on sex in South America, right? That'll be an interesting idea to toy around with.

Never go to bed with a laptop.

I decided that I'm going to write, darn it. Whether I have the energy or not. So, I brought my laptop to bed. This isn't a problem for my husband, who is downstairs, happily researching away on his own computer, but I'm finding my blinks are growing longer and longer. Well, I only got about half a page, but it's something. At this pace, I might finish a short story by, hmmm, New Year's. Maybe, but only if it's flash fiction.

This week has been a weird one, probably since things are still a little off kilter from my being out of town all week last week. Surprisingly, there wasn't too much fallout. Plus, I got home just in the nick of time for my husband to get extremely sick, complete with fever, coughing, congestion - the works. Fortunately, my and Ragsy's immune systems seem to be somewhat stronger; we both had mild sore throats and some congestion but no fever. Of course, now that I've put that out there, we'll both be in the ER next week. I really don't want to make Ragsy getting RSV a Christmas tradition.

Last night was my team's holiday party, so we went to dinner somewhere in the wilds of O'Fallon. It was a lot of fun - I got to see the team tightass remove that stick from her butt a smidge, which was nice. Plus, my boss's sense of humor is raunchier than mine, if that's possible, so I could appreciate that. Still, driving home on 2.5 hours of sleep wasn't fun. Ragsy's been having some sleep issues; primarily that he's reverted to night waking again, wanting to sleep with us. We wouldn't care, except that he doesn't sleep well with us or wakes up at an ungodly hour and starts yacking. So, we've been refusing to interact with him at 3 a.m. other than to lay him down in his own bed, reassure him, rub his back and leave. He's not a fan of that and let us know in no uncertain terms from 1:30 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. yesterday morning. Have I mentioned he's a stubborn kid? Well, off I go to bed. This pointless post brought to you by the letter S, as in God, let me get some sleep, and the number 1, the number of days I have to get through to have the whole week of Christmas off. Yay!

Be careful what you wish for.

I made the silly mistake Monday of mentioning to our SVP while in Chicago that it would be nice to get back Tuesday, although I had booked myself to stay over until today and just fly direct from Dallas. I have now learned that I need to be very careful about what I wish for in front of our SVP and marketing director. Not only did I find myself booked on a flight fom Chicago to St. Louis at the last minute last night when our final Chicago focus group was cancelled, I also found myself getting into my car in the intermediate parking lot on Cypress at midnight last night. As I got home, I learned that our son had awoken. He was quickly passed off to me while my husband ran for the hills (or the bedroom, whichever he got to first).

A battle of wills ensued, wherein, after a long period of cuddling and singing, I refused to get into bed with my son because he doesn't sleep well with me. Instead we compromised, meaning that I stood at the doorway until he fell asleep. The battle lasted until 2 a.m. and I stumbled to bed on numb legs, only to have the whole thing resume again at 6 a.m. He was still mostly asleep, so he fell back to sleep quickly, waking at 7 a.m. I really could have done without that. I think I'll keep my mouth shut next time.

Now I should get into the shower. My flight to Dallas leaves at 1:15, so I need to get my car parked around 11 or 11:30, then sit around in the airport. Even though last night was a little bit of a hassle, I know they felt they were doing something nice for me, so I'm not going to quibble. After all, I did get to see my son this morning, and, after a rough start, got a few kisses in, too. On a professional level, I am very glad I went on this trip. I'm getting lots of useful information and, when I shut up, some much-needed sleep.

Speaking of quality information, aren't you glad you read this post?

The purpose-free life.

Both my husband and I have been somewhat malaised for a long time, and I think I know why. Both of us are lacking purpose. In other words, we need to establish some non-kid-related goals, whether personal, professional or both. I think my husband is going back to school to get his MBA soon, and I hope he does. Earlier he had said he didn't want to because he didn't want me to have to do all the work with Ragsy. On the other hand, I don't want that type of responsibility on my shoulders. In other words, I don't want to be the person stopping him. In fact, I refuse to be the person stopping him.

As for myself, other than my personal goals (getting organized, getting healthy, making our house look like someone not in college lives here), I'd like to start writing again. Ideally I'd prefer to do some creative work (i.e., smut); however, at this point I already have a potential freelance project lined up for a large publicly-held company. It won't be easy working full time and freelancing again. However, I do think it's true that if it's too easy to get, it's probably not worth having.

In other news, work is sending me to Chicago and Dallas next week to observe some focus groups. I already have reservations about the content of the focus groups; I think the proposed content demonstrates my department's unfamiliarity with product management, so I don't expect to get much information out of the focus groups. Which is a shame given the amount of cash they're throwing at the research group hosting them. But at least I'll get to network, meet new people, have an opportunity to learn and all that.

Oh, well. Before Ragsy wakes up I should get to writing. Then when he does wake, he's going to help me clean. and remove wallpaper in the bathroom (yes, there's still some there). Then it's time to cook dinner, bathe, go to bed. Then my night starts - first the workout, the quick-rinse shower, the prep for tomorrow's travel, etc.

Lose-lose situations.

I'm in a lose-lose situation at home. As in, I'm losing sleep and so is my kid. After going out of town for the funeral, I got home Sunday to a very excited little boy. Which was great. He was sweet and cute and easy to deal with. Until bedtime. It took about an hour and a half to get him to sleep. Which wasn't horrible. What was horrible was him waking at 4:30 and refusing to go back to sleep. Even worse was the two and a half hours it took to get him to sleep last night, only to have him wake at 10:30 or 11 and refuse to sleep until almost 1 a.m. this morning, only to wake again this morning at 5 a.m. when I pulled him into bed beside me. His problem?

Although I told him before I was leaving that I was going, he was afraid I'd go away again and not come back. The past two nights I've been home have been the most awful I've had since he had tonsilitis in February 2007. Every time I leave his line of sight at night, he's either begun to cry hysterically, followed me out, come to get me if already asleep or some combination. This kid has staying power, I'll give him that.

Anyway, tonight has been less bad...so far. However, he's still not asleep, we've been working at it for about an hour and 15. But, because we've left the door open, at least he can hear us so he doesn't seem to be as upset. This kid could go head to head with his dad any day and win.

To my Grandma Annie.

You weren't actually my Grandma Annie. You weren't even a blood relation. You were my uncle's mom. You watched me when I grew up, laughed as I dug in your flower pots looking for dinosaur bones on my first archaeological expeditions. I trudged up and down your sidewalk in your shoes, dresses and hats pretending to be all grown up. One of my first memories ever is of helping you make cookies in your little kitchen that was so small that, even to my 3- or 4-year-old self, it was doll-like.

You lived an amazing, difficult life. Born in a mining town in Tennessee, you went to school until you had to leave and go to work at 10 or 11 years old. You became a mother for the first time just a few years later. You had the best stories. Remember the one about the lady who they thought had died? You said they'd laid her out on a wooden plank in the next house over and had started the last rites when she sat up with no idea where she was. And what about the stories you told us about how there were so many of you that half of you kids slept on the porch of your two-room house in the summers? And remember how you said that when you were little, you helped deliver at least one of your own siblings, if not more?

Every story you told, every utterance from your lips was tinged with kindness, tolerance and humor.

I wish you'd gotten to meet my son. You would have loved him. You always did love kids. He's a stinker, too - crazy sense of humor and everything. He would have called you Grandma Annie and I have no doubt you two would have had a lot to talk about.

Every time Uncle Rex visited you, you talked about me - even when you had long forgotten the names of your own grandchildren. Each time I saw you at family get-togethers, you knew who I was, no matter how I'd changed. I always wanted to ask you - what was it about me that made you remember? I felt so close to you - I am honored you felt so close to me, too. You had more kindness, grace and style than anyone I've ever met in my life. You were 99. We all thought you'd live to be 100.

I will miss you so very, very much. I only hope I can live up to whatever it was that made you remember me.

When is life like a sitcom?

For me, it's usually on my birthday. I'm 33 today and this morning was the most comedic, awful morning I'd had in the long time. Definitely one of those days I feel like I'm on reality TV or stuck in a horrid episode of Everyone Loves Raymond. I do not like Raymond, much less love him. In fact, I loathe him. Just so you know.

Anyway, this morning started off okay. Showering to the tune of little hands banging on the door until the door is flung open mid-shower and I find myself whapped in butt with a spatula by a toddler who thinks he's a pirate ship. Yes, a pirate ship. They're bigger than pirates, so they must be better. Anyway, after he's bellowed "En garde!" and "Touche" and "Take that!" I manage to get him out of the bathroom, though I do have to let him yell "Swoggle me eyes!" a couple of times to seal the deal. Thank you, Peter Pan.

Fast forward a half hour and everyone is screaming - my toddler most certainly, my husband, who has been pitting himself against our toddler and losing, and finally me. I join the fray to be heard above the ruckus, declare a time out for everyone and, when no one listens to me, I kick some covers in frustration that had been dragged into the hallway, frightening my toddler. He starts crying and I finish by bursting into tears. Ta-dah!

So I drop Ragsy at daycare, get in on my way to work, and, as I'm smirking once more at the Wildlife Corridor sign, a deer runs across the road, this time in front of me. Well, at least it wasn't through the backyard like Sunday.

At last at work, I fall on my ass and wear most of my coffee. I sit and laugh hysterically for a moment, get eyeballed warily by a co-worker who helped me pick up all my crap, then go up to my desk where I quietly giggle to myself for a while.

Did I mention that the older I get, the less I like my birthday? It's not because I'm getting older, it's because I've got way too much to do to sit around thinking how great it is that I just turned a year older because every freaking time I do that, I wind up getting hit in the ass with a spatula or covered in my food or drink. Jeez. I'm going to grumble in a corner.

And while you're at it, get the hell of my lawn!

