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me, me, me archives (summaries | full text)

Limbo is Not for Lori

I was talking to my mom on the phone last night about how lately I seem to be suffering from Weekend Depression, and how I haven't been looking forward to Cleaning Night as I used to (in fact, I'm dreading it these days). I speculated that the two phenomena might have something in common, since they started at around the same time, and both seem to stem from resentment of the Mountain View house. I think that now that I've given up my house in Truckee, I'm feeling a little stuck in Mountain View. I know that eventually Al & I will buy a new house together, and I'm excited about that prospect: it's why I didn't feel sad about putting my house on the market. I knew it was paving the way for something new and different and better. The problem is that I can't wait for the new, different, and better thing to come. As mom observed, "you'll take heaven or hell, but you can't stand limbo."

Why Bunny?

I chose "bunny" for today's webcam caption, and my husband just asked me why. "Bunny hair," I replied. This doesn't make much sense to anyone I say it to, but whenever I dye my hair pale pink, I refer to it as "bunny pink" or just "bunny hair." The reason is that when I was 5 (or 3? or 1?), I got a pink stuffed rabbit for Easter. Ever since, I've associated that pale pink color with bunnies, even though I've never met an actual bunny that's pale pink.

I think my mom might still have that bunny at her house, actually. If she does, I'll take a photo of it next time I'm there. It probably looks pretty sad now (though, to be honest, it looked pretty sad the last time I remember seeing it, which was about 15 years ago). Mom sewed on buttons to replace the eyes it lost over the years, and she mentioned once that its ears had stood up when she and dad bought it for me, though they drooped within a year. This was a shock to me, as I'd thought its ears had always drooped.

I'm trying to remember if I'm remembering actually finding the rabbit where the Easter Bunny had hidden it (in a wicker ottoman we used to have), or whether I'm remembering the photograph of me finding it...

April Approaches

There's a lot to look forward to in April: Daylight Savings Time, a new hockey season, the Easter Bunny's arrival, warmer weather, blooming flowers.... Unfortunately, to get to all those good things, we have to enter April via its first official day, otherwise known as April Fool's Day. Oh, how I loathe April Fool's Day.

It's not so much that I don't have a sense of humor (I do, really!); it's that I don't find practical jokes particularly funny, and I don't appreciate being lied to. These seem to be the hallmarks of any successful April Fool's Day. My father seemed to look forward to April 1 every year, though specific memories of tortuous April Fool's breakfasts with him only date back to my pre-teen years, when my sister and I got up early enough for school that we would see him before he left for work. His cousin Ducky, who was in perpetual tease-the-kids-with-lies-and-practical-jokes mode, seemed to regard the day as something of a national holiday. Ducky's own kids seemed to roll with it, but I was always demanding exasperatedly that he just tell me the truth, which is probably where the rumor that I have no sense of humor started.

My hatred of April Fool's Day pre-dates The Great April Fool's Debacle of 1980, but certainly that incident cemented April 1 as a day of infamy, a day to call in sick, a day to avoid contact with other humans if at all possible. The story goes like this: I'd woken up that morning with an impression so strong I can only call it a premonition. It wasn't like hearing a voice so much as having a message stamped clearly on my brain: KIM AND LAVINIA WILL PRETEND TO BE YOUR FRIENDS TODAY. IT'S AN APRIL FOOL'S JOKE. DO NOT BE FOOLED. Wow, I thought. I will be *totally* prepared for their shenanigans!

At recess that day, another girl from our class approached me and said, "Kim and Lavinia want you to come play with them." I was wary, and said no thanks. She kept insisting, however, so I finally went over, prepared to call their bluff. Kim and Lavinia seemed a bit reserved at first, too, but then we got sucked into some game of pretend or another, and I forgot all about being wary. We played together for the remainder of recess, and then on the way back up the hill to our classroom, Kim and Lavinia started telling stories. I remember Lavinia telling one about a particularly large crap that she had taken, which was odd for a relatively prim 6th grader in those days. I was a bit shocked, and tried to come up with a more appropriate word for the one she was using ("shit", I believe), when they stopped me short.

"Lori, I don't know how to tell you this," said Kim. "But all this has been a practical joke. We don't like you at all!" "April Fool's!" they squealed as they ran up the path ahead of me, leaving me standing there, completely dumbstruck. I finally yelled after them, "I know! I knew that! I knew it was just a joke!", but it was too late. Who would believe I'd had a premonition that this very thing would happen? And who *wouldn't* believe me a fool for falling for it anyway?

OK, so maybe I hate April Fool's Day because, as a fool, I take it on the chin on April 1. I prefer to think of myself as someone with an overdeveloped sense of justice, and ok, possibly, an underdeveloped sense of humor. Whichever you think of as the greater handicap, please keep it in mind and take pity on me tomorrow. No practical jokes, please.

Hyphenated

My name is Lori Hylan-Cho. I answer to Lori Hylan, because that's who I've always been, and even to Mrs. Cho, if I'm checking into a hotel under a reservation my husband has made, but my legal name is Lori Hylan-Cho. It's the name that's listed on my driver's license, my passport, and my Social Security card. It's the name I invented for myself a few hours after my wedding, when I decided that I wanted to both remain a Hylan and become a Cho.

I used to think hyphenating was kinda silly, until I was faced with a name-change decision myself. Up until the wedding day, I was planning to stay Lori Hylan. There really is something special and spiritual and life-changing about getting married, however, and after going through the whole experience, I found I really wanted to be Hylan-Cho, not just Hylan (and not just Cho).

Of course, I did not invent hyphenated names: They've been in vogue for YEARS. This is why I find it so appalling that so many databases, web forms, and humans can't handle them.

All my airline tickets read LORI HYLANCHO. So do most of the hotel reservations I make over the web. (One attempt to foil the space-and-hyphen-eating Last Name field resulted in a reservation for Lorihylan Cho.) This is mostly just annoying, but it's often inconvenient as well. The new self-check-in terminals that airlines practically force you to use don't recognize the name on my credit card, LORI HYLAN-CHO, as being the same as the one they have in their reservation system, LORI HYLANCHO, so I have to know (and type in) my ticket number in order to get a boarding pass.

Most web forms merely butcher my name after I click Submit, but I recently ran into a form validation script that wouldn't accept my legal name. It was on the TiVo website, where I'd gone to order a replacement remote (our TiVo arrived with the car, but the remote went into storage). The weirdest thing about it is that it accepted Hylan-Cho as a valid last name for shipping, but it declared it INVALID for billing. The name that's *actually on my credit card* was invalid for billing!

As galling as some of the computer rejections and modifications have been, the human butcherings are usually worse. As we traveled on our honeymoon road trip, I'd call ahead to hotels to make reservations, giving my newly-minted name each time: "H, Y, L, A, N, hyphen, C, H, O". Upon arrival, I'd find that I'd been registered as Lori Hylan/Cho, Lori Hylan'Jo (my favorite), or Lori Hylan,Cho. I had no idea that so few people knew what a hyphen was.

The latest and most maddening misnomer, however, came with the loan documents for our new house: I'd been renamed by our mortgage broker to Lori H. Cho. MY NAME IS NOT LORI H. CHO. My middle initial is M, and always will be. Some women, when they marry, take their husbands' names and use their maiden names as their middle names. I think it's a great solution for some people, especially when the woman wants to preserve her name, but when one or both names are too long for hyphenation. It's also great for people who want to avoid the hyphenation horrors I've encountered and still use both names. But for me, the hypenation was intentional and desirable.

As I crossed out H. Cho, wrote in Hylan-Cho, and signed Lori Hylan-Cho on line after line and page after page of the loan documents, I got more and more angry. Lori H. Cho DOESN'T EXIST. I'm not sure why I reacted more strongly to this butchering than to others (which have included Laurie Hyland and Lon Highland along with the aforementioned Lori Hylancho and Lori Hylan'Jo). Perhaps because this wasn't just a ridiculous—and temporary—hotel reservation ("allo, is this missus 'jo?"), but a legal contract. If it isn't fixed, my name will be wrong on the deed to the house.

It also seems like a slap in the face, a sign of disrespect with a hint of sexism. I gave a lot of thought to what my name would be after I was married, and took pains to change it on all my legal documents. Either my maiden name or my married name was on EVERY SINGLE SUPPORTING DOCUMENT we gave the mortgage broker; not ONCE was it listed anywhere as Lori H. Cho. So why would he assume that Lori H. Cho was my name? Had he really never encountered a hyphenated name before? Did he really think that I couldn't bind my husband's name to my own, that I had to assume my husband's name alone and relegate mine to a middle-initial memory? Was the person who typed up the forms just lazy?

I don't know. All I know is I'm not Lori H. Cho.

Big Birthday

I turned 35 this weekend. I am now what people used to consider "middle aged," though I believe that mark has moved to 45 or 50. I am now at the point where a pregnancy would be considered "high risk". I am now 10 years older than my dad was when I was born. And I feel GREAT. I am relatively healthy, I am meeting my financial obligations, and I am a hell of lot wiser than I was at 25... and yet in many ways I am still living the life of someone in her twenties.

It's ironic that a kid who was so grown up at 5, 10, and 15 that she used to scare parents and teachers would have such a delayed adulthood, but that has pretty much turned out to be the case for me. It's not that I delayed marriage and family for the sake of my career; it's that I haven't had marriage and family on my to-do list at all since I turned 18. I was willing (and excited!) to live my whole life as a single woman, with none of the markers people associate with adulthood except a few wrinkles. I saw no reason to give up jeans and baseball caps and Sketchers and Doc Martens just because I turned 25 or 30 or 35. Spending almost 10 years in the web and web-software worlds abetted that scheme, of course— I've worn jeans and t-shirts to work since 1995—but I'd declared myself a Dyes 'R Us kid even before that, when I worked at the World Bank. My years at Macromedia just never forced me to give up anything except my (admittedly barely-) business suits.

To my great surprise, I fell in love at 33 and got married a couple weeks before my 34th birthday, but even marriage hasn't really forced me to grow up. My husband and I have had great fun running around like kids, playing hockey, traveling around the country, and moving at will without regard to school districts. Sure, I don't go out to clubs and parties like I used to, and I pretty much stopped drinking when I experienced my first real hangovers around age 31 or 32, and yes, the kids will spot me as a geezer by the faint wrinkles and the requests to turn the music down, but by virtue of the fact that I am doing whatever I want whenever I want to, I feel like a kid.

Actually, now that I think about it... doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to was *not* a hallmark of my childhood (or even of my early twenties). This freedom is something new, perhaps something uniquely identified with my thirites. I remember my roommate Pat saying that her thirties were her favorite years, though 42 felt pretty darn good, too. (That was before the cancer diagnosis.) I can totally see why: financial freedom, personal freedom, experience enough to make smart choices (and the emotional maturity to recover faster from poor ones), and a body that's still in relatively good shape. (OK, my thyroid's a bit out of whack, and I have a couple other chronic conditions, but I'm fit and functional and in better shape than I was at 20.)

I don't feel old, I feel equipped. Ready for new adventures, to take on the world on my own terms, to defend my choices and my changes of mind. Maybe I haven't postponed adulthood after all—I've just experienced it differently than most. I've gotten to do it my way. How lucky am I for that?

The Name Butchering Continues

I got a direct mail piece (aka snail spam) today regarding my AAA membership. It was addressed to Lori M. M. H. Cho. I sound practically royal.

Mawiage Is What Bwings Us Togevah Today

Today Al and I celebrate our second wedding anniversary.

Miscellany

A few random items:

• dj blurb opened up comments on his endorsement post, and I loved reading all most of the different points of view. (Most—but not all—commenters support Kerry, but whom each person supports not as interesting as why.)
• Al and I start childbirth classes tonight. This week's pregnancy newsletter from ParentsPlace.com seemed to suggest that I'd be nervous about the birth by now, but for some reason I'm not.
• I am loving The Price of Loyalty: George W. Bush, the White House, and the Education of Paul O'Neill. Fascinating book that is helping me make the distinction between Bush and his inner circle and other, honest Republicans whose views simply differ from mine (or don't, actually). I've been reading huge sections of it out loud to Al, a sure sign that it's a life-changing read (similar to And the Band Played On and Nickel and Dimed).
• I am not a designer. So sue me.
• As promised, I converted the all hallows eve blog (and its archives) to Movable Type last night. I can't wait until Sunday!
• I'm making headway (literally) on my Patrick costume; I got his eyes, eyebrows, and mouth done last night, and I'm looking less like a klansman. This afternoon's project: painting purple flowers on his bermuda shorts (actually a pair of green Gap Body sweatpants, pinned up a few inches).
• Warning: There will be another post about Annie later today. With photographs.
• Today is my 36th birthday. And I feel fine.

Things I've Been Doing Over the Past Week Instead of Blogging

1. Cleaning up the house and changing sheets on the guest bed in preparation for a brief visit from the baby's godmother (my friend Sandra).
2. Buying a video camera (it's required when you have kids).
3. Attending (with godmother in tow) the baby shower my sister threw for Al and me at her house in Maryland. (My sister really outdid herself, I must say. Fabulous gig.)
4. Picking up essential items that we didn't receive as gifts at the shower (we specifically asked that the shower not be about getting gifts, but people got us some awesome —and much-needed—stuff anyway). What we still needed, and bought on Sunday with the Babies 'R Us gift card Sandra gave us: A changing pad, a diaper bag, some more receiving blankets, layette gowns, and a couple other random things.
5. Washing zillions of onesies and baby socks, crib sheets, receiving blankets, burp cloths, no-scratch mittens, and layette gowns.
6. Buying diapers.
7. Stocking the freezer with Smart Ones, the frozen grilled chicken sandwiches Al likes, and the Alvarado St. Bakery multigrain bread we both love; the pantry with casserole fixins (pasta, condensed soup, canned salmon) and canned fruit; and the closet with cleaning supplies for my mom.
8. Peeing every five minutes.
9. Framing and hanging the final photos, subway maps, and Paddington Bear drawings for the baby's room. (It's a travel-themed nursery.)
10. Mulling over the proposed platform for my new political party.
11. Addressing Christmas cards (which will double as birth announcements this year).
12. Writing thank-you notes.
13. Watching football. (I have Ben Roethlisberger, Jerome Bettis, and my personal favorite, Hines Ward, on my fantasy football roster, so I was thrilled to see the Steelers whup the Eagles this weekend. Sorry, Philadelphia.)
14. Staring at the Pack 'N Play at the foot of our bed (and the baby swing and bouncy seat in the living room, the stroller frame in the dining room, and the car seat in—where else?—the car) and feeling a mix of excitement, fear, and horror. OH MY GOD, WE'VE BECOME TWO OF THOSE PEOPLE. WE HAVE BECOME BREEDERS.
15. Getting outside as much as possible during the day to combat the depression that's descending on me as the days get shorter and the belly gets bigger.
16. Planning all my trips up and down the stairs so I never have to go from the basement to the third floor in a single shot.
17. Trying to find a nightgown I can stand. (I've been advised to bring my own to the hospital, since the hospital gowns are awful, but I find that I'm not really a nightgown person.)
18. Thinking about packing my bag for the hospital, but not actually packing it.

And More Tumbling

Last night, when I fell down the stairs for the second time in as many days, Al was there to pick me up off the floor. This time slippery socks were the culprit (it's why I usually wear shoes in the house, to my mother-in-law's horror). Basically, last night's fall was almost entirely different from the day before's; the only thing they had in common were that they were falls down stairs. A quick comparison:

This Week...

• Our babysitter (whom the Beaner and I really, really like) was on vacation.
• Our Mac Mini had a serious hard drive error that prevented it from starting up, that required a three-hour visit to the Apple store just to get most of the data backed up, and that required a complete reformat of the hard drive. Luckily, almost all of the photos I've taken over the past 8 months were salvaged, as was all the iTunes music. We'll be backing up more regularly now, of course.
• The Beaner fell out of our bed when a midday phone call from a fucking telemarketer woke him from a nap. He has a bruise on his elbow and his hand, but otherwise he's fine.
• We are trying to establish a new nap routine (Pack 'n Play or crib only, not our bed), and the angst involved is really wearing me (and the Beaner, I imagine) down.
• The Beaner has screamed so loudly and piercingly that my ears have shut down several times. It's like going momentarily deaf.
• I had a migraine.
• We ran out of Advil. (Not that it really helps anyway.)
• I won the over/under. At today's 8-month doctor visit, Austen was 22 lbs., 7 oz.

That Explains It

Suddenly the somber mood of my previous post makes sense: I've got a migraine coming on.

More Efficient Than I Realized

I was thinking that I hadn't spent the time during which the babysitter was here today very wisely—I mostly finished the post I started last night for this blog, vacuumed, worked on improving the layout and navigation over at the ice hockey escapades, started but didn't finish a note to Valerie, and moped about having a cold—but as it turns out, this was probably a pretty good use of my time. It's not even midnight yet, and since the babysitter left at 5:40pm I've managed to feed myself, put the Boopster to bed, watch a TV program I wanted to see, edit all the hockey photos I want to upload to my new team's site, clean up the kitchen, pay bills, do some financial research, upload a few photos to Flickr, take a shower, and listen to an archived episode of Fresh Air. I managed to do those things because I got all the high-priority web work, house-cleaning, and moping out of the way earlier. Man, I'm good.

