Monday, September 29, 2003


Again, with the deleted post. I'm too tired to write it all over again. Here are the bullet points:

* Brian's mother and grandmother pleased about baby. Marriage pressure is on. I am (for now) resisting pressure.
* Houston was fun but too brief.
* Headaches continued through the weekend but seem for now to be gone...
* Brian thought I broke up with him in the middle of the night. Had to clear that up in the morning. First time I ever broke up with someone accidentally.
* Never traveling with the dogs again unless on a camping trip. Next time they go to the kennel or we get a dog sitter or I am not going.
* Dinner Saturday night at Fonda San Miguel. Ceviche, conchinita pibil, mangos, margarita. Yes.
* Watched Secretary last night. Sweeter than expected.

Thursday, September 25, 2003

Revenge of the Sinuses

I don't know what I ever did to them, but apparently they want me to go slowly and quietly crazy, like what's-her-name in Gaslight. In the morning I wake up feeling fine, then around 9:30 the headache starts creeping up on me, and by 10 it's a full blown throbbing affair that can't be appeased. Especially considering, as a pregnant person, I'm not allowed to take much more than Tylenol. Fun. By 4 or 5 p.m. it's mostly gone and I go to bed that night having forgotten about the whole nasty business, wake up feeling fine...and then...

This has been going on for five days, like clockwork, and I'm really not a happy camper. But hey, I'm employed. No, I'm a BUSINESS OWNER. So what's a little headache, really.

The in-laws are here, if you can call them that. Brian's mother and stepfather have arrived from California. They STILL don't know that we're having a baby, but I can assure you they're about to find out. At almost 20 weeks there's really no disguising the fact. I hope they aren't horrified, or something.

OH! And! And! We went to the midwife yesterday for the requisite pointless visit in which she listens to the heartbeat, takes my vitals, measures my belly, blah blah blah, but THEN she mentioned that she knows someone training to be an ultrasound tech who is doing ultrasounds for free! So we will be able to find out whether this is an XX or an XY after all. Probably next week! Stay tuned. I know everyone is supposed to say, "well, just as long as it's healthy." But really, who am I kidding. After 3 boys in a row we all know what I'm hoping for.

Monday, September 22, 2003

Happy Happy, Joy Joy

I got the account. The contract is signed. You cannot imagine the relief I feel.


Thursday, September 18, 2003

I Give Up

Crazy day -- I've got someone breathing down my neck in a mildly threatening way, someone who, in spite of having completely screwed me over, has the balls to be pissed off and indignant at ME even though I haven't done anything wrong. I still haven't closed the deal with the potential client. I spent the entire day waiting for a fax that never came. I'm all wound up. So, I figure, dinner out is in order. We all need a trip to the Shady Grove, right? Chicken fried steak, RIGHT? What could possibly go wrong?

Jack had a melt down before we even got started, something to do with Sprite and his menu and whatever. He refused to order and started throwing things. Brian scooped him up and out of there just as the salad was arriving, leaving me with Eli and Javi. They were gone for what seemed like 20 minutes or so -- I finished my salad, the steak came, the baby fussed a bit, Eli picked at his sandwich. When they finally got back, Jack was in the same exact mood he'd been in when he left. So I took him outside, we sat down and talked it out. He was finally feeling ready to come in to the restaurant and sit down and order soon as we get back, Brian's getting up to leave. It's Thursday night -- he works Thursday nights. This had somehow escaped us both until that very moment, when he was already 1/2 hour late. So off goes Brian. I am now alone in a restaurant with 3 kids and it's late. I try to eat. Eli is done. We are waiting for the burger. The baby is letting out piercing shrieks, tropical bird style, and getting lots of irritated looks. My attempts to stuff things in his mouth and shut him up are thwarted. Shriek. Shriek. Burger comes, but it's time to go. We ask for the check and a to go box. Both come. I open my wallet to debit card. No cash. No checks. Nothing. So now I'm on the brink of tears. The waitress is a peach and says don't worry about it, and the manager comes over and says the same thing, so I'm feeling better about life if a little worried about my debit card. I pick up the baby and discover the reason for the shrieking. The reason is now all over my hand, wrist, sleeve. I put the whole mess of him in the stroller. Wipe my hand with the second-to-last remaining wipe. We head out into the night. I practically throw myself on a woman in the parking lot with a baby and a diaper bag, and she gives me all of her wipes. Set up a changing station in the van. I have no diaper. So I hose him off, throw all the dirty clothes/towels/etc. into a pile, and wrap a cloth diaper around him and pull his pants up. Of course, he was soaked by the time he got home, but I managed to clean him off pretty well, get him into a REAL diaper and up to bed. Read the boys a story and tucked them in. And now it's time to fall into bed myself and then get up in the morning and do it all over again.