My brain hurts.

Work has been getting better, much better. I'm actually useful now. But between the disability regulation, new parts of Medicare, Medigap and Medicaid I'm learning, sometimes I think my brain is going turn to mush. I remember thinking Part D was complicated. Thanks to the Social Security Administration and their regulations on disability, I swear I feel dumber every day. Oh, well. At least I'm helping someone - hopefully I'm smart enough to do it well.

Other than that, things are going relatively well. I've been terrible about responding to my personal e-mail, though. Since I'm working full time again, I'm still getting used to the routine: get up, go to work, come home, feed everyone, bathe the kid, get him to bed, clean the dishes, work out, try to relax, collapse. I'd also like to add some creative writing to that. Unfortunately, Ragsy has been having some trouble adjusting to daylight savings time, so that just hasn't happened. The first morning, he was up at 4:30. The second it was 5 a.m. This morning it was 6. So we're getting there. I have GOT to stop going to bed at 1 a.m.

I wish I were an interesting person. Then I could engage you with tales of my adventures. Well, tales that don't involve bodily fluids, swollen lips (from lip-plumping lipstick, you pervert!) and federal regulations.

Follow the yellow brick road.

Friday was the first Halloween Ragsy's really been able to participate in, at least in any meaningful way. He more or less made his own costume from bits and pieces - an old pirate shirt from daddy's costume last year, the head of a dinosaur costume that Nanima bought him this year and a rubber spatula. Together, they made... Dinosaur Pirate Captain Hook! What was the spatula for? Why, silly, it was his sword!

He was so proud of himself it was fantastic. I love that he made up his own costume. He had a fabulous day - his dad made it to the Halloween Day parade at day care, he got to eat as many sweets as he wanted and when he got home, he got hot dogs and even more sweets. It's important to note here that he never gets either hot dogs or sweets at home. Cookies, cakes and candy are a rareity, mostly because Ragsy's parents are addicts. Whenever there's junk food, we inhale it by the pound. As for hot dogs, well, I've just never considered them as something to keep around. Nothing wrong with them (especially the Kosher beef kind, which used to be my favorite), but I always forget they're there at the supermarket.

Sadly, I was unaware of the quantities of junk food he had enjoyed at day care - apparently his "deprivation" leads to overindulgence - and, unbeknownst to me, should not have allowed him to have more at home. Then we went for a walk (not trick-or-treating - he wasn't interested) to see the other kids in costume and the neighbors gave him candy, insisting that every kid needed some for Halloween, even if they weren't dressed up. It's amazing what a combination of bad food, ignorance (all mine) and good intentions will do. It was a little like a horror movie how everything played out.

Shortly after Ragsy went to bed, all the power went out with a loud bang. Everything went dark and quiet. With nothing else to do and my fever returning, I climbed into bed, only to be awoken by the sound of the power coming back on around midnight. No big deal - I just walked around, shutting off lights, and got back into bed. Until 4 a.m., when I thought I was dreaming as I heard feet coming toward me in the bedroom. Ragsy's not a huge fan of the dark and our room is much darker than his since we have no nightlight. He has never, ever walked to our room at night before. He woke me gently and asked me to change his diaper. Yikes. That process in and of itself was hair curling.

That done, I was satisfied that whatever ill effects the junk from the previous day had had were taken care of. It took about 2 and 1/2 hours and a large cup of water to get him back to sleep (Scott and Pam, if you're reading, this, he talked mostly of you, Gavin and Ian, asking where you were and what you were doing; he also asked about "man," otherwise known as Phil dressed as Death, wondering yet again, "He scared of pirate ships?" - he really, really likes him). Finally, he stopped talking long enough to fall asleep so I crawled back into my own bed, only to be awoken in the worst way.

You know that burp/gag sound people make when they're barfing? Yeah, that one. Hearing that at my bedroom door was what woke me. I sat up, searching for the source. Our door was open, but there was no one there. But there was a suspicious smudge on our door. A smelly one. I glanced down the hall. Oh, holy Christ on a pogo stick.

What possessed my son to first walk all the way out into the living room while horking up everything he'd eaten yesterday is beyond me. Normally he comes straight for me, particularly if he's hurt, frightened or ill. In this case, however, the poor kid made a trail all the way from his room and our bedroom, down the hall almost to the kitchen and back again. He's none too steady on his feet immediately on waking, understandably less so when sick, and had apparently grabbed the walls for support as he went. Ugh.

He was still shivering from the effort and gagging a little when I found him, so I gently led him to the toilet, showed him how to lean over and rubbed his back. He caught on quickly, but he was mostly done anyway. I woke my husband as I stripped our son in the bathroom and started the clean-up process. The day passed with a lot of time spent scrubbing the carpet, a couple more episodes of stomach upset and three loads of extremely gross laundry. The worst was over. Regardless, the whole thing changed me forever. It will be a long, long time before I can look at a hot dog again.

I don't know which is worse.

Coming to work sick or staying at home sick when you have a new job. On the one hand, you could wind up with co-workers who are pissed at you for being there because you may get them sick. On the other, you may have co-workers pissed at you for not being there period. Ugh.

So far, I've been going to work and bringing ample amounts of hand sanitizer, coughing into my elbow instead of my hand and being very careful not to touch anyone. Fortunately, the fever only comes at night, so the only period I look stupid in front of is my husband when he comes to visit me and happens to catch me running between the warm safety of our bed, crossing the frozen tundra of our carpet and slamming the door to shiver on the icicle that is our toilet, only to dart back again, shaking for long minutes until warmth seeps back.

Unfortunately, Ragsy's bout with this lasted two weeks (for anyone having contact with him Saturday he had been fever-free for several days by the time we showed up). Given that I don't currently have the benefit of staying home - new employee - or resting much while I'm here - mother of a toddler with a husband who's helpless in the kitchen - I suspect it may take a while longer for this to go away. Dammit. I hate being sick. I have things to do for God's sake. I don't have time for this crap. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Because that would take more energy than I've got.

You not scared?

We've had a great weekend so far. Yesterday was a bit rocky, since we took Ragsy to one of his daycare's sleepovers Friday night for a much-needed parents' night out. He always lets us have it for a day or so afterward and yesterday was no exception. At all. In fact, it was a lot worse than usual. He's never been prone to tantrums, which made his hour-long scream fest all the more disturbing. Normally I'd worry that he was sick, but it was all tantrum this time. Oh, well.

We then went to a Halloween party, which was a lot of fun. Sadly, Ragsy refused to wear his costume and we weren't about to court disaster by attempting to force him - it just wasn't worth it. Plus, I enjoy myself so much dressing up that I'll more than make up for him not wanting to.

Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year, followed closely by Christmas. What could be better than loads of candy and dressing up without the added pressure to give people gifts? The only problem with this year's Halloween party was that I was so frazzled from dealing with Ragsy all day that I didn't have the usual filter on my words. I don't think I was snappish (or if I was, it was entirely Ragsy related and had nothing to do with any other company), but I definitely had problems making sense or participating fully in conversations at some points. You know, you have one ear to the conversation and one to your kid, hoping - just hoping - he doesn't mel down in spectacular fashion, only to have to be carried out screaming. Oh, well. That's what friends are for, right? Not caring if you're not making any sense whatsoever.

Anyway, one of the best parts of the party was watching Ragsy walk up to a friend dressed as Death and trail after him like a shadow, asking over and over if he was scared of pirate ships. He had absolutely no fear, even though I would have been hiding under a table shrieking bloody murder if I were his age - he was just completely fascinated. Our friend picked him up and snarled in his face, but Ragsy asked him again if he was scared of pirate ships. What a weird kid. I like it.

This morning was spent at the zoo. Ragsy had been asking for weeks to go, but we already had plans or he was sick, so it just hasn't happened. So, I kept my promise today and took him out. After we were done seeing all the animals on the perimeter, riding the carousel and looking at the trains, Ragsy got to pick out something from the gift shop and eat some fries. I'm lucky that he's such a cheap date - I had thought it would be like going to a baseball game, but after buying an elephant pincher, an order of fries and some milk, the total was just over $7.00. Sweet.

After he showed off his newest purchase to anyone and everyone who was nice enough to pay the least bit of attention ("Hey, man. Man, I got an elephant. See my elephant, man? It's go [insert elephant sound]."), we got into the car and drove back. He and his dad are still battling out naptime. I might get a jump on our weekday cooking while they're duking it out.

Job.

Okay, I'll make this a quick one. So, here's what's been going on. This weekend, Ragsy got some mysterious plague that had him running around the house like a chicken with his head cut off and a 104 degree fever on Saturday. The fever cooled down and the next day he had been without Tylenol for about 24 hours and was practically bouncing off walls - thus, it seemed safe enough to take him out. We went to the pumpkin patch with friends and out to lunch, then came to our place to carve some pumpkins (which is some of the best fun I've had in a long time) while Ragsy slept. By the time Ragsy woke from his nap, the fever was right back - and almost as high. The next day, he still had a mild fever, so he had to stay home from daycare. But there was a hitch - my new job started Monday. So my husband had to stay home with him. I'm sure that was delightful.

Anyway, work is ok. It's a new place, so I'm still getting used to it. The place is really built to house hourly employees, so it's a far, far more restrictive place than I'm accustomed to. Fortunately, many of the restrictions (particularly those precisely outlining my breaks, lunch and when I'm supposed to show up and leave) do not apply to me. The job is hard to describe - I don't think even they quite know what I'm supposed to be doing, so I just start telling people what I'm going to do and do it and they seem to like it.