Master Chef to Total Clod

I was so PROUD of myself last night for making exactly the meal I wanted from ingredients I already had in the house. I sliced a medium onion (with a knife), sauteed it until browned in a saucepan with a little butter and olive oil, and then added a can of vegetable broth, a dash of dry sherry, and a few grinds of pepper, and let it simmer for about 30 minutes. I then topped it with a toasted slice of Metropolitan Bakery whole wheat sandwich bread (oh, so seedilicious) and a handful of grated gruyere and stuck it in the oven at 275° for about 10 minutes. It was AWESOME, especially accompanied by the sliced Cameo apple I picked myself that afternoon (in a pouring rain, I might add) and a Yuengling Black & Tan (purchased from Pete's Famous Pizza, which is just around the corner, for $2.50). I obviously rocked as a chef, and this amazing onion soup was proof.

Of course, the universe knows a thing or two about hubris. I wanted to use some of the 10 lbs. or so of apples we picked yesterday, so I decided to make an apple buckle/coffee cake. I wanted to make sure the apples were sliced thick enough so we could taste them in the cake, but not so thick that they wouldn't cook properly, so I pulled out the mandoline that Winsha gave us for our wedding three years ago. I'd never used it before because, quite honestly, I was scared to death of the damn thing. I just knew I'd lose a finger using it.

I got one Crispin apple sliced perfectly, however, so I thought, "OK, no problem! This isn't so scary!" And then, as I was slicing apple number 2, I looked up to tell Al what kind of butter to buy for me at Trader Joe's. In the middle of a sentence that started, "It's the unsalted European-style butter in the blue and yel......", "yellow" turned into a yell. "ARE YOU OK?" Al asked, loudly but as calmly as possible, since Austen was in the room. I grabbed what was left of my thumb and replied through a clenched jaw, "NOT OK. NOT OK. DEFINITELY NOT OK" while walking very quickly in a loop around the kitchen and dining room and holding a rapidly-reddening dishtowel around my wounded digit.

After a few minutes of attempting to hold panic at bay, I started wailing. We couldn't get my thumb to stop bleeding long enough to smear some Neosporin on it, so we finally smeared some on a Band-Aid and managed to get it wrapped around my finger fairly tightly. It took another 10 minutes or so of ice and elevation to get the blood to stop bubbling out the top of the bandage, though. The good news is that Austen showed concern when I was freaking out, but he didn't start crying himself; he stayed calm and out of the way in his Pack 'n Play. I think this was mostly due to Al's efforts to underreact than overreact, and the fact that Al's first instict when I started in with the "NOT OK, NOT OK" was to grab Austen and take him out of the room so he didn't see all the blood.

I do still have a right thumb, thank god, but a chunk of skin and an even bigger chunk of fingernail are now missing from it. Sadly, I think the mandoline will be going back into its box for another three years, and I won't be making apple buckle today. On the plus side, this wound makes the horrific papercut I got on my left middle finger earlier today seem like nothing at all.

It's That Time of Year Again

Happy birthday to Hillary Rodham Clinton (58), Victor Grigorieff (35, I believe), and me (37). And anyone else who was born on October 26, too!

Apparently I'm Showing My Age

Austen and I went to watch Al's hockey game at the University of Pennsylvania's Class of 1923 Ice Rink tonight. Toward the end of the game, Austen started melting down, so I put him in the stroller and walked him around outside for a bit. I'd just come back in and was standing by the glass near the entrance when I noticed a woman in the stands above me... holding a large bar of one of my favorite kinds of chocolate. "You came prepared, I see," said I. She smiled and said, "is one of your kids playing?"

I was so startled I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly at first. Then I did the math in my head, and I decided that though it was theoretically possible that I could be the mother of one of the guys on the ice—most of whom were students at Drexel or Penn—it wasn't very likely (and certainly not if you knew me). "Um, no," I replied. "My husband is."

"Oh," replied the woman, who seemed neither embarrassed nor that much younger than I. In fact, I would have said that we were "about the same age," though now that I think of it, she was probably in her early twenties. I guess, technically, I could have been *her* mom. Wow.

I Think I Know Why, Too

This just came through the mail slot:

I've been complaining off and on for years now that I get mail/calls for Lori H. Cho when that's not me, but now I'm starting to wonder if there *is* a Lori H. Cho somewhere—one who's over the age of 55—and whether my records have somehow gotten mixed up with hers. I should check my credit report just to make sure nothing funny is going on.

6.50

I had a dream last night that the plan to hire me back full-time at my old company had been delayed, and that in the meantime I was going to contract for them. My boss' boss asked me what I proposed for an hourly rate. After doing some quick math in my head that involved my old salary*, I came up with $6.50 an hour.

It was only after I got my first paycheck and saw how small it was that I realized I'd made a mistake with the decimal point—I should have proposed $65 an hour, not $6.50! This stupid math error haunted the rest of my dreams, even after my fast-asleep mind moved on to unrelated topics. How was I going to pay the babysitter on only $6.50 an hour? How was I going to support my family? The undercurrent of "6.50... 6.50... 6.50" kept niggling at me until it finally woke me up.

*Neither $6.50 or $65 have any relation to my old salary. Obviously my sleep mind can't do math.

Avocadoh Contrivium

A bit of memery copied from ratphooey. My favorites are #s 4, 6, and 9. They seem the most plausible, don't you think?

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Avocadoh!

1. There is no lead in a lead pencil - it is simply a stick of graphite mixed with avocadoh and water!
2. If you keep a goldfish in a dark room, it will eventually turn into avocadoh.
3. While sleeping, fifteen percent of men snore, and ten percent grind their avocadoh.
4. Avocadoh can drink over 25 gallons of water at a time.
5. The horns of avocadoh are made entirely from hair.
6. Avocadoh is the only one of the original Seven Wonders of the World that still survives!
7. It can take avocadoh several days to move just through one tree!
8. It took avocadoh 22 years to build the Taj Mahal!
9. Avocadoh can be very poisonous if injected intravenously.
10. The first avocadoh was made in 1853, and had no pedals.

Sick

We are all sick here at Casa Hylan-Cho. Austen has been sick almost continuously since he caught the cold I had at Christmas, and I have been sick off and on with various chest and sinus afflictions since before that. At the moment, Al's the sickest of us all; he's been home from work for a couple days now. I've been washing my hands like a maniac, but as I've said to Al, that doesn't help so much when your infant son is sticking his boogers up your nose—booger-to-booger contact being the #1 method of disease transmission. I'm hoping that since we all seem to have the same thing now that we'll all get better at the same time, and that we'll stop giving this virus a chance to mutate and attack again.

Meanwhile, we're going through Kleenex (both the Lotion and Anti-Viral varieties) at an alarming rate, especially since Austen finds great joy in pulling as many of them out of the box as he can at one sitting. The other night I found him in the linen closet, attempting to pry great wads of tissue from under the plastic wrapping that covered one of the stand-up boxes. This morning he seemed to get the hang of the whole Kleenex Conservation thing, though: He pulled one out of the box, held it up to his face, made a noise that sounded like "ahroooooo", and then held the tissue to my face and gestured as if to say, "now you!" I guess it's better than having the boogers shoved directly up my nose.

As much icky goo as is coming out of Austen's nose, I think more of it's going down his throat and into his stomach. Yesterday morning, after waking up at the completely normal time of 6:10am, he rather abnormally screamed for 20 minutes and then conked out again on his sheepskin rug in the basement 'til 9:30. Al watched him sleep for two hours, but I only lasted 30 minutes before I had to get things done up in the kitchen. When I finally heard him stir, I called, "good morning, sleepyhead!" and headed down to get him. As I reached the gate at the bottom of the basement stairs, he said, "Uh oh! Uh oh!" and then horked all over the sheepskin rug. I quickly climbed over the gate, at which point he started to say "uh oh!" again but was interrupted by a heave. It was so cute how he was obviously fighting the urge to vomit (and he was largely successful—although he heaved a bit more, only a little dribble came out). Luckily, he held his breakfast of milk and Bear Naked Triple Berry Oatmeal down just fine.

Tomorrow we are all driving down to Wheaton, MD so Austen and I can get our hair cut by my favorite stylist, Toni at HUGO Salon. We're both looking rather shaggy these days; Austen hasn't had a proper haircut since I cut off his Gollum strands back when he was seven months old (which I guess means he's never had a proper haircut), and I haven't had one since my hair was purple back in May. I have some nostalgia for both that cut and the purple color, but I'm reluctant to dye it when we're about to take a vacation that will involve lots of swimming and sweating, and I'm not sure Toni will feel as inspired by my plain white hair as she was by the purple. I guess we'll see... I'll hopefully have some before and after photos of us to post tomorrow night.

Haircuts

As promised, here are the before and after photos from Austen and Lori's Haircut Adventure. The cut I got is very similar to the one I got in May, only with shorter bangs and the part on the opposite side. (I kinda wish she'd left the bangs a bit longer, but I think she did it this way to even them up—they were shorter on the right than the left.) Austen got his cut while sitting on my lap (good thing we brought a spare shirt for him to change into, because we didn't bother with a drape). We distracted him with a cell phone while Toni made a few strategic snips.

And More Sick

From about 9pm to 1am last night, I was plagued with what I can only assume was food poisoning. I'm guessing—but cannot prove—that the culprit was a Brazilian Shrimp Burrito from Whole Foods; I got a bad one once before and almost swore off them completely back then. I *will* be swearing off them completely from now on. I was worried that I might never be able to eat another orange as well after last night's drama—an orange being the last thing I ate, in an attempt to soothe myself, before the vomiting started—but I don't feel the same aversion to them that I did at midnight, thank goodness. California navels are in season right now (for east-coasters who are used to getting California oranges year-round and were unaware that there *was* a season, it usually runs from late January through March), which means they're cheaper, sweeter, and more abundant than usual. I've been known to subsist entirely on oranges when the CA navel season and a particularly stressful period at work coincided, so giving them up would have been so, so sad.

Although I find myself with no particular aversion to oranges this morning, I don't think it would be in my best interest to eat one for breakfast. I seem to be done with the vomiting, and I *am* starving, but it's hard to imagine actually eating any of the foods we have in the house at the moment. Maybe if I hunt around a bit more, I'll locate some saltines.

I think one thing that's adding to the lingering nausea is the fact that we have a temporary babysitter today; Hannah doesn't start full-time with us until next week, and I'm already working, so we needed to cover today and Thursday of this week. The temp sitter is totally fine, but as I hadn't met her before today, I have more butterflies than usual when Austen's out of my sight (as he is now—they're out with the stroller). I'm sure everything's OK, but I'm still fighting the urge to call her cell and tell her to COME BACK RIGHT NOW so I can hug my kid.

Begin the Beguine

Avid fans of Sesame Street will recognize the title of this post as the line that the Count sings to the Countess after the number 14, which makes it appropriate for a summary of Austen's 14th month of being. (It's also, incidentally, the title of a Cole Porter song.)

This update is likely to be as much about me as about Austen, as this is the month I started working full-time again, under the best possible scenario: The team I worked on for almost 7 years when we lived in California had an opening right when I decided I wanted to work again. I get to work on a team I love, doing work I enjoy, creating a product I actually use (I'm using it right now, in fact)—and all from home, where I can take Austen breaks instead of coffee breaks. It's taken a couple months to get all the paperwork processed, but that gave us time to sort out our nanny issues. I'm thrilled to say that after many frustrating weeks of combing craigslist and being unable to find a good match for us, our current nanny decided to come on with us full-time. This is a good thing for me, of course, but it's also fantastic for Austen because Hannah and he have similar social-butterfly personalities. They're out right now playing with another nanny and her 16 month-old charge, in fact.

We also have Hannah to thank for the fact that Austen is now enrolled in a music class for toddlers; she did all the research, located a class near us, and called to see if we could come watch a sample class before deciding to enroll. I went to the first three or four classes, and they're really fun. We got a songbook and CD to play at home so Austen can become familiar with the songs, and now that he recognizes the tunes and the activities associated with them, he's TOTALLY INTO MUSIC CLASS. The great part is that even if I can't make it to any more classes, I can still sing and play with Austen in the evenings because I know the songs now, too.

[photos added 02.01.06, after this morning's Music Class]

In addition to the music and the activities—perhaps more than the music and the activities—Austen likes music class because it affords him the opportunity to hug and kiss other little kids. He's been hugging (and knocking down) other kids since before he could walk, and over the past month he's started trying to kiss them, too. He started by practicing on me a couple months ago, and once he got the hang of closing his mouth more and not probing with his tongue, he decided to spread the love around... which, now that I think of it, is probably why we've all been sick since Christmas. On Sunday he enountered an 8 or 9 year-old at the ice rink in Aston who crouched down and smiled at him, and Austen immediately moved in for the kiss. Unfortunately, the kid was wearing a skateboarding helmet on which Austen bonked his head every time he leaned in. Didn't stop him from trying five or six times before Al finally suggested to Austen that he give up.

After experimenting with a few different formats, we've settled into a regular routine around here now. Austen now gets a bath every night (unless we're out late) instead of every other night; Al gets in the tub with him and then takes a shower while I put Austen's jammies on. We watch a little Sesame Street together, and then between 7 and 8pm I say, "ready for bed?" Austen lifts his arms up in the "pick me up!" gesture, I say "kiss Daddy good night!", Austen kisses Daddy, and I take him upstairs. On go the HEPA filter and the humidifier, and then I carry Austen around the room while singing a series of standards and lullabies. The last tune is always the classic lullaby, though I vary the lyrics from night to night. I've settled on these two verses at a minimum, however:

Lullaby, and good night
In your crib you'll be sleeping
With your eyes closed, fast asleep
We'll be here when you wake up

Close your eyes, little bean
We'll be here in the morn
Sleep 'til seven or eight
And we'll come get you then.

The whole put-down routine takes from five to fifteen minutes, depending how ready for sleep (and how snarffly) Austen is. If he's especially resistent, I sing more animated songs first and then work my way to the slower ones.

Despite the admonishment to sleep until 7 or 8, Austen's up between 6 and 6:30 most mornings. Al gets up with him, plays with him down in the basement, and feeds him breakfast while I sleep a while longer ('til 7:45 most mornings, 7 on Mondays) and then get dressed. We trade off at around 8 or 8:15, and Al gets ready for work while I get Austen dressed. (Mondays are a little trickier, because Hannah comes at 8 instead of 9.) So far it's working really well for us, though I'm sure Al could use more sleep than he's currently getting. He much prefers getting up with Austen to putting him down, however, so I think the division of labor suits us.

Austen seems to be adapting fairly well to the fact that I'm working and that Hannah is here more often, although I think he's a little sad that he doesn't get at least one day alone with me during the week. The other day I held him while Hannah got her coat on in preparation for taking Austen out in the stroller, and Austen waved bye-bye at her. I said, "oh no, honey, she's not leaving yet. You're going out together." He waved again, more firmly this time, and both Hannah's and my hearts broke a little. He couldn't have been saying, "Mommy's here now, you can go" more clearly. I was secretly glad when we had an uncovered childcare day last week (Hannah wasn't full-time yet, and the temporary nanny got sick), so Austen and I could spend the day together running errands. I'm also making sure that I get down on the floor and play with him whenever I'm not working.

Of course, that means there's no time for chores. Obviously weekday baking has fallen by the wayside (though I can sometimes squeeze in a batch of muffins on the weekends), and the laundry tends to pile up now. I have figured out how to incorporate Austen into a couple chores, however; it started with stirring pots on the stove, and then progressed to unloading the dishwasher (perhaps because he realized that's where his beloved spatulas come from). I do all the dishes and glasses, and Austen unloads the silverware. He started by handing me one knife or fork or spoon at a time, which I would put away in the drawer while saying, "thank you!", but the other day he carried several spoons in a row to the drawer and tossed them in himself.

Austen also likes it when I vacuum, though the appeal of the vacuum cleaner is the exhaust that blows out the front—which means he's constantly standing right where I need to vacuum. We've worked out a game where I chase him around with the vacuum cleaner, and in this way he gets his hair blown back as desired, and I eventually get the whole room cleaned.

Tag Me! Tag Me!

OK, so here's where I admit that I occasionally do wish that I were one of the Cool Kids. Most of the time I'm like, "yeah, I know the cool kids, but I don't hang out with them. Because, you know, I've got my own stuff to do," but lately several of my favorite blogs have all been doing the Four Things Meme, and I confess I was feeling a little left out. Although no one's technically tagged me, and I can't pretend that I never do memes (because why would you do that?), I'm going to pretend that John tagged me because I'm listed among the four blogs he's following. Thanks, John, for making me feel cool.