I just want a normal freakin' life. I want a job I can depend on. I want to live, all of us, together, in one house, in one centralized location. I want school and work and life and home to all be within something like a 7-10 mile radius. I want one day to go by, just one, where I feel calm and happy and capable and OK from the beginning to the end. I don't need to be ecstatic or anything, just OK. OK for a day. I want my kids to do the same -- to make it through a day without the sudden and unexpected outbursts of anger or frustration or whatever it is. I want the dog to stop scratching. I want my carpets vacuumed. I want time in the morning to get up and take a shower and get dressed and make coffee and eat a normal breakfast and get my kids up and fed and out the door without it being a huge ordeal.

I'm tired.

And sorry. I don't usually do the journal/rant thing, but there it is. I have nothing else to say right now.

Tuesday, September 16, 2003


A stomach virus has been making its way through my family. Brian is the latest victim. He's home in bed, hopefully sleeping it off. And Javi, who is still taking antibiotics from his most recent ear infection, seems to have developed another one, or else the first one never really went away. Joy. So we're off to the doctor this morning.

I have a headache and I'm panicking about my new client, who has just completed a trial week with me and is "thinking it over." This might not be good. I've fully equipped my home office in preparation for this work, so if he doesn't sign up with me I'm in serious trouble. But whatever happens -- I'm going to try to make this whole thing work. If I don't get his account, I'll get someone else, hopefully soon. Keep your fingers crossed.

Rolling Stones on the radio, autumn in the's cooling down in Central Texas. Now we have days that are "just" in the 80s. Like my friend said the other day, fall is the true renewal season -- it's good for fresh starts. Plus, I get to wear sweaters again. In a couple of months.

Friday, September 12, 2003


That's right kids, I'm not good enough for BAGGING GROCERIES.

But never mind. I've got bigger and better things happening, anyway. I am now officially a business owner with my very first paying client. I'll need a few more to really make this work, but life is looking pretty good right now.

Sunday, September 07, 2003


Wrote a whole post about stress and jasmine and dog bites and the baby but now it's gone. You can make up your own story. It has a happy ending.

Wednesday, September 03, 2003

What could possibly be a better headline than "Cameron Diaz Breaks Nose in Surfing Accident"?

My day is already complete. I don't even need to read the story.

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

Here's what's going right:

I am loved.

I'm healthy, my kids are healthy, Brian is healthy, my mother is doing just fine after her pacemaker implant and angiogram.*

I'm not going hungry. I don't have much cash for food right now, but I'm eating, the kids are eating, we all seem to be getting fed.

I have a roof over my head, the gas and electric and water bills have been paid, I have clothing as do my children.

The amazing director of the new child care is pretty much going on absolute faith that someday, very soon, I will be able to pay.

Don't tell anyone, but I am currently enjoying pirated cable.

There seem to be more jobs available right now than there have been since I moved here in 09/01. The market feels healthier. This is not to say that I will find a job, especially in my current state of round tumminess, but still.

*Healthy is a relative term. But I basically mean, you know, not dying tomorrow from any diseases. That we know of.

I've been here before, and it's not a fun place to be. And there is no question that I spend the better part of many days beating myself up for not having a career/savings account full of cash/better plan/sugar daddy (just kidding on that last one). To be in this position is one thing, but to be in this position when there are children who depend on you, that is quite another. And it sucks. It can even be paralyzing some days. But of course paralysis only prolongs the problem, so I'm mostly managing to push through that numb, stunned experience and into action. I'd so much rather be eating potato chips and watching Rickie Lake than dealing with anything remotely like job hunting or house cleaning or my life in general. And some days that's pretty much what I do. But today I cleaned the kitchen and did some laundry and looked at the (horrible! lame! low paying! shitty!) job listings on line, and ate some eggs, and took care of my sick-ish baby, and got through it. Tonight I will indulge in more television, because right now television, as long as I'm careful not to overuse it, is saving my ass.