My brain is kind of scattered now, so I'm probably not as coherent as usual. After learning about Social Security Disability Insurance and other portions of Medicare and Medigap all day, I think I need to do something else besides sit in front of a computer, though it's tempting to just sit here all night. Still, if I'm going to feel at all good about myself, I need to work out and finish removing the wallpaper glue from my bathroom. Sounds fun, doesn't it? But not nearly as fun as last night's adventures snaking the drain in my shower. Ick - that was like pulling a big black loogie out of a pipe. I could live another lifetime without ever wanting to do that again.

Time to stop watching the news.

I'm not normally the type of person who promotes putting her head in the sand. I'm also a born skeptic; however, every time I read or watch the news, my blood pressure inches up just that much more. The more I watch, the more it's starting the look like Washington is Nero and the world is burning. I am lucky to have a job to go to on Monday, even if I'm not especially jazzed about it. I guess I should just focus on that. I've got something to go to, something that will keep us paying the bills, even if my husband's job is axed. A lot of people, and the numbers are increasing daily it seems, can't say the same.

As I expected, the insurance industry is being scrutinized next. I imagine healthcare will follow shortly since they're so closely linked. It makes sense. Both insurance and healthcare should be scrutinized. What terrible systems. Ridiculously expensive, extraordinarily cumbersome, designed not to help anyone but the company providing the service.

Anyway, this morning was good. Ragsy woke up happy and didn't scream or whine at all. I don't know if it had anything to do with the talk I had with him last night or not, but he was much better. He tends to respond really well to me telling him what's going on, so I just held him on my lap and told him that I loved him very much and that he'd always be special to me, and that I had more than enough love to go around for both him and his dad. And if he ever felt like he needed me to hold him or just listen to tell me, that I'd always have time for him.

I wish I'd been so explicit sooner - I keep forgetting how literal he is. I mean, I kept telling him I love him, kept giving him all the extra hugs and kisses, but I often forget that, even though he picks up on emotional undercurrents, he doesn't just know what I mean like an adult would. This is the same person that jumps up and down in front of the car before getting in if I tell him to hop in. I'm sure it's not over, but this is the first morning in a week or two that hasn't involved a tantrum when daddy comes near. It was such a pleasure!

Oh, well. Off I go. I'm a glutton for punishment - I'm watching the presidential address while reading the news online. I think I'll turn it off now and finish ripping the wallpaper from my guest bath. Even though I'm incredibly sore from working on it for three hours last night, that's bound to be more enjoyable than listening to this crap.

Bummed.

I've been a little bummed out for the last few days. A lot of it has to do with the state of our country. Some of it has to do with the elections coming up - frankly, I'm sick of thinking about it, hearing about it, talking about it. I'll do all of those anyway, but it will be a huge relief to make a decision and just move on instead of discussing it. Some of my depression has to do with sleeplessness. The night waking may be over, but our son has been getting up at 5 or 6 a.m. Still another aspect is the conflict between my husband and son. I'm feeling very selfish, but I'm freaking tired of making the two feel better. I'd kind of like to lock them in a room together and go on vacation.

At first I suspected that my seizure had a lot to do with Ragsy's behavior, but he was acting like that beforehand, though the seizure certainly amplified things. Still, I'd like it if he and my husband would both go sit in time out until this oedipus complex passed. I'm not at all pleased being the object of a territory battle.

Oh, well. Just like always, one day we'll wake up tense and expecting a battle and we'll get grins and sweetness instead. Toddlers would be great at guerilla warfare. Or as politicians. They're great at the bait and switch and probably just as knowledgeable about ethics.

Places toothbrushes were never meant to be.

This post is brought to you by the letter R and the number 2 and 1/2. If you haven't guessed, this is about my son. So...

Last night, after I managed to coerce him into the tub and was thoroughly soaked by a dancing kid, Ragsy got out and dried off and tip toed to the sink to brush (he's recently had a thing with walking on his tip toes, but that's beside the point, just like his habit of adding "boing" to the end of most sentences and phrases). Anyway, my son typically brushes his teeth naked on his step in front of the sink, dancing gleefully in front of the mirror. Last night was no different. Humming to himself and doing the Ragsy two-step or stomp-and-bob or whatever you'd like to call it, he brushed merrily and relatively thoroughly. I turned away to pull the slip mat off the bottom of the bathtub and turned back.

Ragsy, finished brushing his teeth, was still dancing and singing while merrily brushing between his butt cheeks. "Scrub, scrub scrub," he sang, "Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere, clean up, clean up." It was priceless.

I replaced the toothbrush with a cup and asked my husband to make sure his hands stayed away from his butt and left the room because I was laughing so hard I had to sit down. I also don't want to encourage him to keep scrubbing his butt with a toothbrush, though if you think about it, it's doubtless more thorough a job than can be done with a washrag.

I'm trying really hard not to wonder what else he's been scrubbing or how many times his toothbrush has been a little too close to his butt. I'd like to think this is the first time, but I usually clean up the bathroom while he brushes because he's fairly self-sufficient in toothbrushing. Thank goodness we have an extra toothbrush lying around.

Stupid human tricks.

I did something incredibly dumb yesterday. But funny, or funny to me.

A few minutes before my interview, I was slapping on some makeup so I wouldn't look so tired. I was casting about for a decent lip gloss and realized I hadn't yet used the new one I got recently at Target. It was a lip-plumping gloss. I don't really have thin lips, but I liked the shade, so I got it anyway. I didn't really pay attention to the announcement on the label that it caused a "pleasant tingling sensation." Heck, I thought, Burt's Bees causes a little tingle and I love that stuff. So I slicked on some gloss, gave my hair another shake and got ready to leave. Then the burning started.

Holy hell. Ow, ow, ow. I found myself wondering why the heck my lips were burning as if they were on fire and raced around the house wiping madly at my lips with tissue after tissue, then rinsing and wiping again. The burning died down for the most part, so I thought I'd take care of the rest of it with some lip balm. So I put some on and got ready to leave. But wait! The burning had resumed. And worse than before. Holy freaking cow! I grabbed the lip balm I had put on. Oh, no! It was Burt's Bees medicated lip balm. Noooooo!!!

By now my lips were, well, plump. I felt like Jessica Rabbit with the gigantic red lips. I wiped again and again and again, rinsed and looked in the mirror. Well, at least I didn't need lip stick or gloss anymore. My lips were swollen and red, though not quite bee-stung, thank goodness. The funny thing about it is that through the whole process, I was running around, cackling like a witch. The whole situation was just so stupidly funny and so very typical. Trust me to injure myself while putting on my makeup.

I'm only lucky I didn't lose part of a finger this time and wasn't genius enough to decide to rinse it off with lemon juice and salt scrub or fiberglass.

Object of my affection.

The last time I was anyone's obsession, I was tempted to call the police. Unfortunately I don't think that'd work with a two and a half year old kid. My son has become very territorial with me, pushing away my husband when he wants to talk to me and other children, defiantly declaring, "No! Leave me! My mommy!"

The whole situation is generally more stressful than anything else. For one thing, it's put my husband into a funk because he feels rejected. For another, it's put my son into a funk because a) my husband is upset around him and he picks up on that and b) I get tense around him because he drives away anyone else I might talk to and I never know when he's going to explode. My son has also regressed in certain areas, whimpering "Mama, mama," instead of speaking coherently and telling me what he wants when he's frustrated.

I'm trying not to encourage it, whipping out the daddy PR and trying hard not to respond to the incessant whining, except to say, "I'm sorry. I don't understand you. Perhaps you could tell me what you want without whining?" Also, I'm trying to back up whatever my husband says and at the same time give my son extra kisses and hugs. Still, both Ragsy and my husband are on short fuses. My husband isn't mean or anything, but apt to give less warning prior to discipline, making things even worse. So to avoid it, he goes away. Leaving me alone and resentful with an equally irritated toddler. Then I have to soothe ruffled feathers after on both sides.

It's frustrating for me, but I'm trying to keep it in perspective: it can't feel good to be constantly rejected by your own kid. It also can't feel good to have someone get mad at you easily and discipline you with very little opportunity to fix what you're doing that's at issue. Regardless, I'm seeing it mostly from my perspective and I'm going quickly insane. Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

Problems you never thought you'd have.

I'll try to make this sound not so whiny, because in this declining economy this is a problem lots of people would want to have. So, I've accepted a job offer, right? It's in the back of beyond, 10 minutes further away than my previous commute, which is just the opposite of what I wanted to do. But yesterday I accepted - the money is good, the drive is, eh, not so bad and the people tolerable.

Today I got a request for an interview. It's for a job at the hospital right across the street from Ragsy's daycare. Probably less money than the sticks job, but with someone I've worked with before and like. I think I have a really good chance. But I've already accepted an offer. But this company is only 10 minutes from home and I still haven't signed anything. But I've accepted an offer. But I can walk to Ragsy's daycare and see him if I wanted to during work. I could have lunch at home if I wanted.

Blast. I think I'm going to talk to them Monday, explain that I have an offer and ask what they think their timeline is to decide. This is insane. I want this job, if only for its closeness and the known quantity of the person working there. I want it because my son is right there and I can be there in minutes if he needs me and I don't have to go through God knows how many schedule acrobatics and permutations to make sure I spend enough time with him while meeting my obligations at work. I won't have to feel guilty not leaving until 8 in the morning and staying at work until 5.

Who knows? Maybe they won't be able to support even the salary I made at my previous job. Then I won't have to worry about deciding. But I'd be shooting myself in the foot if I didn't at least talk to them. There. Take that.

Winners and losers.

I'm going to argue some semantics. It bothers me that so many advertisements and so much TV footage is speculating over who won/lost or will win/will lose various debates. I find it irritating, mostly because a debate is essentially a congenial argument where both parties do their homework and one person is judged not the winner or loser, but the more knowledgable or better speaker. I guess that's the same thing, isn't it? But I'm all about precision with words, especially based on the blatant lying and more insidious fudging going on on both sides of these debates.