Four jobs I've had

1. Temp, Executive Office of the President
2. Research Assistant, The World Bank
3. Webmaster, Mecklermedia
4. Senior Developer Support Engineer, Macromedia

Four movies I can watch over and over

1. A Letter to Three Wives
2. Christmas in Connecticut
3. Wife vs. Secretary
4. The Shawshank Redemption

Four places I've lived

1. Athens, GA
2. Arlington, VA
3. Norwalk, CT
4. San Francisco, CA

Four TV shows I love

1. Veronica Mars
2. Entourage
3. My Name is Earl
4. Flip This House

Four places I've vacationed

1. The Wicklow Way, Ireland
2. Kapalua, Maui
3. New Orleans, Louisiana
4. Auckland, New Zealand

Four of my favorite dishes

1. Bulldog tofu
2. Homemade frittata with potatoes, scallions, red peppers, and a mix of boursin and cream cheeses
3. Mutter paneer
4. Spicy tuna rolls with mango and black sesame seeds (ONLY IF the spicy sauce is made with mayonnaise)

Four sites I visit daily

1. Google
2. Flickr
3. ratphooey
4. Val's wicked cool blog

Four places I'd rather be right now

1. Snuggling my poor, sick husband
2. In Portland with Val
3. Anywhere with Kristin
4. Pushing Austen around San Francisco

Four people I'm tagging
(I have to say this is the hardest category, since practically everyone I know and read has already been tagged, some of them months ago...)

1. Val
2. nj
3. Shuna
4. foggyknit

Blogging Block

I am feeling so overwhelmed by the backlog of blog posts waiting to be written that every time I get a chance to actually write one, I end up reading other blogs instead of writing in my own. So yes, I am WELL AWARE that I owe y'all (and myself) a Vacation Summary, Part 2 and an Austen @ 15 Months update, not to mention various and sundry other observations that have been piling up on little slips of paper around the house.

In the meantime, in case you were wondering, those Vanilla Sunshine Cupcakes at Starbucks are actually pretty good. Good cake, good frosting, perfect little daisy-shaped sugar disc on top. Yummy.

Oh, and the main reason that I haven't had the time or inclination to write: I'm swamped with work. Yes, WORK! And for the most part, I'm loving it. I feel so lucky to be working full-time FROM HOME, and to have Hannah coming every day. It's good for me, it's good for Austen, it's good for all of us. More on this topic later, I'm sure, but to summarize: 1. Things are good. 2. I'm very lucky.

That is all. For now.

Things That Have Occurred to Me in the Past 24 Hours

I keep remembering new behaviors that Austen exhibited for the first time during his 15th month of life which I neglected to mention in my 15 month update (or anywhere else—I haven't been writing in my little bedside journal regularly lately, either). I figure I'd better record them somewhere before I forget, and here seems as good a place as any. The main three that have come to mind in the past 24 hours:

• Blowing raspberries ~ I think this started while we were in Hawaii. I've been blowing raspberries on Austen's cheeks, hands, feet, and belly forever, but one morning after Austen got in bed with us he blew a raspberry on my belly. It totally cracked me up, which of course encouraged him to do it again. It's now his favorite playing-with-mommy game after...
• Bellybutton! ~ Again, this is something I've been doing with Austen for a while: every time he touches my bellybutton (or I touch his), I shriek "BELLYBUTTON!" Usually he'll press three or four times in a row, and each press gets a "BELLYBUTTON!" shriek. What's changed recently is that he's now acutely aware of his own bellybutton. He can locate it right away, and he'll often alternate between pressing his and pressing mine. He also likes to cover mine up and then go hunting for it again.
• Knock, knock ~ Austen started closing doors on us months ago, and I'd always knock on the door and ask, "is Austen home?" before opening it up for him. Now whenever he closes a door, he knocks (and then either twiddles the knob himself or waits for me to open the door). He knocks whether he's the one inside the room or outside it—I guess he just assumes that a knock is the precursor to opening a door.

In other news, I am happy to report that though my tendonitis isn't improving yet, asking Al to move the Clipper chair into Austen's room so I could put him to sleep while sitting down turned out to be a Very Good Move. The bedtime routine is now back to 5-10 minutes instead of 20-30, and there's no additional stress being put on my arm (or my nerves). The shorter, less stressful routinue meant that I had the energy for Pilates tonight, and I think that is something that could make a positive difference in the tendonitis situation. I could feel all the knots in my back when I was doing the Rolling Like a Ball exercise, and I felt more relaxed after completing the 20-minute workout.

What isn't going to help my tendonitis is Super Tetris. I hooked up my old PowerMac 7500 to the monitor with which my employer was kind enough to supply me, and in addition to finding a few missing avocado8 files on there, I also rediscovered Super Tetris—also known as Super Sucker of Time. I LOVE that game, and I can spend HOURS playing it. Or at least I could before I became a web/software geek and began spending 8-12 hours a day actively working on a computer. Thirty minutes of playing tonight had my right wrist and elbow in knots, sadly. I wonder if I can learn to play left-handed?

Sick AGAIN

We arrived safely home—but sick—from San Francisco on Sunday night. Austen caught a cold on his second day in SF, and he passed it on to me on Friday night. For some reason the version I got was more virlulent, and... well, you probably don't want to know the color or quantity of the goo I'm now hacking up with every coughing fit. Never have I been more glad that I work at home, where I can drag my laptop into the bedroom if necessary. (And if this shaking doesn't stop, it may soon be necessary.)

As I alluded to in my previous post, I totally underestimated how much work it would be to bring Austen with me to SF, even though Hannah was there too. How do regular work-outside-the-home parents do it? The childcare handoffs and mad dashes to and from the office are ridiculous.

I was glad to have Austen with me, and it wasn't *too* hard to bathe him and put him to bed each night (even though he cried through every bath, and on Friday night he went completely ballistic at bedtime, to the point where *I* was sobbing and begging him to JUST STOP CRYING). I'm also really glad he and Hannah got a chance to explore San Francisco, and that Austen and Ellen (Jean and Sho's daughter) got not one but TWO opportunities to play together. But for all that, I'm not sure I'd do it again. I guess it depends on the length of the trip, and whether Al is coming with us or not, but at the moment I'm thinking no.

Incidentally, we'd already decided before this trip that I'd be going to the Vancouver Tournament alone this year; now that Austen's walking, it's too hard to watch him at hockey games, and it'd be no fun for Al to chase Austen around all the time while I played. Plus, it's just damn expensive (not to mention difficult) to get from Philadelphia to Vancouver with a toddler. We decided we'd rather use the money to send Al on a weekend by himself, doing something he wants to do.

Anyway, at the moment work and sleep are my highest priorities, but I'll upload the few photos I took in SF (mostly of Austen rather than of the city itself) to Flickr as soon as I feel better.

The Potato Says...

I should preface this post by saying that I am more or less following a plan to get control of my mood swings, irritability, occasional bouts of depression, and generally erratic behavior, and that this plan involves eating a potato every night at bedtime. The potato is designed to boost my serotonin levels a bit—emphasis on a bit. Too much potato = too much serotonin = headaches and wild dreams. So this could all just be the potato talking.

Last night I dreamed I had breast cancer. I also dreamed that I went to visit my dear friend and former roommate Pat... who died of breast cancer in 1998. I can't remember if the two dreams were intertwined, or if one came before the other; I just know that both dreams were vivid and memorable.

Pat Dream: I have no idea where we were, except that it was wherever Pat happened to be living (or not living, as the case may be). There was another woman there whom I know I should have recognized, but I can't think now who she could have been. Anyway, I remember that Pat proposed going on a bike ride, and I said, "I almost packed my biking shoes and clothes because I thought you'd want to go for a ride... but then I remembered that my bicycle isn't here, so having the right shoes and clothes wouldn't help." Pat and her friend rode their bikes, and I kind of tagged along on foot. I remember trying to catch up with Pat, both literally (I was obviously slower on foot that she was on a bike) and in the "what have you been up to?" sense.

Breast Cancer Dream: I was in a doctor's office or hospital (though the chair I was sitting in was more like a dentist's chair) getting some tests done. I remember the doctor being really nice and very professional, and I remember him telling me all kinds of things about the test results and going over "options." I remember looking at (and getting a copy of) the test results. As soon as I left the office, however, I realized that we'd talked a lot about what seemed like breast cancer treatment options... but that he'd never actually said I had breast cancer. Did I have breast cancer???

I went back to the office and asked to see the doctor again. He'd gone out or into surgery or something and wasn't available. I asked to see someone else, but I couldn't get anyone's attention. I remember looking at the nameplates that were hanging on the wall beyond the receptionist's desk to see how many doctors were in the office.

The next major chunk of the dream was spent in trying to find someone, anyone, who could tell me whether I had breast cancer or not. It took a huge amount of time and effort on my part to find someone who wasn't busy—or who would even look at me. Finally I found a nurse practitioner who would give me the time of day. I remember she was blond, with a bob haircut (and now that I think of it, this archetypal woman has been in several of my dreams lately). I said, "I had a, um," and I totally couldn't remember the name of the test, so I waved my hand in front of my chest as I "ummmed".

"Mammogram?" she supplied.
"No, it wasn't a mammogram," I said. "There was no squishing involved."
"Oh, I know the test you mean," she said. I couldn't remember if she told me the name of it or not; if she did, I can't remember it now. I just remember that it involved lasers.
"Right, well, these are my results," I said, indicating a sheet with two lines on it, one much longer than the other. "Does this mean I have breast cancer?"
"Yes," she replied.

Oddly, I felt a little relieved—finally, I knew for sure. "Is it bad that my line [on the results] is so much longer than the normal, reference line?" I asked. The nurse rubbed her forehead with her hand, and I knew it *was* bad. "Jeez," I muttered. "Now everyone's going to blame me for not getting a mammogram. I'm 37, for chrissakes! How many mammograms do you really need in your life? And what do they do for you, anyway, besides scare the crap out of you?" [Aside: Pat got regular mammograms, and she had to go through several scares over what turned out to be fibroids... and they didn't catch what did turn out to be cancer until it was too late. She had some weird inflammation that the doctors wrote off as a 'systemic infection', but we suspect it was her lymph nodes getting attacked/trying to fight off cancer.]

The nurse replied, "mammograms are good for finding masses, but that's not what you have. I don't think a mammogram would have found anything for you." Just then a bell rang, like a school bell at the end of a period. The nurse said, "oh, 6:00, gotta go," and like everyone else pouring out of their offices at that moment, she turned and ran for the elevator. I was left standing there, wondering how the hell I was going to get down from the 39th floor with the elevators so jammed with people.

Of course, that wasn't the only thing I was wondering. As I made my way to the stairs with an idea of walking down to my office on the 37th floor (hello? I work at home) and working a while—at least until the elevators were clear—I started thinking about what my plan should be. Should I bother with chemo and radiation in an attempt to prolong my life, when those treatments were so likely to drastically impact the *quality* of my life? Or should I just try to live the best life I could for the next year or year and a half that I had left? I was leaning toward the latter when I slipped on some files someone had left on the stairs, landed at the bottom next to Jack Herrington's (my old cubemate's) cube, said hi to Jack, and then got lost looking for my cube because I didn't recognize the office at all after the Macromedia-Adobe merger.

I don't remember whether I woke up because I was lost, or because I heard Austen wake up in his crib upstairs. I just know that I heard Austen give his "I'm UP" squeak shortly after realizing I was awake. Both dreams were vivid and immediate in my head, as if I'd dreamed them simultaneously.

Unscrewy

It's been a busy week here, both workwise and familywise; I can barely keep up with my personal e-mail, and I obviously haven't had time to write here. If I owe you an e-mail response, please sit tight (or send me a reminder). I'm going to use the time I would have otherwise spent on answering an e-mail or two to give an update here before I forget all the things I wanted to say. Be warned: this is going to be a really random post.

[Oh FART! I just realized that I blew by the 17 month milestone. Geez, that's twice in a row! I'm not sure I'm going to bother writing one, since I've posted about a lot of the stuff that's happened this month already, and I was planning to mention a couple more things in this post anyway.]

For probably the past 15 years or so, I've coveted the non-childproof caps on prescription bottles. The child-proof ones are often impossible to open, and it seemed silly for someone who didn't have—or want—children to have them. They're the default, however; you have to ask for non-childproof caps, and even sometimes when you ask you don't get one. The pharmacists are just too used to reaching for the childproof ones, I suspect.

Weirdly, I continued to covet the non-childproof caps even after Austen was born. At first, it didn't even occur to me that I might actually need childproof caps now, and then when it dawned on me that, hey! I have a child!, I rationalized that Austen couldn't even crawl yet. He wasn't about to go messing in my nightstand without my knowledge. Of course, all that's changed now; Austen's perfectly mobile, very nosy, and excellent at unscrewing caps. When my latest supplies of Zyrtec and Levothyroxin arrived a while back with childproof caps on them, however, I still felt a pang of annoyance: why had I not remembered to ask for non-childproof ones?

As it turns out, the "childproof" caps on the bottles that Caremark sends aren't particularly childproof anyway, unless you make sure to screw the cap on very tightly and then check to make sure it's secure with a counter-clockwise twist. (They're also far too large for the amount of medicine in them, which seems like a waste.) Austen has gotten the top off the Levothyroxin bottle several times, which usually means several minutes of me scrounging around on the floor and reaching under the bed and nighstand to fish out tiny green pills. Thank goodness Austen hasn't shown any interest in eating the things as of yet. He's more concerned about why his shaker isn't working.

Last Saturday, as we were getting ready to head down to Al's parents' house, Austen brought his stepstool into the bathroom, where I stood in front of the sink brushing my teeth. Instead of plopping the stool in front of the toilet, he tried to bump me out of the way so he could put it in front of the sink. I finished unscrewing the head off the electric toothbrush and then moved out of the way. As Austen climbed onto the stool, I said, "do you want to brush your teeth?" He nodded, so I got out his little kid toothbrush and put some training toothpaste on it. He shook his head no and did the reach-and-whine for my toothbrush head. "You want to use Mommy's toothbrush?" I asked. He nodded, so I handed it to him. He stuck it in his mouth and went, "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee". Apparently he thinks *I* make that buzzing sound when I brush my teeth.

Austen has become enamored of late with reaching his hand back as far as he can and then bringing his palm to my chest. He knows he's hitting me, and I always tell him rather sharply "you do NOT hit Mommy." If I see him winding up, I'll grab his arm and tell him NO. Whether he gets the first whack in or not, after the reprimand he tries to push it a little by patting me a little roughly on the chest. It's not really hitting, but sometimes I give him the evil eye or another reprimand to let him know it's pretty darn close. Unfortunately, I didn't see him wind up when we were celebrating Al's dad's birthday at Woo Lae Oak on Saturday, and this time he slapped me in the face, hard enough to leave a red mark on my cheek (not to mention knock my glasses askew). Obviously we were out in public, and I have no desire to spank Austen, but there was definitely a grab of both of his hands and a dangerous growl in my voice when I told him that he was NEVER EVER, EVER TO DO THAT AGAIN.

On a related note, while I had already picked out a specific chair in our house to be used as a Naughty Chair, I had hoped we wouldn't be needing it until Austen was old enough to sit still and not try to climb out of it. Now I'm thinking that we may need to rig a child-proof seatbelt on the thing.

Austen and I are both sick again with sinus infections. I'd finally gotten rid of the last of the green goo from the one I caught in San Francisco in March (yes, it took four weeks!) when this one struck on Sunday morning. I suspect the Spring allergens are partly to blame for inflaming my entire respiratory system, and I also suspect that Austen has allergies, too. The doctor says he's too young to have seasonal allergies, but he shows all the signs: red, itchy eyes; sneezing; and numerous respiratory infections.

I finally pulled the trigger and registered for BlogHer. I waffled for a long time about whether I really wanted to go, especially since I'll probably end up standing in a corner and not socializing anyway, but I figured that it would be useful for a project my team is working on even if I didn't actually walk up to Eden and say, "hi, I'm the nut who sent you Prep; thanks for sending The Curious Dog in return." (I recommend both books, btw; writing reviews of them is yet another thing I haven't had time for lately.)

I'm going to fly out to SFO on Thursday July 27th and spend the day in the office, and then I'll head down to San Jose for the conference. I should be at the hotel sometime Thursday night. Sadly, I couldn't extend my trip—Austen, Hannah, and Al are all staying in Philly—so I'll be leaving from SJC early Sunday morning. If you'll be at BlogHer, too, come say hi. I'll be the one standing in the corner, being antisocial.

Procrastinating

I'm not sure why I have enough time to read through my old blogger archives, buy a new webcam, revive (and redesign) the webcam archives (formerly "the gallery of silly faces," now dubbed "a history of hair", though there are plenty of silly faces still in there), and otherwise procrastinate, but I don't have time to write about all the new words Austen has learned, the fact that my upper back is ABSOLUTELY KILLING ME, the list of things Austen has spilled this week, how going to bed earlier so I can get up and go for a walk ALONE in the mornings has changed my life, how much I've been missing Annie lately, Austen's long-overdue new shoes, or the last 5 hockey games I've played (not to mention the tournament I'll be attending at the end of this month), but there it is.

