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.