Now for my own predictions. I think that during tonight's debate, Sarah Palin will prove herself the less qualified candidate academically and as a speaker - she doesn't seem to think well on her feet or know enough about the office and the policy to answer questions correctly. But at the same time, sometimes listening to Joe Biden speak makes me want to crawl into a corner and hide. He knows his stuff, but he's a coarse, boorish person sometimes and occasionally says some ridiculously stupid things.

So there.

And in other news (because you care, right??), I accepted the job. My gut reaction is trepidation. I went on a walk last night and made my cough worse, but I wanted to think about why I was feeling the way I was feeling because I've always found that my gut reactions are better predictors of my success at a job than any amount of logic (or money). So I thought about it and came to the conclusion that I like the people there well enough, but none of them truly clicked with me the same way the people who hired me at my former employer did. Also, I've been holding on to the hope - unconscious or otherwise - that they'd come crawling back to me. I need to move on. They're still screwed, but that's now their problem, not mine. Yet another reason I was reluctant was that another recruiter had found a company this side of the state line and wanted to send me on interviews next week. I thought about it and, given that that company is a financial company and may be Wachovia, I asked myself if it was really a good idea to toss my lot in with a company like that given the current state of the economy. I came back with a big, fat no.

So I thought about what I'd like to do about all the above and came up with the following: you don't immediately click with everyone, but that doesn't mean that you won't later or that you won't work well together. They're nice, professional people and my gut reactions to people are usually accurate. So, one bonus. I'd also be doing something where I can see my products and services directly benefiting people much less fortunate than I am. This is also a good move career-wise, as the other job would be just writing while this will be writing, marketing planning, product planning, development and packaging and deployment. Plus, if I hate it, I can go back to writing. But I'll give it a year, see what happens. Ta-dah!

Celebrate with a snootful.

Of snot, that is. My job offer came through yesterday. A little less than I was hoping, but significantly more than I was earning before. I'm still considering, but I'll probably take it despite the location. The fact that they offer flex time, potential to telecommute once I've been there a few months and two yearly reviews to start with generous raises on decent reviews sort of sealed the deal. Plus benefits are a couple hundred cheaper than at my previous employer and about $500 cheaper than what we're paying through my husband's.

I had hoped to celebrate, at least a little, but a raw throat, stuffy nose and fever made that less than appealing. Add to that a toddler who took almost two hours to put to sleep, my own difficulties sleeping (up until 2 a.m.), then being woken at 5:30 and I'm feeling pretty rotten. But there's a bright side: I can still take a nap. A very long nap. And I don't have to provide an answer until tomorrow or the next day. And my throat is less raw than it was last night, which was what kept me up in the first place, so dozing off won't be as difficult as yesterday.

The downsides? Well, this seemed to originate with Ragsy, but if it didn't, he's next. Which means that the business lunches I had planned for Thursday and Friday will need to be rescheduled for next week, which could be problematic for my offer if I'm extended a different one at a different company on this side of the metro area for more money. But, Ragsy needs his mom when he's sick and I won't begrudge him that if it comes to it. Given that he instantly popped up when I went into his room this morning to comfort him and started jabbering at me, there's a good possibility he was just ready to get up and (hopefully) not sick. Or he'll wait. Those are famous last words, aren't they?

I thought he'd be born in time for me to be able to go on FMLA or short-term disability, but he was born four days too early for that. He's never been good at waiting.

Ow.

I woke up this morning with a raw throat. It stinks. I guess this is why Ragsy was so crabby last week - that and my being out of it thanks to my brain being on the fritz. Oh, well. Just when you need him to be more communicative, that's when he has the most trouble. Understandable but unfortunate.

Anyway, you'll have to excuse yesterday's rage-filled, overly-emotional post. I couldn't help but be a little irritated that the first thing I heard and read upon the news that the bailout had failed to pass the House was whose fault it was and how politicians only care about the rich. It's disheartening to say the least. Sometimes I think seriously of moving to India. I'm lucky because I ultimately am not likely to be significantly impacted by what's going on. In the longer term, anyway. But if I were not as fortunate as I am, I would be confused and very worried. It bothers me that instead of telling an uneasy public exactly 1) what's happening, 2) what it means, 3) what the options are, 4) what impact those would have and 5) what exactly they plan to do and 6) what, if anything, we could be doing to expedite or mitigate the risk, they're wasting time. And the media is encouraging it by giving them airtime. So there. More concise, less pissy and hopefully more coherent.

Today I may try to get some sleep in. And a walk. It's going to be absolutely beautiful and I don't want to waste it even if my throat hurts.

Enough with the finger pointing.

I find it appalling that it was so predictable that once the bailout bill failed in Congress, both parties immediately started to blame one another. Guess what, politicians? I don't give a rat's patootie what party you're in. You were hired in the first place to be leaders. To represent your constituents' best interests in good times and bad. These are bad times. Get over yourselves and do your jobs. Lead, for God's sake, whatever side of the aisle you sit on.

You're supposed to know things that I don't, to know intimately what's going on in our country and to be informed enough to represent me (whether I voted for you or not) to fix things that are broken and ideally to prevent them from being broken in the first place. So tell me - what's going on, what are you doing to fix it and why is what you think should be done going to work? Alternatively, why should we just do nothing? I've had it up to here with excuses.

To that end, politicians and even our media, shame on you. Shame on you for worrying about your sorry asses when there are untold numbers of people whose livelihoods, chances for college, retirements and jobs may be going down the tubes. Shame on you for not giving constituents the information they need not to be terrified or at least to start formulating a plan of action to remain as solvent as possible. From where I sit, all I see is a big, black hole and a bunch of jerks standing around screaming about it.

Here is my wish list for the coming weeks. None of it will come true, but, hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

1. I wish to become more educated about what this means to me and my family. That is within my power, at least somewhat. I can make that come true. In fact, I've already started reading about it and found an awesome assessment of the issue here.

2. I wish that, every time one of our so-called leaders points a finger without recommending a solution, said finger is dipped in the same BS we've been listening to since this whole thing started.

3. I wish that the media would stop stroking our politicians' egos by reporting their fingerpointing. It's like encouraging a screaming toddler by giving him attention - it only makes him scream louder and doesn't fix the problem. So cut it out already.

Our political system has become a parody of itself. A caricature. And the sad thing is - it's largely deserved. In a country that eschews academia and discourages logic, in a land that is run by people who no longer even have a common agenda - which should be the health and well-being of the country - is it so crazy that we should stand on the brink of financial uncertainty, perhaps ruin? I want my country to be run by people smarter than me, more altruistic than me, who see problems and fix them instead of pointing at them and each other.

Yowza.

This weekend was fairly quiet. Friday night we went to dinner with some friends. Saturday morning, we went to the Magic House. We had hoped to go to a friend's party on Saturday afternoon, but Ragsy still takes mid-day naps and was out for the count until about 2:30. We had thought we might be able to make it if we got him into bed soon enough, but it was not to be. Since the party started at 1, we figured that it'd be a tad rude to show up demanding food at 3. So we went to get new shoes for Ragsy instead and wound up riding the carousel in Chesterfield Mall a few times. Saturday night some of the moms and teachers at Ragsy's daycare asked me to go to dinner, so I did, then Sunday we stayed home more or less all day since my husband was feeling a little under the weather.

Then today dawned. The stock markets are tanking. I'm starting to think that the speed with which information is available to me is not necessarily a good thing. From what I've been reading, the world economy is going to hell in a handbasket and the U.S. is leading the plunge. It's hard to figure out whether we should be truly worried or freaking out. And it's hard to have an opinion on whether we should be bailing out the banks when I really must admit that I don't have a clue what's going on other than that the banks have overpromised and underserved. I feel a bit stupid when it comes down to it. All this information available, and I still don't know what's going on.

At the same time, I feel extremely fortunate, though - it appears that I will have at least one job offer this week, potentially two. Which is kind of mind-blowing, given that one of them may be writing for a major financial company and therefore might not be something I'd want to accept. Unfortunately, the other one is in Illinois, but the drive isn't as bad as you'd think - just 35 or so minutes on a good day.

Anyway, what a day. I don't know whether this is good or bad or just to be expected. I do know that a lot of people will suffer and are suffering thanks to what's been going on. Probably not the right people, either.

I have arrived.

More or less anyway. And my heels freaking hurt. Guess it could be worse. At least I'm feeling my emotions more. Plus, over the last few days, I've been researching the brain a lot. I'm a little scared of myself and information always makes me feel better. What did I learn? Well...

• I have temporal lobe epilepsy. Knew that already.
• I get auras. Knew that, too. Though I didn't know that an aura was considered a simple sort of seizure. I get the auditory and visual hallucinations, plus the weird feeling in my stomach and tingling in my head and panic, mostly because I know what's going to happen and, even though I can't articulate it at the time, I know exactly the longer-term impacts once it's happened.
• The good news is that a seizure of the length I typically have doesn't result in brain damage. There are many reasons that a person could have seizures, most notably prior brain damage/head trauma, lesions, tumors, etc. I suspect that it has a lot to do with me being a SIDS baby, since depriving the brain of oxygen can cause seizure disorders later, even if they don't show up for years afterward like mine did.
• Another interesting thing is that the structure of an epileptic's brain may be different from a normal person's brain. No surprise given the above statements. But apparently there are more nodes in many epileptics' brains, which can lead to more frequent and stronger synaptic stimulation.

All this is interesting from a purely academic standpoint. It doesn't change what happened, doesn't actually help anything. But it does force me a little to realize how fortunate I am. Although my blood composition appears to have been permanently altered thanks to pregnancy and childbirth (I had been on this higher dose of estrogen beforehand with no problems, but apparently after birth adding just 10 more micrograms can screw you up), I know what's causing it and can fix it. I can even just go off the contraceptive entirely and lower my meds again, though since I'm already on it, I don't want to keep switching back and forth. I'm not sure what that would do.