I'm reluctant to promise that a post about all the things I should've written about but haven't will be forthcoming this weekend, as I suspect my back is hoping for some time away from the three computers at my desk. I *did* manage to post all my photos of our Saturday in Intercourse, PA to Flickr, however, as promised.

We're A-Walkin'

There's been a lot of walking going on here at Casa Hylan-Cho. It started a couple weeks ago, when I finally figured out how to work some exercise into my day: go to bed earlier. (Duh! Although, as you've probably noticed, going to bed earlier means less blogging.) I now get up when Al and Austen do, put on my exercise clothes, and go out for a walk/jog/hop/whatever. Usually I end my route at a Starbucks, where I purchase a decaf short latte for the return home, but not always; yesterday, for example, I walked over to the Art Museum, ran up and down the steps, and then walked home.

I love being out in the brisk morning air every day, but I especially love being out on weekend mornings. With far fewer people rushing to work, the streets stay quiet until 8:30 or 9 at least, and it seems I have entire neighborhoods to myself. (Of course, I still get asked for directions by someone—it's a weird, magnetic thing I have—no matter how otherwise deserted the city may seem. I've taken to noting the location of and route to every museum, government building, Wawa, gas station, grocery store, and on-ramp I pass so that I'll be prepared for the next lost soul.)

I'm enjoying the morning walks so much that I wonder what took me so long to JUST GET OUT THERE. I think I must've been thinking of exercise with a whine in my mind, like exersiiiiize, as in the kind you'd get at the gym. This is different; I feel no obligation to sweat (though I usually do), or to run if I feel like walking, or to stay out for a particular length of time. I just pick a direction and go. I know I'm doing some physical good because I can feel my leg muscles responding, but I think the real impact may be on my mental state. I feel so freaking FREE walking around the city by myself, with no purse, no kid, and no stroller.

Speaking of strollers, I've written so rarely lately that I don't think I mentioned that the Zooper was a casualty of Watermelon and Prune Day. It's not like the stroller's completely ruined; I just can't figure out how to get the seat cover completely off so I can throw it in the wash, and I've been extremely slow to wash it by hand. Luckily we also have a Maclaren Triumph, which we used to use as our travel/mall stroller and which has now become our primary stroller. I like the Maclaren, but it pulls hard to the left—it'll practically do a 180 on sloping sidewalks—and at the moment my left shoulder is severely out of whack, making the stroller struggle painful as well as annoying. I'm thrilled when Austen's up for a walk without it... which these days is most of the time.

If I could figure out a way to carry a ton of packages *and* Austen, I wouldn't bother using the stroller at all anymore. Austen can easily walk the 5 blocks or so to the nearest Starbucks, and Trader Joe's, at two blocks away, is a cinch. The last couple times we went to the mall we didn't bring the stroller. (I must say, holding the mall-entrance door for a woman pushing a six year-old in a beat-up Graco while Austen trotted alongside Al made my brain do a double-take.) It even crossed my mind while I was out walking this morning that Austen might actually walk instead of riding in the backpack if we ever manage to get out and hike the Wissahickon Gorge like we've been talking about. (Of course, I'd bring the Kelty Kids pack just in case; I'd just be so happy not to be lugging 27 lbs. of baby in it most of the time.)

The only downside to jettisoning the stroller is that walking with Austen is a bit like walking a dog who stops to sniff every hydrant, mailbox, lamp post, and park bench. Most of the time I don't care too much; if we've got an hour to kill, why *not* stop and poke every parking meter? It only gets old when bathtime is 5 minutes away and we're still 3 blocks from home, and I can't extract Austen from the hedge he's stepped into. For the most part it's entertaining and fun, and I don't mind carrying Austen for a couple blocks when his legs get tired. It's a good chance to make forward progress, not to mention snuggle my super-cute kid.

Walking to Mother's Day brunch.
We brought the stroller this time because we didn't leave enough lead time for the leisurely, meter-beeping pace Austen prefers... although we didn't have to stuff him in it—against his will—until we got to 18th and Market.

As If My Ass Weren't Big Enough Already

I fell down the stairs AGAIN this morning. I was tiptoeing out of our bedroom so as not to wake Austen (who'd come down at six and then fallen asleep again), with my sneakers and socks in one hand and some cash and my Starbucks card in the other. I'd noticed on several occasions recently that when my feet are dry, the wood floors—and especially the wood stairs—become very slippery, so I should have been more careful here. Of course I wasn't; with my hands full I couldn't hold on to the railing.

The good news is that I'm tall enough that I once I've started to fall, I don't hit more than three or four steps before coming to a halt. If I were shorter, I might slide all the way to the bottom, but as it is, I usually end up sideways, jammed between the wall and the railing. The bad news is that I'm high enough off the ground to start with that when I land, I hit hard.

This morning I hit the first step high on my left butt and about halfway up my left forearm, breaking the skin on the latter and causing a huge, blood-filled knob to appear on the former. I'm proud of myself that I didn't yell—I only gasped—because it meant that I was putting my child's need to sleep before my own need to whine and cry like a baby. Yay, maternal instincts! I only managed to hold back the tears until I got down to the living room, however; the pain was extreme, and I could feel that stupid knob forming under my hand:

Yeah, just what my already-large ass needed: A large, painful, and asymmetrical lump!

Knob Update/Kid Update

The knob on my butt:

• is getting bigger, not smaller.
• has turned black at the bottom.
• is very tender.
• still looks like I'm trying to grow a third ass cheek.

The kid under my feet:

• started saying "thank you" out loud yesterday.
• now imitates us by shrieking "NOOOOOO" when he's about to do something he isn't supposed to do.
• can say "ball", "PITsa" [pizza], and "pasta", among other things.
• refers to every Sesame Street character, and the show itself, as "Elmo".
• will point to Cookie Monster, Big Bird, and Oscar correctly if you say their names.
• says "Elmo" and waves bye-bye at his bib (which might have Big Bird or Cookie Monster on it) when he's done eating.
• learned how to go down the steps at the playground using only his feet/legs and without holding a handrail yesterday. Which is more than I can say for myself.

Gruesome Injury Photos

It's difficult to show the injury to my butt without mooning the entire Internet (and even harder to photograph your own butt), but I think I've got something that's cropped enough to show some of the damage without violating any obscenity laws. Because of the cropping, it's hard to tell the relative size and position of the injury, so I'll do my best to describe it. The bruising you see is in a sling-like shape under the knob. In other words, the part that *isn't* reddish-purple is the center of the knob, and the swelling extends higher up my back than this photo shows. The left edge of the photo, just at the top of the bruising, is roughly where my tailbone is.

The photo of my arm is much less gruesome, mostly because the bruise is bluish-purple instead of reddish-purple.

Hannah had the brilliant idea of taking some Advil to help with the swelling, and although it still doesn't seem to be going down after 800mg of the stuff, the pain is much better. I just hope I can put on my hockey pants—and before that, endure two 3-hour flights—on Friday! I'll be taking a small pillow to stuff behind my back just in case...

Deep Cove (and Deep Bruise)

Before heading out to Deep Cove (the suggestion of the guy at the front desk) this morning, I took some more photos of the bruise on my butt. I think this one shows the damage pretty well, as well as the migration of the bruise into the previously-swollen area just above my tailbone. I think you can also see the knob pretty clearly, even though this photo was taken head-on (or butt-on, as the case may be...).

Meanwhile, Deep Cove was AMAZING. I should have followed my instincts and headed down there earlier; by arriving after 8am I managed to miss a bunch of seals playing close to the shore. If I'm up early enough tomorrow, I may go down there again. I'm uploading the photos I took to Flickr as we speak, so check the little thumbnails on the front page for the latest.

After taking lots of photos of the incredible mountain, water, and mist views, I followed the advice of one of the boat-rental employees and had breakfast at Honey's (actual name is Honey Doughnuts & Goodies, and it's on the right side of Deep Cove Road as you come down toward Panorama Park). The cranberry-peach bran muffin was excellent—really bran-y and not too sweet—and the small decaf latte was smooth as silk. Honey's also serves eggs (the special today was eggs benedict), french toast, and waffles in addition to their tasty selection of baked goods. Sandwiches and soups are also available at lunch, though breakfast is served until 4pm.

I'll be heading out in search of a new hockey bag as soon as I'm done uploading photos. More later!

Old

I don't feel old. I'm 37 and a half, but I feel like I'm still in my late twenties, and I'm told I don't look older than 30. Every now and then, however, just how long I've actually been alive and doing things hits me. Like this morning, when I was searching for a t-shirt to wear on my morning walk, and I hit on my bright pink Rugby Ball shirt... from 1989.

This is probably the only shirt I still have from college—it's held up *really* well, far better than the other UGA rugby shirts I talked about back in 2003—but I hadn't thought about how long ago college was until I was actually out walking. I tried to do the math: How many years ago was 1989? I kept coming up with 17, and that didn't seem right. Was I really old enough to have almost-adult memories from 17 years ago? No, definitely couldn't be right.

I did the math a few different ways ("let's see, 1996 was 10 years ago, and 1989 was seven years before that, so... hm, 17 again"), and then I considered my age. If I'm 37 now, how old would I have been in 1989? Yep, 20. College-age. Somehow, 20 just doesn't seem that long ago, and yet...when I was in college, the Web hadn't been invented yet. No one used cell phones. Only supergeeks used e-mail. I didn't work out or play sports. I was an English major who looked at people like they were crazy when they asked, "so, are you going to teach?", but who didn't have any other career ideas. I didn't want kids, and was ambivalent about marriage (the latter continued to be the case until a few months into my relationship with Al, and the former was true until about a year into our marriage).

It just seems odd now to be able to talk in terms of decades (or even scores!), to think that I was making decisions for myself, that I was running my own life, twenty years ago. Does this mean I am finally a grownup?

Craaaaap

The vision in my left eye is so kaleidescopic right now that it's difficult to see to type this, so don't be surprised if there are many typos. I'm going mostly by feel and what I can see out of my right eye. I'm having a crazy migraine—one that so far has produced not one but two bouts of blurry vision.

The usual progression of a migraine for me is:

1. Notice missing pixel or two in my forward field of vision.
2. Notice whole sections of scene missing.
3. Vision becomes kaleidescopic, mostly on one side. (Sometimes it seems as if it's on both sides, but it's almost always really on one.)
4. Kaleidescopic vision becomes so bad that it's dangerous to drive, especially if peripheral vision also goes on that same side (rarer). Can also be dangerous to walk, and it's definitely impossible to work (as I mentioned, I'm not seeing most of my computer screen right now).
5. Vision clears.
6. Ten to twenty minutes pass with no pain or vision problems.
7. Headache and/or neckache hits.

There are some variations, of course; with the last four or five migraines, for example, the blurry vision stage went so quickly I never had time to wonder if it *was* a migraine, and the headache never got bad enough to impair my normal routine (or make me want to sleep it off). Once after a hit to the chin that spun my head around in a hockey game, I got a migraine that was completely in my neck and shoulders (no headache at all, but really back neck and shoulder pain, preceeded by the blurry vision). This morning's double blurry vision session, however, is a new one on me. I got the headache/neckache as scheduled after the first blurry vision episode (which progressed so slowly—and coincided with my morning walk, when I was already squinting into the morning sun—that I didn't realize that I'd lost whole sections of my vision until someone greeted me with "good morning" and scared the heck out of me because I hadn't seen him coming), and then 90 minutes after the first episode started, the second launched. The first session included a loss of peripheral vision on the left, as evidenced by the fact that I knocked over a display of cookies on the Starbucks counter with my left hand when I reached for my coffee. I didn't even know what I'd hit until one of the packaged cookies rolled to my right.

I'm wondering if drinking caffeinated coffee—which I only do when I'm having a migraine because normally caffeine *produces* a headache—caused the second bout of blurriness? Or maybe it's just extra-raging hormones (the usual culprits in the migraine saga)? Whatever it is, it's a little scary.

Hm, interesting. The kaleidescopy has stopped now, but I see that I've still got a dark spot that's difficult to see through on the left. If I can't work through it, I may have to go back to bed for a while...

Update, 10:17am ~ Headache/neckache still present, shoulders now aching, too. Vision is better. Still fairly functional.

Caffeine Headache

I mentioned in the post about the migraine that usually caffeine causes headaches (though not usually migraines) for me. It's why I'm a dedicated decaf drinker, though I do worry that lately I've been getting more caffeine than usual given my now daily Starbucks runs. (Even decaf coffee has a little caffeine in it.)

Unfortunately, on Sunday I failed to double-check with the barista that the double-tall latte he handed to me was, indeed, decaf, and I didn't realize it wasn't until I was 4/5 of the way through the drink that it wasn't. When the headache hit, suddenly the reason for the oddly strong taste became clear. (I'd thought it was just too little milk, or that they'd brewed the espresso at too high a temperature.)

At first it just seemed like a normal headache, but by the time we got into the car to drive home from Maryland, it had all the hallmarks of a migraine except the blurry vision. In fact, the head and neck pain were worse than I had with the migraine on Wednesday, and the nausea was intense. Or rather, I should say that the head and neck pain *are* worse than I had with the migraine on Wednesday, because they haven't gone away. Yep, I've had a headache/neckache for three days now, and neither seem to respond to Tylenol or Advil (again, like a migraine).

I'm going to get a massage tomorrow morning to see if that will help, and I'm off caffeine of all kinds now (including decaf coffee and tea, since those cause a pain spike). I hope that one double-tall latte didn't ruin coffee for me forever.

BlogHer Panic Sets In

As I was getting dressed for my walk this morning, it occurred to me that BlogHer is only three weekends away... and I totally panicked. My first thought was, "I DON'T WANT TO GO," and then the following internal conversation ensued:

me: You do too want to go.
me: No, really, I don't. We just got back from Maine! That's enough traveling.
me: You're just chicken. You don't want to meet new people, you big pussy.
me: It's true, I'm chicken. I don't want to meet new people. I like the people I already know just fine; why complicate things? I object to the 'pussy' characterization, however.

I'm sure I'm not the only introvert who signed up for BlogHer in a moment of self-delusion. There are probably plenty of women who feel very confident when they're writing from behind a computer screen, plenty of women who feel like they know the bloggers whose names they regularly drop in conversation ("Mrs. Kennedy had this really interesting post on sugar the other day... Alice—you know, Finslippy—had a nightmare experience with her babysitter that totally brought back bad memories...Oh, no! Mainely Madge isn't going to make it to BlogHer!..."), plenty of women who feel that blogs and blogging have saved their lives, plenty of women who are now scared shitless that no one will really like the not-as-funny, not-as-skinny, not-as-hip, not-as-connected, not-as-extroverted, and still-somewhat-acne-prone real person behind the keyboard. In fact, we might actually outnumber the blog celebrities at the conference. We'll probably never know the power of our numbers, however, because we'll each be hiding behind a different potted plant.

More Iced Coffee, Please

[Yes, I'm drinking decaf again, though I'm back to the 3 or 4 parts milk:1 part coffee ratio I thought I'd evolved from when I went to short decaf lattes*.] I love my cozy little nook of an office in what I call the gallery, a 100" x 75" (yes, ", not ') space with a window at the top of the stairs, but goddamn is it hot up here. There's an air conditioning vent just to the right of my desk, and Austen's room (the doorway of which forms the boundary of my space), with its two vents, is bearable, but I think the three laptop computers + external monitor plus whatever physical law it is that makes heat rise are working against me. Oh yeah, and did I mention that the gallery is on the south side of the house? Phe-yew!

Speaking of my office and my oodles of hardware and wiring, I'm finding it hard to get back into the grind after our vacation to Maine. I'm fixing bugs and participating in meetings and all that, but I find myself daydreaming about what life was like before I went back to work. I suspect I'm thinking more of the year I took off before Austen was born (when I did a bit of contracting, a lot of housework, and whatever else I wanted to do, whenever I wanted to do it) rather than the 13 months of SAHMhood that directly preceeded my current full-time employment, though it'd be fun to go to the playground or music class or the pool with Austen, too.

I almost think that what would suit me best in the summer is working San Francisco hours. By that I don't mean working 10am to 7pm, as I did when I lived out there, but rather hours that coincide with when my San Francisco colleagues are in the office—roughly 12:30pm to 9:30pm EST. That would give me mornings free to tool around with Austen, run errands, etc., and it would mean that I'd be in front of my computer at the time of day when I feel most productive (usually from 5pm-8pm or so). Unfortunately, those hours conflict with dinner, bathtime, and Austen's bedtime, not to mention husband and wife time. Hrrm.

*When we were in Norwood, Mass. recently, I ordered an iced decaf tall latte at the Starbucks down the street from our hotel, and the employee who took my order called it out to the barista as an "iced decaf tall lotty." I haven't been able to get that particular Bostonardization out of my head ever since.**

**I think the urge to write randomly and with even-more-random footnotes comes from catching up with Mimi Smartypants, whom I only read a few times a year, yesterday.

I'm Just Antisocial

Eson asked in a comment on the shoes post, "what is this BlogHer that you and others talk so much about, and why not want to go?", and I was in the middle of replying to the comment when I decided that really, this demanded an entire post.

BlogHer is a conference for women bloggers (though men are of course invited, too). The idea is to get together and talk about blogging, learn from each other's experiences, get some technical tips, and, probably most importantly, meet the bloggers we read. I obviously do want to go—I signed up and paid for the conference, after all—but I'm just feeling a little freaked about about having to socialize. I usually manage OK when I get out in social situations (well, most of the time), but I get all angsty and stressed out ahead of any social event, and I usually have to be shoved out the door and locked out of the house so I don't just put on my jammies and crawl into bed.

If my dear friend and former roommate of five years, Pat, were still alive, she could testify to how many times she put a boot to my back and forced me out of our Arlington, VA apartment (and also how many times she heard me whine from the other side of the door, "oh, ohkaaaay. I guess I'll go have a good time.") For the record, I usually *did* have a good time, but that fact never decreased my anxiety or reluctance to leave the house. Heck, half the time I didn't socialize at all while out; I'd just listen to the band and try to preserve a bubble of personal space around me. Knowing that I didn't really have to talk to anyone also didn't decrease the anxiety, though, so you can imagine what knowing that I really do have to talk to people (if I want to get my money's worth, and if my stated main reason for wanting to go to BlogHer—to meet the bloggers I read—is really true) at BlogHer is doing to me.

I wasn't kidding when I said that there were probably zillions of other introverts who signed up for BlogHer in a moment of self-delusion. I actually think there are tons of us. In fact, I think that blogging probably appeals most to people who have an internal monologue going all the time, but who don't necessarily want to talk to other people (or who don't particularly like other people most of the time). I bet I'm not the only one who'd rather send an e-mail than pick up the phone (and who answers phone messages with e-mails whenever possible).

Also, I think that even many of the blog celebrities wonder whether anyone will really like them in person (or, if they're at least sure of their audience's adoration, they may wonder *why* everyone really likes them). I don't know if this is a woman thing or a blogger thing, or whether it's neither, or perhaps both (maybe this is something we can talk about while drinking around the hotel pool), but I suspect we're all of us a bit nervous. Maybe everyone else is nervous for different reasons than I am, but I suspect they're nervous nonetheless.

Me, I'm nervous for all the reasons I outlined in the BlogHer Panic Sets In post (though to be honest, I've been feeling pretty good in the body image department lately, and anyone who thinks my ass is fat or my hair is dorky can go to hell but please don't stare at the zits adjacent to my approaching-middle-age wrinkles), and for a few that I didn't mention in that post, namely:

1. If I drink at the evening cocktail parties, will I get drunk and feel crappy and then waste an entire day of the conference with day-after depression? (This is one of the reasons I rarely drink anymore: the next day depression can be CRUSHING.)
2. If I just have a glass of wine or a foofoo cocktail, will it throw my body into sugar shock and make me irritable (and once again a slave to sugar cravings)? I don't want to go back to that.
3. Will the cocktail parties by the pool be any fun if I don't drink?
4. Will I spend the cocktail parties by the pool fruitlessly trying to chat up people who look more lonely and lost than I do, being shrugged off by interesting people, and then just going back to my room to call Al, as I did at DevCon in 2002?
5. Will I be able to glean any useful information for a project at work/take any useful notes for said project and still be able to interact with other BlogHers? This worries me because I want to strike the right balance between work and play. What if I spend so much time taking notes that I don't actually participate? (This is my usual MO: Blog about or photograph the proceedings rather than participate in them.) Or, less likely, what if I'm having such a good time whooping it up with my new BlogHer friends that I don't collect any useful info for work?
6. Is the 6:30am flight to SFO, followed by a full day in the office, followed by a two-hour Caltrain ride to San Jose, followed by two days of BlogHer, followed by a 7:30am flight from SJC back to Philadelphia (via Denver, I think) overambitious? Am I going to be too exhausted to do anything fun while I'm at the conference, or worse, to handle work/home responsibilities when I get back?
7. Am I going to miss anything fun on Thursday night, while I'm riding the Caltrain down to SJC? (This concern is probably laughable, given all my other concerns about being social. :)

So there they are: my anxieties laid bare. Incidentally, I think this will be the first conference I've attended in a long, long time where I was not speaking in at least one session. Although I've gotten quite good at giving technical presentations on subjects I'm passionate about, I'm glad I don't have to deal with the feedback from the audience, both immediate (I had a woman cry in a JavaScript course I was giving once) and after the fact (I tend to take the comment forms to heart). I do feel like something's missing, however, knowing I don't have to get all my PowerPoint slides (or, more likely, my HTML facsimilies of PowerPoint slides) and handouts in order before I go. I just have to make sure I have all the computer equipment I need for that day in the office, plus my camera, memory cards, power cables, extra batteries, etc. Egads, add another anxiety: how am I going to fit all that crap into my backpack?

Deangstified

For anyone who's been following along with my tales of BlogHer anxiety, I have an update: I think talking about them here has really helped (hey, maybe that's why therapy works? hmmmm). That, and looking at photos of last year's BlogHer on Flickr. Doesn't look so intimidating.

So anyway, I am once again looking forward to going.

In other news, it is so freakin' muggy here today! We're having the kind of weather New Orleans is famous for—and can I just say that the weather is probably the #1 reason I don't live in New Orleans? Yuck.

HOT

Exhibit A: Scorching sunbeams

Exhibit B: New shoes

Wasp!

So I'm sitting here at my desk on the top floor of our house, quietly fixing bugs, when a bug of the actual insect variety suddenly FLIES RIGHT AT ME, out of nowhere. I shrieked, of course, especially when I realized it was a WASP. I finally got him with a rolled-up stack of source code printouts, but not before several misses that really seemed to piss him off. I'm still kind of freaked out. Where the hell did a WASP come from?

D:fiance

None of the hair products I currently own work quite right with my new haircut, so I decided to try d:fi, a product that a good friend's (ex-)girlfriend and Mrs. Kennedy happened to recommended in the same week back in March. I'm allergic to the vast majority of hair products, but tales of a piña colada scent sounded appealing (one of the few products I can tolerate smells like pineapple Life Savers, and in my mind piña colada = pineapple = no problem!), so I went in search of the stuff.

I finally located a salon in Philly that sells it last night, but it was closed, so I made another trip at lunchtime today (after using a standard three-weeks-plus-past-bleaching mix of the old Phyto Pro 8 gel—why, oh why, did they change the formula on this orange-rosemary-scented wonder?—and Laminates gel and letting my hair air-dry). When I returned with a jar of d:fi d:struct pliable molding creme (and some tuna salad, tomato and mozzarella salad, and an olive roll from DiBruno Bros.), I promptly stuck my finger into the pot.

I was expecting something hard and waxy, but my finger sunk all the way to the bottom of the jar; the consistency was more like warm canned frosting. I rubbed what clung to my finger as I removed it into the palm of my other hand and proceeded to smash it into my head. It's now 30 minutes later, and I have no hair product headache, I smell delicious, and my hair looks the way I want it to (really!). Mrs. Kennedy is right: shit is miraculous.

Why I Will Not Be Real-Time Blogging Today

I will not be real-time blogging today, a la amalah, because, although real-time blogging is often hi-fucking-larious, it will in no way calm me down, help me pack, or prepare me for BlogHer. Trust me: Real-time blogging only adds to the stress.

If I were real-time blogging, in this very space there would be a minute-by-minute account of how I:

• tried to save myself time by printing out my United boarding pass
• discovered that my printer is totally whacked and can only print crookedly
• tried to print to the basement printer instead
• got an error that the printer was "offline"
• tromped down three flights of stairs to investigate
• discovered that husband had unplugged printer from power and router in preparation for dismantling printer stand
• heard "click" sound while reconnecting printer and realized I'd accidentally knocked the button that puts the cable modem on standby
• re-engaged cable modem
• tromped up three flights of stairs
• tried to re-print
• discovered that putting the cable modem on standby—however briefly—totally fucked up the router and the wireless network, knocking all three laptops off the network (not to mention VPN)
• tromped back down three flights of stairs
• re-started cable modem and router/print server
• stomped up to kitchen for nuts to fuel my climb back up stairs
• continued up to top floor
• reconnected to networks and VPN
• re-printed boarding pass, which I will probably leave sitting on the printer in the basement instead of folding neatly into my carry-on bag.

Remember, the goal at the beginning of this scenario was to SAVE MYSELF TIME. God forbid I try to make up the time lost tromping up and down the stairs by MAKING A PACKING LIST or figuring out a minute-by-minute schedule of how I'm going to fix 17 bugs, paint my toenails, shave my legs, and pack my bags. Oh, hey look, my flight tomorrow morning leaves 20 minutes later than I thought. What WILL I do with all that extra time?

Wardrobe Change

I almost got all freaked out over possibly being the worst-dressed person at BlogHer (you mean my purple Adidas sneakers are too schleppy? a fitted t-shirt from REI is too casual?), but you know what? I'm not going to suddenly get a fabulous wardrobe in the next 5 hours, and I refuse to pack 5 pairs of shoes and every Prada shirt that Al's brother ever handed down to me just in case. (I'm already packing my walking sneakers and my Keen mary janes and wearing the aforementioned Adidas—or perhaps packing the Adidas and wearing the mary janes for airport security purposes—because I can't function without my morning walk, and the Adidas sneakers are more for moseying than for serious exercise-walking.)

I'm a frickin' jeans-and-t-shirt-wearing software engineer/mommy blogger, damn it. And I'm packing light!*

*Well, light for me. Backpack with two laptops, camera, and snacks plus carryon with various chargers, a few articles of clothing, two pairs of shoes, toiletries, meds, and makeup (DUDE! I wear makeup 9 days out of 10, even though I work at home, and this weekend I'll be OUT IN PUBLIC).

Short Attention Span

First, let me say: You know it's going to be a scorcher when you're forced to seek the shady side of the street at 7:30am. Phew! Second: This isn't a humorous post, and it'll probably be totally boring to everybody but me, but I wanted to write about this subject, SO I AM. Feel free to move along.

So I got to thinking on my walk this morning about attention span. Mine, when I am working, vacillates between horrifically short and "oops, I forgot to eat lunch". The former happens if I am forced to wait more than 3 seconds* for anything—a file to download, a page to load in a browser, an application to open, an executable to build—and can quickly spiral out of control. For example, if I attempt to visit a site and it takes more than a few seconds to load, I'll switch to Outlook to check my e-mail. There I'll see a message about some bug or other, and I'll switch to the debugger to check it out. Once in the debugger I'll realize that I need to sync to the head and rebuild before I can reproduce the bug, so I'll switch to Perforce and sync. This will take more than 3 seconds, so I'll switch back to Outlook and read the rest of my mail.

If I'm lucky, I'll finish reading my mail and remember that I was syncing to the head, go back to the debugger, and start a build. (Sometimes I'm not lucky, though, and I'll switch to one of my other laptops to look at my personal e-mail or a blog or to see where I left off fixing a Mac bug, or I'll get sidetracked by another e-mail.) If I press F5 (for Start Debugging) and the "these projects are out of date, would you like to build them?" dialog takes too long to come up—or worse, it goes behind another app when I turn my head to take a sip of coffee—I'll end up reading more e-mail, realizing that the site I originally tried to load has finally loaded, or go back to reading blogs before I notice that the build never started. When I finally do notice that the build never started and press OK in the sneaky dialog, I'll be all exasperated over the wasted time and then proceed... to waste more time (or, as I think of it, "do other productive things instead of wasting time waiting for a build").

Now, all of the things I've been doing while waiting for that page to load in the browser or for the build to finish needed doing (well, maybe except for reading the blogs), but because I didn't stay focused on any one thing for very long, I've left a lot of loose ends hanging. Once in a while I tie them all up by the end of the day, but not always; sometimes it takes two or three days before I reach the end of all the threads.

At the opposite end of the scale are days when I practically have my nose pressed to the screen, and I get so absorbed in coding that I don't notice that I haven't read e-mail all day or even gotten up to pee. These days are rarer at the moment because I happen to be working on features and bugs that require me to switch between Dreamweaver, one or more browsers, and MSDev constantly... and as we just learned, app switching is the quickest way to send me off on a mental tangent. I think my ability to stay focused is indirectly proportional to the number of laptops on my desk and the number of applications/windows that each machine has open, and if that's the case, at the moment I'm doomed. I've got 17 items in my Windows taskbar on this machine alone (5 Windows Explorer windows, MSDev, Jabber, P4, 3 Araxis merge windows, Outlook, Firefox [with 8 tabs open], Timbuktu, a remote access window to a machine in San Francisco that's running IE5.5, Dreamweaver, and a Trillian IM window); a similar situation exists on the MacBook Pro and on my personal laptop (which I occasionally use to reproduce bugs in older versions of some software). Add to the mess the fact that the more applications I have open, the slower everything runs, which means longer waits, which means more app-switching. Arg!

I remember back in 2002 or 2003 someone on the team sent around a link to an article about having blocks of "concentration time." If I remember correctly, it said that in order to get any real work done, engineers needed blocks of at least X hours (was it 2? 3? 4? I think 3) of uninterrupted coding time. Occasionally I get that, and when I do, I'm SUPER productive. For example, I fixed a bunch of bugs (6? 7?) on the plane to San Francisco last week under totally adverse conditions (cramped space, no external mouse, slow build times due to running on battery). What I would also normally consider an adverse condition—lack of phone or Internet access—probably worked in my favor, as it kept me from being distracted by meetings, e-mail, or blogs. I can't just unplug my network cable on a regular basis, however, as I usually need access to the bugbase, documents on the server, Perforce, etc. to get my work done. Fixing 6 or 7 bugs just based on the bug subject lines (as I did on the plane) isn't doable on a regular basis.

The good news is that my insanely productive times balance out my super-distracted ones, and I end up getting all my work done just fine. However, I'd really like to get my app-switching obsession under control. I think it's time to recognize that I'm better off waiting 5-10 seconds for a page to load or a file to download than trying to make good use of the lull by doing something else. I figure I could increase my productivity at least 50% this way, and then I'd have *more* time for reading blogs and books and spending time with my family and watching TV. I'm still trying to sort out how to do this, however. Turning e-mail off entirely usually helps (though turning off the little "you have mail" indicator in the system tray does not—I just end up switching to Outlook more often to see if I have any new mail), as does turning off Jabber and Trillian. The problem is that I telecommute, and if I weren't available on e-mail and IM, that would be Bad. Still, I might consider doing it for a couple hours a day, after all my meetings are done for the day (if Outlook isn't on, I won't get meeting reminders).

Anyway, it's probably worth thinking about further. If anything brilliant occurs to me, I'll be sure to post it here, where no one will want to read it. :)

*Can you imagine what life was like when all Internet operations happened at modem speed? I honestly can't remember how I managed my restlessness back then, though it was probably by getting up for food or coffee.

Yes, Captain

As a kid, I was NOT a fan of Star Trek. I WAS a fan of Star Wars, and it used to bug me royally when people would confuse the two or mistake me for a Trekkie. After I married Al, however, Star Trek started to grow on me a little. It's still probably not a show I'd ever watch on my own, but I enjoy watching it with Al, who explains all the relationships between the characters and the significance of the plots, the gadgets, and the locations to me as we're watching. I like that he likes it, and that I can understand each episode without having to watch every other episode. His enthusiasm for it is contagious, at least for the duration of an episode.

So all that's by way of saying, if I'd come across this quiz on ratphooey's blog before I met Al, I would have just moved on to the next blog in my RSS reader. But because I read it today, after almost 4 years of marriage to Al and a good number of Star Trek episodes from each generation, I clicked the link to take the quiz. Here are the results:

Interestingly, the first time I took it, it came up as a tie between completely expendable redshirt guy and Jean Luc Picard, but for some reason redshirt trumped Picard, and I only got to see the description of Mr. Expendable. After reading the description, however, I figured out which factor to adjust*, and I knocked it down a notch to get the Picard description, which actually sounds a bit more like me. :)

*I'd put ABSOLUTELY YES for "Do you often go unnoticed?", which was probably a stretch. My reason for doing so was that people often bump into me—physically bump into me—and then seem startled, like they hadn't seen me walking down the street toward them until they ran right into me. However, I think it's not an ABSOLUTELY YES situation, since there are probably ten times as many people who *do* notice me as who slam into me as if I were invisible. Thus I think the Picard designation is probably the right one, and Expendable Guy probably shouldn't even be ranked as high as he is.

Five Things

Just made my weekly visit to foggyknit's site and realized I'd been tagged for this:

Five things in my freezer:

1. Three boxes of Morningstar Farms veggie sausages, which Austen and I love
2. Trader Joe's tropical fruit medley, for smoothies
3. A bazillion different kinds of frozen vegetables
4. Three ice packs and two First Aid Friends (small icepacks shaped like teddy bear faces), which Al and I call boo-boo buddies in violation of somebody's trademark
5. Four Smart Ones meals that I will probably never get around to eating.