Still, a lot of people aren't lucky enough to be able to pinpoint something and say, "There's the problem," and have to live with regular seizure activity no matter what they do, and the social stigma that accompanies it. Me, I just get what is hopefully a wakeup call, not to be repeated for several more years, if that. This is my first unprovoked seizure (minus the eclampsia) for seven years. Hopefully next time I have one (and I'm not kidding myself - it'll happen), I can say the same thing, only minus the eclampsia.

I'm going to try to stop yammering about my brain now. There are more important things going on than my fault electrical system misfiring. I may have a job in October, for example, and of course, the economy was long ago set on course to go to hell in a handbasket and the dominoes are falling fast.

Almost back.

I'm still struggling a little getting back to normalcy after my seizures Monday morning. I'm almost there, but things still smell weird wherever I go and when I talk, it still feels like I'm talking down a tunnel. But that's normal, for me, after a seizure. My lower lip is also still numb, so I have to keep a hand down there when I drink as if I had had novicaine injected.

Oh, well. It could be much, much worse. I'm hoping that my medication adjustment has taken care of the problem. According to my research and my doctor, that should do it. So maybe today I can take a bath without having to worry about any potential for drowning. My muscles are still sore, but not nearly so as yesterday. The days also feel like they're stretching longer, mostly because I'm waiting to drive myself anywhere until I'm certain the meds have done their job. There's only so much job hunting I can do in a day when it's the same jobs being repeated online over and over again. I'm supposed to go on a half-day interview tomorrow. I guess I'll have to see about transportation. Somehow, I'm not in the mood to take a cab to Belleville.

Anyway, so I've been rotting my brain the last day and a half with junk TV. In this state, nothing touches me emotionally still, though I did get some first glimmers of feeling this morning with Ragsy, so hopefully that's just around the corner. I'd rather be raging mad than feel this curious nothingness. Even the light looks different - almost new, an oddity to be considered through my window. The sights and the smells are a slap in the face when I get out of bed in the morning. I don't have the level of departure I did yesterday - it's fading - but what's left is still a little disturbing. Like yesterday, I guess I'll just work through it. Eventually everything will feel normal, whether it's because it goes back to feeling the same way it did before the seizures or because this becomes my new normal. I hope it's the former, and not the latter. I want to feel. I want to be happy and I want to hurt.

This period of adjustment blows a goat. I hate waiting for things to fall back into place, for my mouth to catch up to my mind and my emotions to make sense for my situation and for that awful numbness to wear off. It's like being stuck behind a plexiglass wall. I can't break through and voices from the other side are muffled and less impactful than if you were talking to their owners in person. I make jokes and talk almost like normal, if with a few more pauses, but I don't feel much when I laugh. Right now my laugh and facial expressions are just conventions to make others more comfortable around me, necessary parts of socializing that lubricate any discussion but don't mean much to me at this point. It just sort of comes out because it's what's expected. I imagine it's a bit like what a sociopath must feel and I can't wait until I can internalize my emotions properly again. I give it two days, maybe three to really take. Just in time for the weekend.

Just when you thought you were safe...

I had been seizure-free for two and a half years, since Ragsy was born. Had been. Unfortunately, I should have realized that certain birth control pills lessen the effectiveness of seizure medications. After two seizures Monday morning around 1:30 and 3 a.m., I'm sore, emotionless and my lip is swollen from being bitten.

Oh, well. It could be worse. It could be a situation where no one knew what caused it. So at least I have something I can pinpoint and say, "There. That's the problem." Then it can be fixed. That's more than I could say for my experiences in college. Still, I can't help but be extremely frustrated. I thought I was well controlled and, thanks to a lack of due diligence, I'm not.

Waking up yesterday morning at 1:30 was terrifying. I knew it was coming. I had been deeply asleep and I felt the aura starting. I sat up in bed, frantic, trying to talk myself down, trying to tell myself it would be ok. Then, nothing until about 7:45 a.m. when I heard Ragsy wake up and start yelling at my husband. Apparently he was "off" all day at daycare - they said he was combative and not as communicative as usual. But he seemed better today. Amazingly, he seemed to have gone through a developmental spurt this weekend. All of a sudden, he's speaking in almost full sentences most of the time, adding pronouns and adjectives appropriately.

Ah, well. I guess I'll just work through this. That's what you do, right? But I don't have to like it.

Glow.

Are you going to the Balloon Glow tonight? I think we are. I love this yearly event, and Ragsy is right at the age when he'll be starting to appreciate 1) staying up "late" and 2) the Glow itself. Plus, he won't turn into as much of a pumpkin after being out at night. Ever since he saw a hot-air balloon in the sky last week, he's been demanding one of his own. Then again, he's also been asking to have a full-size train in his room. Neither is going to happen, but I see no problem taking him to a free event where he can see balloons.

This week has been strange. I think I'll be getting a job offer next week and I'm still debating over whether or not I'd like to take it. It's dealing with products under the set of regs I'm accustomed to now, plus a new set, only in this case, I'll be the primary owner of said products, including their development, maintenance, packaging, education and training. Yikes.

I'm debating, though, because I may be receiving a competing offer. But I guess I'm still at maybe, so I shouldn't worry until I have a reason to do so. Any way, a two and a half hour meeting is generally a good sign, no?

Anyway, Ragsy has been a little poop lately. He's been wanting me and only me and letting both me and my husband have it morning and night. He enjoys daycare, but doesn't want to go in the morning and doesn't want to leave at night. I guess something is going on in his head or his body. As soon as he sees his dad in the morning, he goes ballistic, crying and screaming for him to leave, then shrieking for me. He's been through this all before, but it's more frustrating since it stopped for a while, then started again.

I think that's the most frustrating thing about kids - to take a giant leap forward, they need to take one or two steps back and you just have to be patient, work through it and eventually they'll get to the other side, but the waiting can be awful. Oh, well. I guess I'll just let him cling and give him extra attention to help him through. Though I have to say, being the person your kid comes to when they're at their worst is not fun. Funny how being the mom means that you get most of the crap work. But the good stuff far outweighs the bad and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Goodbye, river.

At about 4:30 yesterday, I finally got Missouri American Water Company out here again. And they realized that, indeed, they did need to do something about our swamp and the river flowing down my driveway. The guy came by to turn off my water and said, "Hey, I think you have a main break. We need to fix that." Sheesh.

Anyway, last night around 6:30, a digger shows up in my front yard, along with two trucks. The water was turned off down the street, but unfortunately, the company forgot to tell anybody else on the street that they'd be without water for a few hours. Go figure. That done, a large gash was dug into the ground in my front yard, the faulty pipe pulled out and replaced and everything was put back (minus the grass and with the addition of a giant dent in the yard from the digger) and the trucks gone by about 10 last night.

Even though I lost all my cucumbers thanks to flooding - the leaves and fruit are rotting off the vines because of a combination of Ike and the driveway river - at least the water's gone. And the guys digging up my yard seemed to know what they were doing. At least I hope so given the size of the hole they dug.

The most frustrating thing about the whole situation is that I can't just sit back and say, "Oh, well the customer service agents there are idiots." Because they're not - they were just telling me what they knew and were remarkably kind to an increasingly hysterical, frustrated stranger. Unfortunately, they apparently had not received adequate training on what services their company provides. Their contractors were also great (with the exception of not telling others what was going on - if I were my neighbor, that'd tick me off) and knew what they were doing. But apparently I'm now notorious at Missouri American Water. Not only did their contractors know that I had been extremely angry, after I talked to the county, apparently they complained on my behalf so the Director of Customer Service has left me a message, too. It sucks that I had to flip out just to get someone to look at the darn thing.

Well, sayonara, river. And good riddance.

MO American Water = DISASTER

The saga continues. The mini river down the side of my driveway is not yet fixed. I called Missouri American Water. They said that only a plumber could fix it. I called the plumber (RotoRooter). They said they can't do it without Missouri American Water Company. I called Missouri American Water Company. They can't do it. All they can do is turn off the water and charge me $15 for the priviledge of having a utility turned off. Thanks guys. Oh, and we still need a plumber to fix the problem. What? What?? I just want to mitigate the damage to my freaking yard and driveway by the streamlet going down the side! For God's sake, just figure out who the hell should be doing something and tell me and I'll call them to do it! Gah.

Ahem. So I call The plumber. He still can't do anything to fix the leak, but he can call the county. He does so, calls me back, tells me the same thing, so I ask for the county waterworks number from him. I call the county. The county waterworks clerk says, "I don't know what the hell Missouri American is talking about. We have more trouble with this company. I'll call them to see what the hell is going on."

That's the first good news I've had all day. I am so frustrated. And here I sit, waiting for waterworks to call me back. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. I think my head is going to explode.

Welcome to the swamp.

Our PATNC rep visited us today and, as I was readying Ragsy for daycare and walking him and his dad outside, I noticed that our lawn was unusually swampy. Hmmm... That's weird. So I walked along the path to the driveway and heard my child yell, "Yay! It's a river!" Um, what? Last I checked, there is no river anywhere on the property.

So I walk over to him and notice that there is, indeed, at least a small streamlet gushing merrily down my driveway. I look up the driveway. Yep, those guys across the street are still hammering away, but they didn't do any work in the ground, so that wouldn't affect it. My husband went up into the yard and noticed...nothing. Nothing but a swampy yard with water welling up. So they went on their way and I called Missouri American Water Company, who informed me that they could do nothing to fix the problem.