Five things in my closet (my clothes closet in the bedroom):

1. A gorgeous new BCBG Max Azaria dress that made me feel SO PRETTY that I couldn't *not* buy it
2. A beautiful full-length satin purple skirt about which I said the same thing four years ago, and have yet to wear
3. My Starbucks card, $5 in cash, and my Metropolitan Bakery bread card, which I take with me on my morning walks
4. A bunch of baby sweaters on hangers that will probably be too small for Austen by the time it gets cold enough to wear them
5. 5 pairs of pants that don't fit right, and 3 that do.

Five items in the car:

1. Three CDs labeled Austen Car II, Austen Car III Disc One, and Austen Car III Disc Two. We're still trying to figure out his musical tastes.
2. A compass, just in case.
3. An emergency diaper and wipes.
4. A box of Kleenex.
5. Four half-drunk water bottles.

Five items in my purse (I just cleaned it out, so these five items constitue almost its entire contents):

1. Visine Tears eye drops
2. $42 in cash
3. An Elexa condom purse that I got at BlogHer, and that I'm using for a change purse instead
4. My Adobe ID (and Juliana's, which I borrowed for its Caltrain sticker)
5. Natural Ice lip balm.

Tagging Val and ratphooey (who probably already did this two years ago).

The Dress (and The Shoes)

Because you asked so nicely.

That Settles It

I was already pretty sure that I didn't want to drive down to North Carolina in what is already turning out to be an overscheduled October for my 20th high school reunion, but the invitation addressed to Lori Cho that arrived today cemented it for me. It just confirms that my classmates don't have any idea who I am.

Yes, Siree

Suddenly it's clear to me why grocery-store checkers say, "thank you, sir" when handing me my receipt. I can't blame ratphooey for my haircut or my bone structure, but I *can* blame her for linking to this:

Also, do you think it's just a coincidence that Patrick Stewart is in my celebrity look-alike array?

Sisters

Al took this photo of my sister and me with his cameraphone a couple weekends ago. Even though it's not the most flattering snap of either of us, I love it. Maybe it's the way we're interacting, or the fact that we're looking at the photos she took earlier that day, or that you can kinda see the resemblence between us. Whatever it is, I'm so glad he captured it.

Heath Hubris

Whatever could have possessed me to brag to my allergist that I hadn't used my rescue inhaler more than twice since I'd last seen him (3 months before), and that I'd stopped taking the Advair entirely—especially on the eve of the fall allergy season? Not two days after that visit, I started having trouble breathing, even though I followed his suggestion to start up the Advair again. Al thought it might be *because* of the Advair, which seemed a plausible theory, though it could just as easily have been the huge stalks of ragweed growing in our vegetable pots on the back deck.

About two weeks ago I caught a cold, and that's when the difficulty breathing *really* set in. The cold's mostly cleared up now, and my bronchi have finally loosened their grip on the clear goo they excreted in a panic during the first few days of the malady, but of course that means I still have to cough the shit out. And cough I have. The last two mornings I've been awakened by tight-chested coughing and wheezing fits that have had me fumbling in my nightstand for my inhaler just so I can breathe deeply enough to go back to sleep.

I love fall—it's definitely my favorite season—but this asthma and allergy stuff totally sucks. I hate being on medication, I hate being sick, and most of all, I hate the feeling that I am drowning or being strangled or sat upon. God, I hope The Beaner doesn't inherit my asthma. He started showing signs of seasonal allergies about a year ago (despite the fact that our pediatrician says that he's too young for them), and he's been rubbing his eyes and sneezing for a couple weeks now (though he doesn't have a cold). Please, please don't let him be doomed to twice-yearly guaranteed bouts of bronchitis or pneumonia. I promise I'll be good next time, and not brag about my ability to take a deep, medication-free breath.

Good News, Bad News, and Getting Organized

The Good News: My MOO cards came yesterday, and they're SPECTACULAR. For some reason my Flickr buddy icon didn't print as requested, but most of the photos came out great. (See below for the details.) The cards are made of that wonderful plastic-coated pearl-finish paper that's used for trade paperback book covers these days (though these feel even thicker than a book cover), and they're positively divine to rub between your fingers. I can't wait to stick a few in my pocket when I go out shooting next—I've been dying to print up little calling cards with my Flickr URL on them so I could give them to the people I photograph, and these are absolutely perfect for that (especially since they have my photos right on them!).

One tip when you're choosing photos to go on the cards: The cropping tool that lets you figure out what part of the image you want to appear on the little rectangular cards is a bit off. If your image would not look as good with slightly more cropping than shown, choose another. I chose 22 different images, and two didn't work at all with the slight bit of extra cropping. Another six images didn't translate as well to the rectangular format as I'd hoped, 11 were so fabulous I ordered another set with just those right away, and 3 more were very nice, but not worth getting extra copies. Here are two photos of the ones I liked best (click to see larger versions on Flickr):

The Bad News: I was supposed to have my first (their second) practice with a new hockey team last night, and despite having looked forward to it for four days, I totally flaked and missed it. I think part of the problem was the new childcare arrangement we started yesterday, which meant that Hannah wasn't here for me to regale with tales of HOCKEY, HOCKEY, HOCKEY all day, and part of the problem is that I was just overwhelmed with an endless work/personal finance/travel planning to-do list. Al, Jess, and The Beaner all came in the door at once last night while I was desperately trying to finish fixing a bug, and hockey went right out of my head. I didn't realize until 9:30pm, after we'd gone for a walk, bathed The Beaner, and put him to bed, that I'd missed the practice (which ran from 7:15-8:45). When I realized it, I cried for over an hour. (Sadly, I am not exaggerating. I really, truly, cried for over an hour... as much because missing hockey was a symptom of my overloaded, overwhelmed state of mind right now as because I MISSED HOCKEY.)

This morning, in an effort to try to get organized and prioritize my to-do list properly, I'm trying Al's method of using the Outlook Task List. (I also set up an Outlook reminder about hockey practice that's set to go off at 5:45pm every Monday night.) Up til now, my to-do list consisted of a bunch of pieces of paper—notebook paper, sticky notes, bills, statements, prescriptions, brochures—and browser tabs open to various maps, blogs, articles, bug reports, Perforce diffs, recipes, and shopping sites. I'm not sure if it's going to work for me, but at least I can put my ENTIRE to-do list—the one that includes personal, home finance, and work items—in one place. I've been reluctant to mix personal and work stuff, which is why I'm constantly switching back and forth between two laptops (three, if you count my work Mac), but I'm realizing that a small concession can (and perhaps must) be made in the interest of staying organized. The details (e-mail, blogs) can stay on my personal machine, but the synopses should go in my Task List if I am ever to prioritize everything properly—and, more importantly, get it done.

I'm excited at the prospect of possibly becoming more efficient and productive. I'm also still sad as hell that I won't be able to play hockey for another two weeks. Hopefully, I'll get over that soon.

Happy Birthday to Me

I'm still at MAX, dashing around trying to get to sessions and worrying about whether I'll be able to get my suitcase out of check in time to catch a cab to the airport in time for a 4pm flight, so I keep forgetting it's my birthday. I'm 38 today! Happy birthday also to my former colleague Victor Grigorieff, and to Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Maybe She's Born With It

As I suspected would happen, I'm actually finding it harder to blog on the weekend, when I theoretically have no other obligations, than I do during the work week, when I'm supposed to be, well, working. I can think of plenty of things to write about on the weekends, but finding the time to actually write about them is difficult because I'm on parent duty, and I don't want to be too selfish with my personal time. I already take advantage of Al's goodwill by baking, cleaning, reading, or running quick errands whenever I can on weekends. At the moment we're all in the basement, watching Kipper the Dog and other PBS Kids Sprout shows On Demand while The Beaner plays at our feet. Earlier today we walked to Reading Terminal Market and then did some shopping on Walnut Street together; while we walked, I composed the review of my new Fuji Finepix F30 in my head and discussed the outline of it with Al. I hope to get that written up tomorrow.

Today my post is about makeup. Because before we left for our walk this morning, I was standing in the bathroom, looking at the array of beauty products jumbled on the counter and wondering if anyone would care which products I used. Two things were running through my head simultaneously: (1) Such a topic sounds more like a LiveJournal meme than one of the writing prompts in Maggie's book (which I admit I've only read bits of; after this idea, it'd probably be a good thing if I won a copy of Maggie's book for participating in NaBloPoMo, and if I don't, I'm going to buy one myself), and (2) I wonder if anyone would still say "albino—needs to wear makeup or something" when I *am* wearing makeup, as happened to me in 11th grade.

So, without further ado, here's what's on my bathroom counter. What's on yours?

1. L'OREAL Visible Lift foundation in Soft Ivory (102).
2. Tea tree oil from Trader Joe's (used on zits).
3. Shiseido eye pencil in purple. I've been using this pencil (well, not this exact one; I've obviously bought replacements every couple years) since my mom got one for me for my birthday when I was in 8th grade.
4. No-name brand eyelash curler. Should have stuck with Revlon.
5. Neutrogena Rapid Clear salicylic acid acne treatment. I hate the smell of this stuff, but it's effective. Neutrogena stopped making the similarly-formulated but fragrance-free—and much larger—Clear Pore gel I used to use, and I'm allergic to benzoyl peroxide, so my options are limited. It royally pisses me off that I still get zits at age 38, especially with combination normal/dry skin.
6. No-name large brush for dusting off extra loose powder.
7. Neutrogena Skinclearing oil-free concealer. Another zit-fighter. It works to conceal zits for a couple days, and then my skin dries out so badly that it peels, and I'm left with a red mark that I can't quite cover up properly (though I try with #17).
8. Maybelline Expertwear eyeshadow in Crown Jewels. I wear eyeshadow probably 4 or 5 days a week; this is my choice about 60% of the time.
9. Maybelline Expertwear eyeshadow in Vanilla. I got this when I saw Carmandy on What Not to Wear repeatedly recommend brushing a sparkly white shadow just under your eyebrows and around your tear ducts to "really open your eyes". I almost never use it. I use the tray of Champagne shadow that's in #21 more often, usually on days when I don't feel like doing my eyes up nicely but don't want to look tired.
10. Maybelline Expertwear eyeshadow in Almond Truffles. This is the neutral shadow I wear 40% of the time that I do up my eyes nicely.
11. Trish McEvoy Sheer Blush 3 from 11 or 12 years ago. My friend Stacia Lynds was a makeup artist working for Trish McEvoy back when we both lived in the Washington, DC area, and I happened to stop in to Nordstrom one day after work when she was there doing makeovers. There was a lull in the foot traffic because it was dinner time, so she asked if she could do me. I said yes. When she was finished I wanted to buy something because she'd spent so much time on my face, so I got the blush she'd used. I wasn't convinced it was the right color for me, however, so I didn't start using it until about 2002, as an experiment. (I'd pretty much gone blushless since high school because everything I tried looked garish on me.) The first day I wore it, two women at work asked me if I'd lost weight because my face looked thinner. I was a devotee from that day forward. As you can see if you look closely, however, it's almost gone.
12. Trish McEvoy blush in Pick Me Up, bought about a month ago to replace the depleting Sheer Blush 3... which sadly (though not surprisingly), Trish doesn't make anymore. Pick Me Up is a little less sheer and a bit pinker, but Al says it looks great on me—very natural.
13. Revlon powder brush, used to apply blush.
14. Maybelline Great Lash mascara in Soft Black. I wear this non-waterproof mascara every few days, whenever I think it's unlikely that I'll cry, get wet, or play hockey.
15. Maybelline Great Lash waterproof mascara in Soft Black. My standard mascara; it's pretty bulletproof, which also means it doesn't come off all the way every night, and tends to accumulate. Hence the application of the non-waterproof variety, or no mascara at all, every few days.
16. L'OREAL Translucide loose powder in Translucent (956).
17. Almay Kinetin undereye concealer, used on zits when #7 causes major peeling. I never use it under my eyes.
18. d:fi pliable molding cream (for my hair). Technically not makeup, I know, but if my husband ever uses this list to determine which items to pack for a surprise weekend away, I want him to include the d:fi.
19. Cover Girl eye pencil in Midnight Black. Used when I'm not feeling the purple, or when I'm really angry. (I tend to go heavy on the eye makeup when I'm angry.)
20. Neutrogena Active Copper 20 SPF moisturizer. On days when I'm too lazy to bother with applying foundation, I'll just mix a bit of foundation in with my moisturizer and distribute as evenly as possible.
21. My makeup travel bag (a quart size Ziploc freezer bag). It's currently holding a small jar of foundation, a small jar of powder, a small Clinique sample jar into which I've put some Neutrogena Active Copper night cream, the Champagne eyeshadow, and a bottle of Optcon allergy eyedrops (never leave home without 'em).

Not pictured: What I take all this crap off with; namely, Olay makeup-removing towelettes and a homemade version of Neutrogena's discontinued alcohol-free toner (I'm allergic to the fragrance in the line that replaced it). My version of the toner is witch hazel with some glycerin, some tea tree oil, a drop of peppermint oil, a drop of rosemary oil, and in winter, a bit of olive oil.

Edited to add: I don't carry a bit of this stuff in my purse, btw. I apply my makeup in the morning and then forget about it. The only makeup-related items you'll find in my purse or pocket are a Natural Ice Original Flavor SPF 15 lip balm and, if I'm going somewhere fancy, a Neutrogena lip gloss in Coy. (I actually have a lip balm in a pocket of every jacket, vest, purse, or bag I own. There's also one in the kitchen, on my desk, in my nightstand, and in the car. I can't live without it.)

Christmas Lists

I should be clear up front that I am *not* soliciting gifts with this list; rather, I'm just trying to have one spot where my family can go to find out what kinds of things are on my wish list (year-round, not just at Christmas time). The dilemma I've always had at birthdays and Christmas is that pretty much anything I wanted that was under $200 I'd already bought for myself, and anything over $200 was too expensive to request of anyone else. This year, however, I realized that there are a few lower-priced items that I always want or need but that I'm often too lazy to shop for myself, or that I buy in bulk once or twice a year, and as goofy as it sounds, I'd love to unwrap my favorite shampoo or a 12-pack of my favorite lip balm on Christmas morning.

So here's what's on my wish list this Christmas:

1. ~H2O+ Mint Ice Shampoo and Mint Ice Body Wash, both of which appear to be out of stock on the ~H20+ website at the moment. I bought sample sizes of these for my post-partum hospital stay and then got hooked. I stocked up when the ~H20+ store at the King of Prussia mall closed and they sold their entire stock at 50% off, but I'm now down to a single bottle of body wash in the closet.

2. Natural Ice Medicated Lip Protectant. I haven't been able to find this in any brick and mortar store in a couple years, so I usually order five or six of them when I order our replacement HEPA filters from drugstore.com. The site stopped carrying the filters about six months ago, however, and for some reason it feels weird to order just the lip balm, so I'm running low. Even if I weren't, however, I can never have enough of these; I have one in every coat pocket, in every bag and backpack, in the car, in the stroller, on my desk, and in my nightstand, and several of them usually run out at once.

3. Anything from my Amazon.com wishlist, especially the higher-priority items. (I just discovered that my favorite tea, for example, is available—in bargain bulk, no less—from Amazon, so there's no need to list it separately here.)

4. I can *always* use a Starbucks card (though I love the coffee, I already have a large stock of beans at home, so those I don't particularly need—it's more about the daily hot or iced drink, plus a Vanilla Milk for The Beaner). I also spend a ridiculous amount of money at Gap, Gap Body, and Baby Gap.

As for what The Beaner might like for Christmas, I've started an Amazon wish list for him, too. At the moment it mostly has books and Thomas trains on it; I'll add other things as I think of them, though I (and probably even he) would have no objections if he only received books for Christmas. He got a lot of great toys for his birthday, and I think it'll be a while before he tires of playing with any of them.

UPDATE: We all LOVE the battery-powered Thomas engine Al gave him for his birthday; it tows all the other wooden cars behind it (or pushes them in front) and makes for the cutest little train scene. Thomas is having trouble pulling all of the cars himself, however, so I've put a battery-powered James on his list. I've also added some sticker books, as he loves looking at and playing with the one sticker book he has now.

Al has made a couple Christmas requests, but as his list is quite short at the moment and I want to reserve the right of first purchase, I won't repeat what he's requested here. If he comes up with a longer list, I'll post it. :)

UPDATE: I'm still reluctant to post any of the gift ideas I have for Al. (He always claims he doesn't really know what he wants, so how could I possibly know? BECAUSE HE TELLS ME what he wants, all year long, and I write down what he says. I also check his nightstand for pages he's torn out of TIME magazine; sometimes they'll have reviews of books or products he's interested in on them. (The books I get from the library whenever I can, though.) These are his real wish lists: the one I keep track of, and the pile of pages torn out of TIME. The wish list he keeps on Amazon.com is essentially irrelevant because it's horribly out of date (he already has most of the items on it).