Huh? That doesn't make any sense? Well, it does if you're Missouri American Water Company, but not to me. Apparently all the people in St. Louis County own their water lines so, unless the problem affects the street, you're on your own and have to call a plumber to fix it. That sucks. What stinks even more is that my meeting yesterday was rescheduled for today so I have to wait to get someone to look at it until after I get back, around 2 p.m. Crud. Sometimes I hate home ownership. Oh, well. To cheer myself up, maybe I should go play in the swamp. If I'm lucky, perhaps we'll have ibis or fish or something. Grrr.

When do you know your mom is gone?

When you're left with a ridiculously quiet house, an irate toddler and a very, very sore stomach. Ouch. Although I'm actually quite happy the house is silent for a change, now I can hear every creak and pop. And mom, while frequently irritating, is sometimes pleasant to be around. Plus, Ragsy is not happy to have lost his Nanima for the next few weeks. Fortunately we'll be visiting her in three weeks or so and he'll get to see his aunt and uncle as well. And, holy monkey, my frig and kitchen are full of things I'd never buy on my own:

1. Chips. These are generally reserved for parties.

2. Three types of ice cream. We try to keep it to one type max and forget it's there.

3. Three types of cookie. Sadly, cookies are my favorite food group. But I've managed to avoid them the past few days thanks to a very gross-feeling stomach.

4. Huge chunks of meat. I like meat, but since we eat it only once or twice a week, it kills my stomach to eat it every day. Like the last five days. Hence the extremely sore stomach.

5. White bread.

6. Hot dogs.

7. Breakfast links.

8. Tubs and tubs of full-fat cream cheese mixed with butter and basil and dried tomatoes. I never knew they mixed cream cheese and butter. It seems somehow wrong. Very wrong.

9. Heavy cream.

10. Cake. Lots of carrot cake.

So, if anyone's interested in a really weird breakfast, show up sometime. I'll feed you. Tons of meat, tons of sweets and lots of cream. Hmmm... Maybe I'll make tamales tonight.

Ah, yes - a more pointless post there never was.

To hell in a handbasket.

This week/weekend has been largely uneventful. My mom is visiting (leaving this afternoon), which has been at times fun and at others completely exasperating. Don't worry - I won't go into it too much, suffice to say that she's very set in her ways. Anyway, I have several meetings with several companies/individuals this week starting tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it.

Other than that, the senior director at my former company - the person I disliked and found completely unethical - was fired. Yes, I do feel somewhat satisfied. It was certainly overdue. However, the reasons why he was fired, while no doubt true, will follow him for the rest of his career and potentially prevent him from finding work again unless he leaves the state. Like I said, he deserves it, but his wife and children do not.

One other person has been put on a performance improvement plan, which is code for one step away from being fired. I actually feel sorry for that guy - his hiring was not well thought out, and it's not his fault if the company can't see that he wasn't an appropriate hire to begin with. Particularly given that he had to relocate across the entire country.

I feel a little like the Godfather, since my phone's been ringing off the hook all weekend. I think my leaving contributed to this happening, but the wheels were set in motion by the senior director's own unethical behavior long, long ago. Well, I'm sure I'll blog again today (luck you!), but I'm having trouble concentrating since my mom's talking. I should be paying attention anyway, given that she's my mom and I don't see her often. So, off I go.

Talk, talk talk.

To my surprise, over the past week, my husband and I have been talking more. It's not necessarily that we've had communication problems recently, but it seems that most of his time has been spent playing various video games and, other than mealtimes, I've rarely seen him. Add to this my nightly ritual of going for a walk regardless of the time and we don't see each other a whole lot. So, I was pleasantly surprised this week when we happened to get into several more-than-hour-long conversations.

Last night we discussed Sarah Palin and an interesting discussion I heard on NPR. One of the speakers asserted that, although we might want to deny it, women are still in most households, the glue that holds everyone together. They do most of the childrearing, their children need them on a very physical level at a young age, women are responsible for most household duties including household paperwork, cleaning, cooking, etc. and that ignoring that fact even with respect to Sarah Palin, particularly when her family was considered part of her resume and was being touted to prove what a great candidate she is, would be disingenuous. I felt that was an excellent point, and that to ignore such things is ridiculous when we constantly have her family life being pushed in our faces as a good reason for her to be VP.

After that, the conversation drifted toward religion and what we wanted to tell our son. He's already asked a few questions about churches and how they're different from other buildings. So far, I've explained the concept of god in the simplest terms I can think of (i.e., in terms of a father or mother watching over everyone) and have let him know that people go to such buildings to be closer to god and talk to him or her. I'm not sure what I'm going to say from there - if he asks me if he can talk to god, I'll say absolutely. If he asks me if I think god will listen, I'm not sure what my response will be. Do I think god will listen? I honestly don't know. Is god really there? I don't know that either. On both points, I'd like to think so.

Anyway, once that was covered, we talked about the idea of polytheism vs. monotheism, then on to atheism, which I think is an over-used, misunderstood term. One side feels that atheism equals chaos and devil worshipping and nothingness; many people from the other side who ascribe to atheism simply don't know or don't care about a higher power, so they aren't actually atheists - mostly just disinterested. Or at least that's my experience.

That said, our bedroom door is slowly swinging open and shut and it's starting to freak me the heck out. I hate that - it happens every few days. I'll be sitting here working or surfing and out of the corner of my eye, see something about the shadow change. I'll turn my head and watch the sliver of light become slimmer and slimmer, then wider and wider even though the AC is no longer on. Oh, well.

My opinion - I'm conflicted.

While I try not to post too many political comments on my blog since I'm not nearly as qualified or eloquent as many of my friends and acquaintances, I'm finding it hard to keep my mouth shut on the Freddie Mac and Fannie May bail-outs by the federal government.

I disagree heartily with helping these entities out. Yes, I realize we're in a mortgage crisis and credit crunch. Everyone's short on cash, most particularly your average American who actually has little to no say about how much they get hosed. Which is extremely crappy. That said, by buying out these companies, it seems that the federal government is creating a contrived market instead of a true free-market economy and at the same time potentially setting a precedent for other companies.

Additionally, it makes sense that at some point when the market has been doing really well, there will have been errors and inappropriate behaviors that would have contributed to that success. In my opinion, the current situation should be considered an expected, if drastic, correction of that.

Now for my disclaimer and request for enlightenment: it's easy for me to say all of this. I live in a nice house and, even though I am currently unemployed, have enough socked away for a while and will hopefully have another job before that money is depleted. Still, I have to wonder if what the government is doing is truly a good thing. It seems like it's a temporary fix to a greater problem that may have otherwise been corrected if left to play out.

On the other hand, if we assume that we can't help out entities who are struggling, what happens if the healthcare and/or insurance market is next? We can't just say, "Oh, that's a normal correction. Sorry if a bunch of people aren't getting the help they need and are getting sick/sicker/dying - things will get better but this needs to happen in a free market economy." That would not only never fly, it also seems immoral and wrong for someone or something (in this case, the government) not to help if they can. So, how comparable is this to what's happening now? How does it relate? Does it?

People need money to live. I'm assuming that if their bills skyrocket, that affects their ability to manage paying for healthcare. So letting costs get out of control not only puts pressure on a lot of people, it can also result in negative livelihood and health consequences. What's the answer? A massive overhaul of our economy as a whole? Bail-outs for important companies that need it? Overhaul of one industry but not the other? Urgh.

I'd love it if someone far more educated than I would help fight my ignorance - as I've said, the above is my opinion, based largely on news coverage, which is usually skewed. Also, my own logic, at this point, seems schizophrenic since I'm arguing both sides to some extent.

Now I know what I want to do.

So, after receiving a few calls about jobs from potential employers, I've thought long and hard about exactly what it is I want. I think I know now:

1. I want a job that allows me to be responsible for the work I get done. In other words, I don't want to be a warm body - if I'm done, I want to go home. But I want to be important enough to be indispensible.

2. I want a job that challenges me and makes me work hard while I'm there.

3. I want a job that allows me to make a good amount of money and permits advancement.

4. I want to be rewarded for good work.

5. I don't want to stop writing professionally.

6. My job should be something that allows me to enjoy my personal life. In other words, it shouldn't follow me around after work and on vacations like my previous one did; it should allow me to make enough to pay my bills and enjoy my family.

So, that's what I want. I think I can find it, but it'll take some doing. Like I said, I received a few calls this week from potential employers asking about my salary range, availability, etc. Obviously, I'm not going to hand over the above list, but at least now I know exactly what's important to me. Now, onto the actual work I'd be doing: I think that to meet all the above criteria, my original assumption that brand management is the way to go is accurate. Unfortunately, it's hard to be in a really visible position and have the leeway not to be available all the time. If that doesn't work out, I'd also do governmental/regulatory affairs. I'm good at it and I know what I'm doing. Most of the calls I've gotten would draw on my experience with Medicare, which is fine. Fortunately, it's enough of a rarefied niche that I should be able to get closer to the salary I'd want than I would with brand management. Hmmm... Tricky. Very tricky.

Politics.

I rarely talk about politics on this blog. I have several friends who are very active in the political sphere and, because we have vastly similar views and my friends are more articulate than I in expressing them, I generally hold off. I will say that I'm absolutely voting for Obama this election, and I did in the primaries. I think the nomination of Sarah Palin for VP on McCain's ticket is a travesty and feels like his group is trying the throw us little women a bone.

But on the whole, I'm sick of politics. We've been hearing about the November elections for what, three years? Four? From where these people eat their food and get their hair cut to actual issues and ill-advised comments, we could probably find out far more intimate details about these people than we would ever know about many of our friends. And some of it is important. But so very much of it is not. I couldn't give a crap who vacations where or how many houses they have (though it is a little weird for the owner not to know how many they have).