Here are a few hints, though: Al loves shopping at Home Depot and IKEA, and he's not a fan of knick knacks or clutter. He likes gadgets, but they have to be specific gadgets that he's taken a fancy to; you're better off not guessing here. He's a big fan of Bill Clinton's. He likes politics, sports, and travel. He's a Pittsburgh Steelers and Boston Red Sox fan. He's in need of a bike helmet (I'm not buying him one because he'd need to try it on to make sure it fit, but a gift card to a place that sells bike helmets, such as REI, would work). He loves watching television and DVDs, but at the moment he's got more DVDs than he can keep up with, so he's imposed a moratorium on buying any more.

Failed Experiment #52, Makeup Edition

Since I regularly mix a bit of foundation with my moisturizer, smear it on my face, and call it makeup, I was intrigued when I saw Neutrogena Healthy Skin Enhancer Tinted Moisturizer on drugstore.com. I was shopping during the 20%-off-your-entire-order sale, so I bought one. Unfortunately, "Light to Neutral" turned out to be about 40 shades darker than my actual skin tone, and I didn't realize that drugstore.com guaranteed the color of makeup, so I threw out the packing sleep (<-Freudian sleep there, I guess) slip I'd need to return it.

Anyway, undeterred, I went to CVS last night to see if there was a lighter color of the stuff. There was; in fact, there were two shades that were lighter than the one I'd ordered. I went with the lightest, Ivory to Fair. Alas, still too dark by several shades:

Does anyone want a bottle of tinted moisturizer in Ivory to Light (10) or Light to Neutral (30), each used only once? I'd rather mail them to a reader than have a Freecycle stranger come all the way to my house for a bottle of makeup.

About Me

I spent TWO HOURS today trying to write a short bio for myself. I'm still not finished. Why, oh why can I not adequately describe my current position, experience, and expertise in three or four brief sentences?

Why I'm Working on Replacing My Wardrobe

Have I mentioned that I'm in the process of replacing my entire stock of tops (shirts, sweaters, etc.) with offerings from Gap Tall? I'm doing this because now that I have three shirts whose sleeves reach my wrists, I WANT MORE. Suddenly all the shirts and sweaters that have always been a little short in the torso and the arms look even more ridiculous than they did before, because now I know that there's an alternative.

I used to complain about how nothing ever fit me, but somewhere along the line I got used to it. Somewhere along the line I also acquired a bunch of tops purchased from the men's racks at Gap and Old Navy (one of which I'm wearing right now), which solved the too-small-in-the-arms-torso-and-shoulders problems I was having, but which did nothing to make me look like a girl. Most of the time I look like a teenage boy, which is probably why it's not surprising that Aura pointed out to me, when I went downstairs to get something out of the laundry room and found Aura and the Beaner reading books, that whenever the Beaner sees a the pre-teen boy hopping over the fire hydrant on page 3 of Tana Hoban's over, under & through, he says, "dat Mommy!"

Fig. 1

I am doing my best to pick out girlier options on the Gap Tall website, though I do still find myself gravitating to the simple t-shirts and thermals commonly found in the closets of teenage boys. I should also note that a couple attempts to go girly have been foiled by other tall shoppers with faster mousing fingers than I—apparently size M and L go VERY quickly among the tall—and that the Gap doesn't always have the widest selection of girly options. Ideally I'd find another online tall store that let me return anything that didn't fit my body or my style to a local brick-and-mortar store, as Gap does, so I could have a wider array of fashion options. (I'm done with returning purchases by mail.) Any suggestions?

For Julie: Long, Thick Hair

Julie commented almost instantaneously on my last post, asking that evidence of my long, thick hair be presented. I actually went searching through my mom's old photo albums when I was at her house last weekend looking for evidence of bershon, but I discovered that mom had thrown most of them out. Sadly, she assumed nobody would want to see me with a sour teenage bershon face, so she didn't even check to see if I wanted them.

Anyway, my point is that I could have produced PLENTY of evidence of long, thick hair last weekend, when I had access to my mom's photo albums, even if there was only one decent shot of bershon (saved only because it was a cute photo of my cousin). Today, since I'm at my house, I had to go digging. I hit a relative jackpot, though: My mom *did* send me a bunch of old school photos a couple years ago; at the time, I promptly stashed them in my Memorabilia Box and forgot about them. For your amusement, I now present my 6th, 7th, 8th, and 11th grade school photos. (My high school in Needham only photographed seniors, so I have no school photos from 9th or 10th grade. The unfortunate photo at bottom, however, was taken when I was in 10th grade. I have an even better one from 10th grade that I brought into work for a "when we were kids" photo array a few years ago, but I can't find it right now.)

6th grade
Slight shoulder stoop in evidence. In 5th grade they thought I might have scoliosis, but it turned out to be slight sheepishness.

7th grade
<sigh> braces.

8th grade
The unfortunate perm. I took a photo from a magazine to my hairdresser, who tried to approximate it (after warning me that my hair was not the same, blah blah blah). It took YEARS for my hair to recover.

11th grade
Clearly the 80s. This was my favorite school photo by far (6th grade was my second favorite).

10th grade
Me and my friend Kristin in the cafeteria. Yes, I'm wearing tiny running shorts.

Cramped and Upset

I actually have a lump in my throat right now and feel ready to cry... over mouse software. It's bad enough that MouseWorks, the software that drives my beloved Kensington Expert Mouse, conflicts with the Acrobat Connect Add-In (which I need for work). Now Logitech's MouseWare is conflicting with an application that I also need to use for work. In this case it's not causing the application to crash, as MouseWorks caused the Add-In to do, but it's severely impacting my workflow.

The solution is to "upgrade" to the new Logitech SetPoint software, which is TOTALLY USELESS for my purposes because it won't let me program my left mouse button to be double-click. The left and right mouse buttons MUST be single click and right-click (or vice versa) in SetPoint world, which doesn't work for me at all. Here's where I want to cry, and I realize that perhaps it's not clear why. Let me 'splain:

I moved to the beloved Expert Mouse several years ago, after going through weeks of physical therapy for RSI. I tried braces, exercises, massage, everything—but nothing stuck because I'd just make the tendonitis worse every time I got back behind my desk. One day the rehab doctor sighed and said, "your physical therapist has written to say that she doesn't think further therapy will produce any more improvement. The only other thing I can suggest is maybe moving to a trackball." I was like, WHY DIDN'T YOU MENTION THIS BEFORE??? I went out and got the Expert Mouse, and damned if he wasn't right: not having to double-click was HEAVEN. Not having to hold down a button while dragging? HOW COULD LIFE BE SO SWEET? My tendonitis still reared its head whenever I had to work sans mouse (i.e., using just the laptop trackpad), but whenever I had the Expert Mouse plugged in, I could work for hours on end without any trouble. It was weird to have the tendonitis improve while I was working.

Fast-forward to the discovery of the Add-In conflict. The engineer who finally diagnosed the problem suggested I try the Logitech Marble Mouse; he said that's the one he switched to when he realized the Kensington software was causing the Add-In crashes. I didn't love it, I must admit. The Expert mouse just fits my hand better, and the buttons are positioned so that they cause the least possible stress in my hand, wrist, and arm. The Marble Mouse's trackball is too far forward, and the buttons aren't positioned well for my hand, but at least I could program the buttons. See where this is going? NOW I CAN'T. My options are:

1. Continue to use SetPoint, and try to get used to one of the tiny interior buttons being double-click. I can't seem to get used to the right mouse button being right-click, so I've swapped it with the left mouse button... but that means my left button is now right-click. That's not intuitive, either. I'm also having trouble reaching that tiny interior button without contorting my hand.
2. Go back to the old MouseWare and have the buttons programmed the way I want them (or rather, the way I've settled for, after having to give up the Expert Mouse), but have the double-click button not work in an application I use EVERY DAY.
3. Go back to the Expert Mouse and avoid using Acrobat Connect on this machine for as long as I can. (Mostly I use Acrobat Connect on my Mac, but for situations where *I* need to demo something or discuss code with another engineer, I need to use it here on my PC. In those situations, I'd need to uninstall the MouseWorks software first.)

I'm not thrilled with any of these options. #1 and #2 guarantee physical pain. (I'm actually already cramped up in my hand and elbow from the past couple days' worth going the #2 route, and less than an hour of route #1 has sent me in search of ice and Advil.) #3 will be a hassle beyond belief. But right now? I think I'm going to opt for the hassle over the pain. Hopefully that'll keep me from crying, too.

Still Evolving, Apparently

I've been reading the surprisingly absorbing Cryptonomicon, and the other night I came across this paragraph, which hit me like a sledgehammer:

Chester nods all the way through this, but does not rudely interrupt Randy as a younger nerd would. Your younger nerd takes offense quickly when someone near him begins to utter declarative sentences, because he reads into it an assertion that he, the nerd, does not already know the information being imparted. But your older nerd has more self-confidence, and besides, understands that frequently people need to think out loud. And highly advanced nerds will furthermore understand that uttering declarative sentences whose contents are already known to all present is part of the social process of making conversation and therefore should not be construed as aggression under any circumstances.

Why did this hit me like a sledgehammer? Because I recognized myself. I take offense for exactly this reason way on more occasions than I should. So while I am an older nerd, certainly, it appears that I am not yet a highly advanced nerd. The good news here is that when I related this self-discovery to Al, he found it utterly hilarious... and now we can sidestep possible arguments by alluding to this nerd phenomenon, usually by pointing out that "what we're doing here? It's called 'conversation'."

Damn the Scheduling System at Toppers Spa!

Last week I called Toppers Spa here in Philadelphia (the one on 19th Street) to make an appointment with my favorite massage therapist, Regina, whom I visit monthly. I've learned that it's impossible to schedule my next month's appointment directly after my massage because Regina's not in the system. (My theory is that they save her for last-minute appointments, based on my experience of being able to get one with her with less than 24 hours' notice.)

Last week I was a bit sore after our hockey playoffs, so I tried to make an appointment for Wednesday by calling on Monday or Tuedsay. No dice: Regina wasn't in the system. I was put on hold for a while, and then the scheduler came back to say that the reason was that Regina was only working on Saturdays and Sundays now. I'd been told this before a few months back, and when I mentioned it to Regina, she said, "oh, no—I'm here every day except Thursday!" So anyway, I knew this information to be wrong, so I said I'd check my schedule and call back.

My schedule for the rest of the week was full, and I was away at An Event Apart in Boston on Monday and Tuesday of this week, so my plan was to call today for an appointment tomorrw morning. I got one, but not before the blurry vision that preceeds a migraine started. (I can only see about every third word of what I'm typing right now, so excuse any typos.) In case you were wondering, the reason I get a massage every month is TO AVOID MIGRAINES. The fact that I'm getting one now means I waited too long.

On the one hand, it's nice to know that I'm in tune enough with my body to know that I needed a massage three weeks after the last one—due to additional stresses on my neck, back, and shoulders—instead of four. On the other hand, the fact that I was thwarted in actually getting that massage when I knew I needed it is annoying the piss out of me.

Excuse me while I try to release the annoyance and sleep off the migraine. Hopefully all will be better after tomorrow's 9am appointment.

Freak Accident-Prone

Many people can claim to be accident prone. I am FREAK accident-prone. I am sometimes reluctant to describe how I got the various bruises, scratches, and other visible injuries to my body because they either sound so stupid as to be embarrassing, or because no one would believe me if I told them. It's not so much the actual injury-causing thing, most times, that's the unbelievable part. It's the HOW of the story that's nutty.

With that introduction, you should not be surprised when I tell you that a cactus fell on me this morning while I was attempting to put on my shoes. Hours later, I am still digging bits of cactus spine out of my hands—and worse, from around my fingernails. Cactus spines are funny things: when you pull them out, even if you do so gingerly, often a little piece of broken spine remains behind. Sometimes you can't even see these little pieces, but you can *feel* them if you run a finger over the spot... and of course, they hurt like hell.

The good news was that the damage to my hand was worth it. The Beaner happened to be standing next to me at the time, and when I realized the cactus was coming down on us, I used that hand to shield his face. Better 10-15 cactus spines in my hand than in his tender cheeks. I am worried, tho, that Al's shoes are filled with invisible spines, and that he'll be stuck the next time he slips on his tan suede loafers; the Beaner's black NBs were struck by the falling cactus and had to be tossed because I'm sure for every visible spine, there are five more that I can't see.

Credit Where Taxes Are Due

Can I just say how much I HATE the fact that Al is considered the Taxpayer, and I am considered the Taxpayer's Spouse, when it is I who prepare our taxes every year? I am constantly misreading instructions in TurboTax and every other tax-related form I receive (hello, I'm talking to YOU, City of Philadelphia School Income Tax Form) because I mistake the you in "Do you or your spouse..." for me. "Your income" is not MY income, but his income. "Your spouse's income" is my income.

It's ridiculous. TurboTax, at the very least, should ask who is running the application. For the plain old paper forms, I'm on my own: I have to check to see if the form has Al's name on it, and if so, sign under Spouse instead of Taxpayer. Aren't taxes difficult enough without adding this extra complexity?

Winsha is Short, Lori is Tall

OK, obviously I'm behind on blogging—after a week running around San Francisco meeting friends and former work colleagues for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and meeting current work colleagues for, well, meetings, I have a gazillion photos to upload and a few stories to tell. I also have the day off, but I chose to get a massage this morning to help mitigate the after-effects of Friday's migraine, vacuum the remodeling dust off every surface in the house, get caught up on laundry, file my expenses, deposit some checks that arrived while I was gone, upload some of the gazillion photos, sync my personal Outlook, work Outlook, and kitchen paper calendars with Al's hockey and my travel schedules, and have a beer rather than blog... until right now. Yes, with about 15 minutes until the Beaner and his sharecare nanny come through the door, I've decided to tell one of my SF stories.

On Thursday I had lunch with my friend and former colleague Winsha (she's now on the Flex Builder team, while I stayed on the Dreamweaver team). After lunch we stopped at the new-to-me Starbucks at Townsend & 8th, where Winsha ordered a short latte and I ordered a decaf double-tall latte.

The friendly woman behind the counter said, "can I have your names?" with Sharpie poised. I replied, "Winsha—W-I-N-S-H-A—is short, Lori is tall." And then Winsha and I totally cracked up. I proposed that we take a photo of ourselves and then the finished drinks, so everyone else could get the joke too. My self-portrait mojo was totally missing on this day, sadly, so this is the best I could do:

Winsha is short, Lori is tall

The missing self-portrait mojo wasn't the worst of it, though. It turns out that the lovely woman behind the counter stomped on the punch line by reversing the drinks. (Geez, that was the point: that the mnemonic was so EASY!) Oh well.

all evidence to the contrary, Winsha is short, Lori is tall

On Taking Two Feet for Granted

Things I wish I'd done before spraining my ankle last night at open hockey:

• started priming and painting the bathroom
• stocked my office with more snacks
• laundry
• oh, I don't know... moved to a house that didn't have four flights of stairs?

Strenuous

I was a little worried that (a) my ankle wouldn't be healed in time for the Vancouver tournament, and (b) that all this sitting around would leave me out of shape even if it did heal in time. (a) is still a possibility, but I don't think (b) is. GOOD LORD, getting around on crutches and up and down our stairs is strenuous! I feel like I ate a ton of food yesterday (again, while worried about (b)), but then I realized I was eating so much not because I was bored, but because I was hungry. And I'm hungry because I'm blowing through whatever meager energy stores I have just getting down the hall to the bathroom and back.

This morning I took the Beaner to sharecare in a taxi because I obviously can't push a stroller on crutches, and I can't drive our car because it's a stick (working the clutch definitely requires ankle movement). I didn't make him lunch; instead, I just threw a ten dollar bill in his backpack. I also didn't make him breakfast, but that was mostly because he said, "it's OK, I don't need anything." (That kid is SO SWEET.) I said, "how about a cookie cracker or two?" He readily agreed that a couple Carr's whole wheat crackers (which are kind of sweet, hence the "cookie cracker" moniker) would be perfect, so I got him those and threw the remaining three into the backpack.

I nearly fell when I went to fill his sippy cup with Rice Dream, and he admonished me for about the 100th time to "be careful!", which is actually more cute than annoying. After that I called for the taxi, managed to get the double stroller out the front door and onto our stoop (thanks to Aura for putting it near the front door for me on her way out last night), and asked the Beaner to go down about two steps and sit, which he did. Then I got myself and my crutches out the door, locked it behind me, and sat on the steps with him.

I have the best kid ever.

When the taxi pulled up a few minutes later, I asked the driver to put the stroller in the trunk, and then told the Beaner to go ahead and get in, which he did. He sat directly behind the driver, which I wish I'd had time to stop and take a photo of, because he looked so cute—like I was going to shut the door and wish him safe travels through the window. I asked him to scoot over so Mommy could get in, and he did. As we pulled away from the curb, he said, "this is a green taxi. I like green taxis!!"