I don't consider it newsworthy if a candidate had a physical and came out healthy, or even if he or she has a cold or the flu or a melanoma (my friend has had one and she's only 33). Unless someone has broken the law, their actions grossly contradict their purported values, those values change or they do something else outrageous or vet extremely sick, I don't want to hear about it anymore.

I hate to say it, but I listen far more to my friends than I do the radio or TV or even the candidates themselves anymore. After several years of listening to this BS, I find it far more palatable from them than from people expressing recreational outrage on either side.

Stung by the COBRA.

Holy cow. I just got my COBRA election forms. My monthly premiums alone would be more than Ragsy's monthly childcare. And this is better than NOT having insurance, how? We'll get insurance of some sort, whether through COBRA or my husband's benefits - maybe even through a high-deductible individual plan (for which I would invariably not qualify - thank you, seizures!), but, damn, I have no idea what we would do if I hadn't been saving for this. I'm not sorry I quit, but I've never seen premiums so freaking high. It's ridiculous. I'd much rather just pay out of pocket. I'd save almost $12,000 a year.

Things I learned about heat rash.

1. Heat rash can spread like wildfire, even hours after sun exposure has ended.

2. Sleeping with a toddler with heat rash is a lot like sleeping next to a landed trout.

3. In addition to being annoyingly itchy, heat rash can cause a pins and needles sensation that has your toddler kicking his or her legs every 20-30 seconds.

4. Corn starch doesn't get enough credit for being the best fix-it ever for rashes - it works better than anything I've ever seen and even takes away redness.

5. Target employs judgmental jerk pharmacists that chew you out in front of other customers at the mere suggestion of using an anti-itch topical on your toddler. (I was desperate and had the unmitigated gall to politely ask someone trained in pharmacy if there was anything I could use. Then I was subjected to a delightful diatribe on my parenting skills. Thanks, jackass. I really needed that after waking next to a scratched up, slightly blood-spotted little boy looking to me to make things better, particularly when I was running on an hour and a half of sleep. No, really.)

6. When I'm tired and get chewed out by a pharmacist in public, I get mad. Really mad. And so do other parents around me who've been in a similar situation. Thanks, strangers - your reassurances and genuinely helpful suggestions after being yelled at by the bad man was exactly what I needed.

If you haven't guessed, Ragsy had heat rash. All freaking weekend. He had insisted on wearing his jeans to the zoo when he went with his dad. Having trekked all over Bombay in long pants (shorts are generally not worn, not even by toddlers), my husband understandably assumed that Ragsy would be fine. After all, Bombay is much more humid and just as hot as here, so he had no reason to think otherwise. Until he arrived at our meeting place for lunch. Ragsy was already starting to develop a rash, but the redness was starting to go away when he got into the cool air. So we decided not to worry and to see what happened. And boy did the crap hit the fan.

Ragsy was having trouble sitting still - he was tired, he had been sweaty, so we fed him and I took off for home while my husband chatted with a friend. After a mere 45-minute nap, Ragsy woke up exhausted and sweaty and ticked off. He wanted up. He wanted down. He didn't know exactly what he wanted, only that he wanted...something. He's a pretty cheerful kid, so the crying and screaming that followed let me know that we were missing something. He's not the type to scream just to hear the sound of his own voice. So my husband stripped him and there was a rash on his thighs, right where it would rub against me if I picked him up.

Over a period of about 8 hours, it developed not just on his thigh chub and a spot on his arm, it covered his legs, spread to his butt, his back, his tummy, arms, cheeks. So we turned on the AC full blast and started rubbing him with cool water. He was understandably annoyed - if someone pulled off my clothes and turned me into an ice cube, I'd be mad, too. After a very rough night, he woke up cheerful but still spotty, so I dredged him in corn starch, all day. Finally, he managed to sleep for more than an hour for a nap, then only woke 3 times in the night. Then yesterday, he woke up after an hour's nap, wobbled into our bedroom and collapsed next to me and stayed put for three hours. He also slept through the night. Score!

We obviously didn't do much this weekend, though I was hoping to hang out with friends or at least go to a park or something. Still, it was worth it to stay in. The kid still has a patch just under his rear end, but he's happy, comfortable and almost bump free. I, on the other hand, am drained, draggy and desperately in need of caffeination, though I'm more relieved that I can say.

Stream of consciousness and my ego.

I've been getting regular updates from my former workplace (calls at least once a day, sometimes more) and am taking unabashed pleasure in learning that just three days without me has them completely panicked. Apparently no one can make heads or tails of the guidelines I managed, new ones were released on Monday and no one knows what to do with the adjustments. Hah! And, yes, I'm a total narcissist. And that makes me a bad person. But I'm having trouble helping myself.

Anyway, I'm meeting a former colleague today for lunch. It should be interesting. She actually works somewhere else now, but I'm looking forward to hearing from her.

In other news, Ragsy was much better today. As I've noted before a long time ago, his misbehavior often coincides with greater exposure to TV, especially when it's combined with allergies. My theory is that, especially on weekdays, TV is a bad thing because we have precious little time with him as it is, given that even though I'm at home we're trying to keep his schedule the same so it doesn't change again when I'm working, so his time with us is displaced by time in front of the TV. In other words, he's so mesmerized that by the time we need to leave, he's had limited parental time, so he feels like he didn't get any attention, which is somewhat true since any attention we would have given him would have gone over his head anyway. How are those for run-on sentences?

My point is that we'd inadvertently allowed him to watch more than the typical half-hour limit of TV for a couple days in a row, so I cut him off cold turkey this morning. Once he realized I wasn't going to give in to demands for Fraggle Rock and Sesame Street, he transformed into his usual, sweet self, with only a teeny sprinkling of jerkish-ness, thanks to continued allergies and low-grade mouth pain. By the time his dad was ready to go, we'd cuddled, kissed and played and he'd fueled up on enough of my undivided attention and time that the screaming and whining had completely gone away. Amazing how that works, isn't it? Even more impressive is how dense I am when it's darker longer - it's as though my awareness is directly related to the amount of light available.

So, I'm totally babbling, which is why this post is entitled the way it is. I was tagged for a meme recently and I plan to follow through, but I've never done one before, so I'm still trying to figure out exactly how I want to do it and who else I would tag (unfortunately, I think the person who tagged me has more online friends than I do - I'm so lame).

Temper, Lost.

We're really lucky in that our son makes up for the sleep we lose with sweetness. And he's never actually hit the terrible twos, but makes up for that with short but fierce bursts of fury that last about a week or two and go away. This week is apparently one of those weeks.

As a parent, I've found that for my son, my patience is almost boundless - almost. I can endure hitting, kicking, screaming and throwing with a firm, even voice and haul a struggling, shrieking toddler to timeout with calm indifference. But today I just lost it.

His end-of-season allergies have hit him particularly hard this year, plus I can see just the craggy tip of a molar starting to poke under the gums. He's drooling non-stop, snotty and gooey and clingy and conflicted - "I want Mommy," he sobs in a lost voice. "Pick me up please." As soon as I pick him up, he manages to sound both imperious and pathetic as he cries, "Put me down. Put me down now." We'll repeat a couple of times and I'll get exasperated and refuse to do it again, telling him that it's okay to want to be held, and I'll happily hold him as long as he needs me to, but that I don't like going up and down, up and down.

Anyway, the last couple of days have been worse than usual, even at daycare where he tends to be the easiest kid in his room. Apparently he's been dumping all the toys in the room, refusing to pick them up, then in and out of timeout until finally the toys are away. He was even described in a low voice by his teacher as a "shit disturber" when he gave both of us that look, never a good sign. The same goes at home and in the car, which is where I finally started yelling at him. Even worse, he used my own words against me. After a few moments of stunned silence (I raise my voice maybe once every two or three months, so at least it's effective at getting his attention, even though I always feel stupid after), he says calmly. "Mommy, are you done screaming and yelling? Do you need a timeout?" Good grief.

Confessions.

It's time for my regularly-scheduled confession (which doesn't seem to happen unless I'm working from home or unemployed):

1. If there was any way to physically shove my husband and son out the door this morning without any screaming or hard feelings, I would have done it in a heartbeat.

2. My mother is annoying the hell out of me.

3. I'm easily freaked out when I'm alone in the house.

On the first, my son woke up screaming hysterically at 3 a.m. this morning. I don't begrudge him that. We all have bad dreams and for very young kids it's worse since they can't discern reality from dreams. So I had no problem going in there to comfort him, make sure he wasn't screaming because he wasn't feeling well (he was choking a little - he's been really congested thanks to change-of-the-season allergies) and try to talk the dream out a little to help him understand the difference between a bad dream and waking. What I did have a problem with was the two hours it took to get him to go back to sleep. Then when he woke up for good around 7 a.m. after I'd finally managed to get him to sleep at 5 a.m., it was nearly impossible to get my husband out of bed to shower. I love him dearly, but I don't like playing mommy to two and have to drag him out of bed to get to work in the morning. Unfortunately, I have to do this whether I'm working or not. It's one of those quirks that, if you've been living with someone long enough, will begin to annoy you. If you're me anyway. So by the time he was at the door with Ragsy, I shouted a hasty good bye, slammed the door and locked it.

My mom is on my hit list for the usual reasons - doesn't get that my desire to get a job or re-start my business isn't the same as looking for a hobby, so expects me to drop everything and take a week-long vacation with her here, nattering away while I run in the opposite direction, get mad because I can't work out in peace and otherwise search out ways to get away. The job vs. hobby thing bothers me a lot. Especially because if I do start my own business or choose to stay home and write, I'll be fair game. Calling a writer's writing a hobby, whether they're making a living on it or not, is sort of like telling a runner that they're a weekend jogger. If you don't write, chances are that you won't get how personal it is and how touchy us writers can get.

And yes, I'm a dork because I'm occasionally afraid of my house and I don't have to watch A Haunting for that to happen. I'm not a particularly religious person as most people know, nor am I normally superstitious. But occasionally as I'm at the sink or laying in bed, I'll see a flicker of motion out of the corner of my eye, the shape of a person passing in the hall or something darting around a corner just beyond my direct line of sight. I also could have sworn several times that I heard and saw Ragsy run by. The only problem was that the first time, he had not yet learned to walk and was asleep in his crib; the second and third time I was alone in the house. Then today I was sitting here working on my computer and happened to glance down the hall because a change in the scenery had disturbed my peripheral. While I watched, the patch of light from the open door to our bedroom grew slimmer and slimmer. Nothing else had changed in the house or out - just the door slowly swinging shut. So yes, I'm a total pansy and I realize I'm probably at least partially insane. Like the idiot heroine in the movies, I got up, walked down the hall. nothing happened, so I closed the door the rest of the way and left the hall light on. A total waste of energy for absolutely no reason, but if it makes me feel better, it can stay on all day as far as I'm concerned.

What are your deep, dark secrets?

Relax!

I guess I'm just not a very relaxing person. My husband made me promise that I'd take the whole week to decompress, but here it is the second day of my self-imposed unemployment, and I'm going a little batty, even though I've gotten things done. Instead of achieving any kind of serenity, to give my head time to clear, I'm cleaning, doing laundry, working in the garden, getting oil changes and stripping off disco wallpaper. Okay, haven't started on the wallpaper yet, but still...

My conclusion: try to relax, but also be active and do things that allow me to think. My husband doesn't understand that, in general, I have about five things going on in my head at any given time anyway. Sometimes I just need to get them out. Anytime is a good example. Heck, right now is a good example. Right now I'm wondering how much the credit card bill will be at the end of the month given my 50,000-mile service on my car, the mulch and paint purchases I made today at Lowe's, plus what I should make for dinner, should I work out?, when do I start weeding today? and what do I want to do, plus a great book or story idea.

I think having a child has made my thoughts even more chaotic than they were before, too. When Ragsy is around, my attention is primarily focused on him unless he's off playing by himself, and he's still at an age when he can't exactly run off for an hour and entertain himself. So by the time I get myself all alone, I've got so much going on in my head I feel like it's practically leaking out my ears. I think I'll just have to get a grip on that - if we decide to have anymore and I stay at home more, then I'll have to figure out how to deal.

Oh, well. Now you know my thought process, such as it is. That's probably one reason my posts are such babbling nonsense - you're unfortunately getting all my stream of consciousness and I'm doing a big, fat brain dump.

All done.

I am now unemployed. Ta-dah!

Yestersday was hard. On the one hand, it was fun - like the last day of school. On the other hand, it was sad and absurd. I walked into the office and there was so much food, it looked like a buffet. There were signs and gifts on my desk and everyone who didn't have a meeting was waiting for me to get there. I had a meeting after breakfast #2 (I had eaten before, too), then I walked around in the other wings for an hour or so, saying goodbye to people I worked with before my exit interview.

During the interview, I was very candid. At this company, they have HR do the exit so if you have negative comments, you don't have to make them directly to management and feel as though you can't speak or that you'll be retaliated against, since they have so many people come back to the company after leaving. Who knew? Anyway, won't go into too much detail. So, after the interview, I walked around saying goodbye for another hour, then went to lunch, then more goodbyes when I came back.

Then I had another meeting, then more goodbyes. By now it was about 4 p.m. I turned in my computer, badge, parking permit, VPN and did some more goodbyes (I worked with a lot of different people within the organization), then it was time to go. Most of the people in the department wanted to walk me out to my car (fortunately not for security reasons). I was trying not to cry most of the time. It was really stupid, but it was hard to leave and very hard to be on the receiving end of that much positive emotion. It was more flattering than I can describe, since I was only there for just shy of three years. Everyone packed up my car for me and hugged me and I got in and off I went.

I'm exhausted, but better than last night. Someone who worked there warned me that coming out of Medicare product management is like coming out of a coma - you're confused, the light hurts your eyes and you almost wish you were back in the coma if only because it's what your body is used to. I can see that. I feel kind of naked now without my job. I've never determined my self worth by my job, but without one and without the same desperation to find another one immediately that I would have felt were I younger and less experienced, I feel lost. It's very disorienting. Ah, well. I'm sure I'll get over it. Now is the time for relaxing, resetting and figuring out what the heck it is I want to do. Relax first, think later.

Dunder!

I realized that I haven't been writing much about Ragsy lately in favor of my own problems. So I thought I'd babble on about him for a while, then babble on about myself. So, to that end...

Ragsy has been wonderful. He had a week where he was whining almost constantly. But in retrospect, he could have been responding to my own stress, which was sky high a few weeks ago, but has since dissipated to a low-level hum. Instead, he's glowing. He's delighted with everything that moves - trucks, schoolbuses (completely obsessed with riding in one) and especially trains. He can't wait to get his own underwear, which we've been telling him he can have - and pick out himself - when he uses the big boy potty regularly.

He's clearly looking forward to cooler weather or just expressing his own little eccentricities, since every chance he gets, he dons a coat, hat and gloves. He's also becoming quirkier in other, delightful, ways. Dunder is a great example. It's a word he's created for when he swings a bat. He doesn't say it any other time, but stresses it hugely whenever it's time to say it. "Mommy, I say dunder?" "Yep, you're saying dunder." Then I duck and run for cover.

He's also the only kid I've ever met who wants to hang out with monsters in his closet or under the couch. Apparently there's a particularly fun monster located under the front living room chair. He growls about once a week (really the sound of some lawn devotee outside using a weed whacker) and instead of running away screaming, Ragsy chooses to run toward the monster, lift up the skirt of the chair and visit. When he can't find him, he asks to see him soon. Weird. But cool. I'd rather he want to hang out with the monsters than be afraid of them.

So that's what's going on with Rags.

As for myself, I sent out my farewell e-mail today, a harder thing than I was expecting. I was actually tearing up when I wrote it and I've been getting calls and e-mails all morning. Good stuff. I'm glad I'll be missed. Now I feel all full of myself. I'm sure that'll go away when I find myself unemployed and panicked. Oh, well. Then I'll just have to start my own business again, now won't I?

End of days.

Well, as a paid employee anyway. I've been told I look 10 years younger now that I've turned in my resignation. That tells me that either a) I look like I'm 20 (ideal situation), or b) I looked like I was in my 40s and now look my age. I'm guessing it's b, but I'm good at denial.

Anyway, my last week is going well. I'm feeling very relaxed at work, although a little more panicked when I get home. It's mostly because I've decided to take some time off before I make any final decisions. I am horrible with free time. So I'll be making household repairs and doing yard work instead. On my way to work, I have trouble wiping the stupid smile off my face. It's nice to be an expert at something. Even nicer to know that when you leave you'll be sorely missed. Yet even nicer to know that others have chosen to follow in my footsteps. Yes, I'm vindictive. And yes, I promised not to be so at work. But I made no promises about my blog, now did I? Anyway, I didn't expect for this to happen, didn't know that my decision would have a domino effect. But it seems to be energizing other people, even when it's not directly related.

So I guess I have to figure out what I want to be now. Do I want to be a writer again? A brand manager? A product manager? A marketing director? Or do I want to stay at home? I guess my first option and my last are not incompatible, though I'm guessing that Ragsy will have to go to daycare for some portion of the day (or some days) if I choose that.

I suppose my job choice should be super important. But it's really not. I don't live my career - I work so I can live. So what I really want is a job I can live with that interests me, plus rewards me when I do well and provides me the security to know I can do what I want to and when I want to and enjoy my personal life. To that end, I've got some work to do.

Letting go.

I decided I'm going to try to stop complaining about work and will try to take less glee in its demise. My last snide comments about it: no one is happy about the reorg. At least four people have stopped by to express significant concern about my leave-taking within my department (and more have from without); I've been offered and have refused other jobs in other areas of the company - not because I hate it, but because the jobs just weren't up my alley; and the most obnoxious person there has had many complaints about her poor presentation abilities and unprofessional manner, up through the vice president.

The situation is atrocious, I can't help but take some satisfaction that their stupid decisions are already biting them in the ass and they'll need to reorg again within six weeks and they're conveniently ignoring a whole chunk of compliance with federal requirements. That said, I no longer have to work there. I've handed in my resignation, have determined an exit date, am exchanging information with people I want to keep in touch with and have been receiving interest in my services, both creative and not-so-creative from without the company and from within. So, while I am bitter - very - it's not my place to encourage dissatisfaction even among those I'm closest to and who I know are extremely unhappy.

So I'm going to just shut it. I went to lunch with a group of work friends on Monday and it was just...ugly. No one was mad at me, but the whole conversation resembled jackals cackling and tumbling over each other to bash management. Everyone at the table wanted out - NOW - and all were enjoying the fact that, unless management changes significantly, the products we've built over the past few years will go down in a big bonfire.

While I've enjoyed sitting on the sidelines watching people I don't like set themselves up (yes, I'm not always nice - but you knew that already), I've never been the type to take overt enjoyment when others fail. I'm not that person. I don't want to be that person. And there are new people at work who have no clue of what's going on and I don't want to taint their experience just because mine has been tainted. So I'm going to try to be nice.

I've not been outwardly unprofessional at work, but since I'm leaving, it seems to encourage others to say things they probably shouldn't. I'll listen and offer advice, but won't encourage setups or malicious behavior.

I'm making this sound absolutely awful. And it is bad, though not as bad as my previous full-time employment. It's just a political cluster...ahem. It's unnecessary and stupid and no longer my business. So there. I'm taking the high road this time. Yay me (bleh).