In the rush to get the Beaner safely out of the taxi at M's house, I realized I'd forgotten to tell the driver we'd be continuing on to Julius Scissor at 21st and Locust (luckily only a couple blocks away), and I did *not* realize that I'd forgotten to give the Beaner his sippy cup (which I'd stashed in my purse for the ride). Oh well. I got to Julius' place about 30 minutes early, and I could see the Tuscany Cafe almost two blocks away on the corner of Rittenhouse Square, but I quickly calculated that there was no way I'd have time to hobble down there, drink a coffee, and get back before my appointment. Instead I sat on the steps and called my sister.

Next I got another fabulous haircut from Julius.

I will probably style it differently tomorrow after I wash it, but right now I'm digging the pompadour.

Since it was only 10:30am, I didn't have a meeting until 1pm, and COFFEE WAS IN SIGHT, I decided to try to make it to the Tuscany Cafe. And here's where we come back to the 'strenuous' theme, because boy, was that a workout! I had to stop several times to rest—and once to adjust the crutches from 5'8" to 5'9" (I think the orderly set them at 5'8" instead of the height the nurse shouted at him because he wanted to discourage me from leaning on the tops, but for this kind of trek I really required a little more support than just my hands)—but I made it, and it only took 10 minutes, not 15. Woo!

I ordered a decaf double-tall latte for here (because there was no way I could carry a coffee) and, after realizing that I'd had no breakfast, decided to blow my sugar budget on an M&M brownie. It's probably a testament to how low my glycogen stores were that the brownie didn't taste very sweet at all, despite the frosting and M&Ms. The coffee, meanwhile, was near perfect. Score another 9.5 for Tuscany Cafe! (Three out of four coffees I've had there have been near perfect; one was about average Starbucks level, which is still fairly good.)

Yay.

Luckily there was a taxi stand right outside the cafe, so I was able to get home easily. The next difficult task, however, was getting up our front steps (I did a combination of going up backwards on my butt and crawling forwards), assembling all the things I'd need for a long stint in my upstairs office (yogurt, cheese sticks, camera, ice pack, bandana for tying ice pack around ankle, cell phone), and then getting up two short flights of stairs and one very long one. I hopped up the first two, and then crab-crawled on my butt up the third.

The Beaner doesn't need the baby gate, but I do: It keeps me from pitching down the stairs if I mis-navigate in my office chair (which is more efficient than crutches for getting down the hall to the bedroom).

I estimate that I burned about 800 calories this morning.

Yet Another Migraine

Every time I have a string of migraines, I resolve to write them down on the calendar to see if I can discern a pattern... and then I don't have one for awhile, and the resolve goes out the window. Sadly, I find myself resolving again today, as this is the third migraine I've had in the past couple months. This one, unlike the other two, is centered in my head, and is more typical of the kind I used to get before I started getting "work migraines"—the kind that are all in my neck and shoulders, and, aside from the initial blurry vision, don't impede my ability to function all that much (though they do come with wicked, week-long shoulder pain hangovers).

With this one I've gotten the severe nausea that I thought was a thing of the past (along with head-based migraines in general). Unfortunately, I'm not able to actually throw up, which would probably make me me feel better. Between that and the crushing head pain, it's a bit difficult to focus.

I'm trying to figure out if the longer bout of blurry vision—which ramped up very slowly and lingered even after I'd laid down for 30 minutes after it became impossible to see—was an indicator that this would be a head migraine rather than a shoulder migraine. It's been so long since I had a head migraine that I can't remember what the preludes to those were like. All I know now is that I have about a zillion work things I should be doing, and I just want to close my eyes and vomit into a bucket. Yuck.

Ankle Update

Dudes, I am walking around without crutches today!

OK, it's more like limping, gimping, and shuffling around without crutches, but hey, it's a start. I have to be careful not to make any twisting motions and to avoid pivoting my ankle as much as possible (hence the shuffling rather than actual striding), and this amount of mobility is definitely underwritten by lots of ice and ibuprofen, but I just couldn't take the crutches anymore. They're TOO FUCKING SLOW, for one thing, and for another, they hurt my arms, shoulders, and hands about as much as gimping around without them hurts my ankle at this point, so I figured it was a wash.

Which reminds me, it's time for another 600mg of ibu.

Black and Blue (and Purple and Green)

So as the caption on this photo explains, the ankle was painful enough on Saturday morning that I returned to crutches for the weekend. I think this was a good choice in any case, because we went down to visit my in-laws, and it's hard to imagine getting around their giant house—not to mention the stores, driveways, sidewalks, restaurants, and parking lots I had to navigate—with a bandaged-and-besocked foot sans crutches.

Once I got back in my own house on Sunday night, of course, I abandoned the crutches again and returned to hobbling. It's too much of a pain in the arse to drag the crutches up and down the stairs, and 90 degree angles aren't hard to manage. It's the 45s that are the big problem—something I already knew, but which was driven home for me when we went around our first sharp curve at speed in the car on Saturday. I had propped my foot up on a pillow in the passenger-side footwell, and either centrifugal force or gravity or some other physics-related force ended up tilting my foot to the left as we went around the curve. I actually squealed in pain, and it took the better part of the trip for me to figure out how to brace my foot appropriately so that it wouldn't tilt again.

I didn't discover the bruising until I took the wrap off at my in-laws' house; judging from the photos of another wounded warrior on Flickr (she sprained *her* ankle a day or two before I did mine), the bruising seems to be a normal turn of events, and not the result of additional injury or a sign of misdiagnosis. (I had actually assumed that it was either a sign that I was healing, or a sign that I'd been walking around too much, causing all the loose blood from the injury to pool at the bottom of my foot. It's probably both.)

Today Al took the Beaner to sharecare, but I'm still hoping that by Wednesday—with a little more rest and a lot of Advil—I'll be able to take him myself, in the car if not on foot. Clutching is mostly about tilting one's foot forward and back rather than side to side, so I'm thinking I will be able to manage. Probably a test drive around the block with Al in the car on Tuesday night would be wise, just in case I stall the car and can't work the clutch well enough to get started again.

Meanwhile, I am totally jonesing for a Starbucks (or Tuscany Cafe) latte. I gorged on them this weekend, when Al was available to drive me around and even run in and fetch drinks for me, but now I'm stuck back in the house. It occurs to me that it might have been a good idea to stop at Trader Joe's or Whole Foods or Wegmans (or even Safeway) on the way home yesterday, as we're still very low on decent eat-from-the-fridge/freezer/pantry-without-having-to-stand-at-the-stove-for-an-hour foods. Is it worth it to hobble the three and a half blocks to Trader Joe's? Would it be crazy to hobble the two blocks to the CarShare pod to rent a(n automatic) Scion xB for an hour to drive to TJ's or WF (OR STARBUCKS)? Is the Universe trying to keep me in my seat by preventing me from logging in to the stupid Philly CarShare website to reserve a car, despite having the correct username and password? Hmmmm.

My Name in the Same Breath as NPR's

So a few weeks ago, when I was in San Francisco (i.e., away from my normal personal laptop with its handy mail filters), I got an e-mail from someone wanting to know if I wanted to help NPR. I deleted the message as spam without reading it. A week later, I got another e-mail with the same subject (prepended this time with Re:)... and from the same sender. This time I decided to check out the headers and maybe even open it.

It turned out to be a legitimate request to use one of my Flickr photos in a video piece for NPR.

Wait!, I know you're thinking, NPR stands for National Public RADIO. That *has* to be a scam! No really, it wasn't. Like everyone else, NPR has decided to dip its toes into the web video waters... and the piece they wanted the photo for was posted on NPR's website earlier this week. My photo is in the video for about half a second—I think my credit is actually on the screen longer—but hey, it's still kinda neat.*

* I specifically got permission from my teammates in the photo before I gave the go-ahead for the producer to use it. We all agreed that it didn't really demonstrate the "elevator effect"—everyone was looking in different directions mainly because several different conversations were going on at the same time—but we didn't see any harm in it being used in the piece, and I think we're all familiar with the phenomenon. In my experience, it's more commonly found in locker rooms at pickup games, where you're unlikely to know the other participants, than it is when you're sharing three square feet of space with a teammate you know well.

A Message From My Ankle

DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SIT CROSS-LEGGED WHILE FIXING BUGS LATE AT NIGHT.

And now, a message from me: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwww!

Guess Who's Wearing a Strapless Dress Tonight?

I swear, I put on two coats of Coppertone Sport SPF 50 before going outside. But two hours of this:

And this (only with me fishing the Beaner out of the drink instead of grandpa):

Produced this:

Sadly, the tops of my shoulders are much worse. Guess who'll be spending the day looking for a shrug or wrap to wear with her strapless dress to the formal wedding we're attending tonight?

Bleah, and Random Blah Blah Blah

I don't think I even had time to mention that we were back from Denver (and that I sort of solved my strapless dress + sunburn problem) before I took off again for Seattle. I arrived home again tonight hot, nauseous, and not wanting to go on another trip again for awhile. (Hopefully the two roadtrips we have planned for later this month won't be as tiring as all the timezone-crossing plane travel I've been doing lately. Also, only one of them involves leaving the Beaner behind—with my parents, with whom I know he'll have a blast—so there are unlikely to be heart-wrenching phone calls at random times of the night.)

While I was in Denver I got news that my friend Jim of The Rittenhouse Review had died. I hadn't spoken to him as often after he moved out of our neighborhood, and he hadn't been updating his blogs regularly, so I was a bit out of touch—and the news came as a complete shock. I stood there with my mouth in a drooly "O", looking like someone had just punched me in the stomach, for several minutes after reading the e-mail from Susie M. I still can't quite believe it. Jim, I hope you're happy and healthy and whole again wherever you are now, and that someone's taking care of Mildred.

As I just got back from Seattle tonight and need to catch up on some of the work I missed over the past three days of preparing two presentations on CSS-related topics, getting incredibly anxious over having to actually deliver those presentations, and then not quite knowing what to do with myself after I gave them (the post-performance anxiety is only slightly less severe than the pre-performance anxiety, but luckily my friend Jeanne stepped in with drinks and dinner at three of her favorite places near my hotel, and we had a fabulous, hedonistic evening of eating, drinking, and gabbing), I probably won't get a chance to upload the few photos I took while in Seattle until tomorrow at the earliest. I did, however, get a chance to upload my favorite photos from the wedding we attended in Steamboat Springs last weekend in the one day I had between trips. The set is here:

Letting Go and Getting What You Want

A couple hours ago, I was frantic, on edge, in tears. Over code, and over all the things that were due tomorrow (and partly due to falling hard off the low-sugar wagon). It's amazing what letting go (and a little real food) can do for you. The to-do list is still there, some of the code mysteries remain unsolved, I'm still not fully packed for our trip tomorrow, and the Red Sox are losing.

I'm calm because once I decided there was no way I could do everything, I moved a few things to Monday and just decided I would live (and so would everyone else) if they were late. So Be It. <inhale, exxxxxhale> (As I type this, I can hear the Beaner's voice in my head saying, "just breathe, Mommy. Breathe.")

On a related note, Andrea had a post the other day about asking for what you want. I'm a big proponent of this (so much so that I sometimes forget that others aren't as willing to ask for what they want, and they get frustrated waiting for me to figure it out while I go along figuring that if they wanted something different than they were getting, they'd say so). You don't always get what you want, but your chances of getting it go up dramatically when you ask.

Ever since I got back from Seattle the Beaner's been asking to sleep in my bed (which he didn't get) and waking up in the middle of the night to tearfully demand a snuggle from me (which he did get). Since I also happened to be staying up late working—and even later reading Special Topics in Calamity Physics—this regimen of going in to snuggle him, or Al giving up his spot in our bed so the Beaner could snuggle me (if it was past 4:30am), was taking its toll on my sanity. (Actually, this may be more related to the first paragraph of this post than I realized.)

Last night I said to the Beaner, "OK, I need you to go to sleep now, so Mommy can go to sleep." Beaner: "You gotta sleep in here with me." Me: "No, boo. I'll happily snuggle you to sleep now, and I'll snuggle you again when you wake up in the morning, but in between I'm going to go to sleep in my own bed with Daddy. And I really need you to stay in your own bed and sleep until morning, OK?" Beaner: "You're going to snuggle me to sleep?" Me: "Yes." Beaner: "You snuggle me to sleep, and then Mommy can go to her own bed and sleep." Me: "Thanks, boo."

And ladies and gentlemen, he slept until 7:30am. It never hurts to ask for what you want.

My Body Is Trying to Tell Me Something

I've got the blurry vision that precedes a migraine right now, which means that half the screen is obscured. Please forgive any typos; I'm trusting my touch-typing skills, which seem to be getting worse the longer I work on computers.

When I realized this migraine was coming, roughly 15 minutes ago—after applying some bleach to my roots, I came over to the Mac to check the time so I'd know when to wash the stuff out, and had to squint to read the numbers—I couldn't help but laugh. Of course I have a migraine coming. It makes sense. Last night while out shopping with the Beaner, I suddenly felt absolutely terrible while standing in the middle of DiBruno Bros. I felt sluggish and weird and desperately in need of sleep.

At that very moment, the Beaner finally hit one what he wanted for dinner: avocado rolls. So I called Al for Tampopo's number, told him I felt terrible, and then called slurred in my order. On the walk from 18th Street to 21st Street, I actually dozed off. Thank god I had hold of the stroller handle, which I used to regain my balance when I started to stumble. I've dozed off while driving before, but never while walking.

The Beaner asked on the way home if he could see what was in the bag. I said, "spicy pork and avocado rolls." He then asked what I was going to eat. Clever kid, to realize that the pork was for Daddy, and the rolls were for him—or maybe that I'd only read off two items. In any case, I told him that Mommy wasn't feeling well, and didn't want to eat. "But you have to eat!" he said. "You'll feel better."

Al was home by the time we arrived back, so I handed him dinner and announced that I'd be sending my boss two updates and then going to bed. At this point, in addition to feeling exhausted and slow, I was also feeling nauseous.

The timing was such that the Beaner was done in the bathtub at the same time I finished my updates. He asked to watch Blues Clues, and we explained to him that because Mommy wasn't feeling well, his options were these: 1. Watch Blues Clues and have Daddy put him to bed, or 2. Go to bed now and have Mommy snuggle him. After protesting that he wanted Blues Clues *and* Mommy a couple times, he opted for #2.

As we climbed into his bed, he said, "I wish I could feel you better." I told him how sweet that was, and how much I would love it if he *could* make my tummy ache go away. "I'll snuggle your neck, and that will make your tummy feel better," he said. What ended up making me feel best of all is that he conked out at 8:50, and I was able to crawl into my own bed. I was out as soon as the 15 minute sleep timer on my Alexander Hamilton audiobook went off, and I slept for 10 hours.

I woke up with a headache, but I took some Tylenol and went for my morning walk anyway. Which brings us up to date: I came back, put the bleach in my hair, aaaaaaaannnd.... migraine. Why, hello, body. Do you have a message for me?

We Interrupt This Woman

Just a quick post to say that I'm still alive, if not exactly thriving. I actually feel like I'm coming apart at the seams a bit—the demands of work, speaking, motherhood, housework, travel, and my spouse's work have combined to suck me very nearly dry.

There've been some high points over the past few weeks, but there've been some very, very low ones, too. I've been reluctant to talk about it here because (a) it's public, and though I sometimes *seem* like a very public person... well, there's a limit; and (b) I'm still sorting it all out. I hope to have some regular happy/photo-y/rant-y/beaner-y posts up soon, but if I can't manage, I hope you'll bear with me. I'll be bold in your RSS reader again someday.

Steps, Forward and Back

I was saying to a friend today that it feels like for every step forward I take, I take another (bigger?) one backwards. Maybe because I get excited about being happy for a bit, and think it's going to last... and when it doesn't, I'm disappointed in addition to sad. I'm hoping that eventually the steps forward will be bigger than the ones backward. I'm clinging to that.

In the meantime, I've asked for the next two days off from work, partly to get a bit of a break from it, but mostly so I can complete some tasks in my personal life. I want to feel a sense of accomplishment, which will hopefully breed an enthusiasm and confidence that I can bring back with me to work. Of course, the to-do list I have for those two days would fit better in two *weeks*, and I need to be careful about setting myself up for failure. I might just sleep for two days, and call it an accomplishment—because hey, at least I'll be caught up on *something*.

way out for the living

This photo is very compelling to me right now. I need to print it out and hang it on my wall.

I have a post half-written about all the photos I've been uploading to Flickr lately—in my experience, when you upload in ginormous batches, most individual shots get only 1 or 2 views each unless you take the time to add them to various group pools—and that's been the case with almost everything I uploaded since September. I haven't gotten around to finishing that post, mainly because I started to digress into the vagaries of the Vivitar, which required uploading to my site those mis-fires that didn't make it to Flickr. In the interest in just POSTING ALREADY, here are some photos you might have missed:

I've been going bonkers with the Vivitar. I *love* taking it on my morning walks—and everywhere else. I love that it's focus-free, quiet, and light, and that I never know what I'm going to get. See all photos tagged with vivitarIC101 here.

I went to Chicago for Adobe MAX 2007 last week, and I got to go on not one but TWO photowalks with friends. On Monday I met Lori for the first time, and on Tuesday I went out with my friend Winsha, who was also there for MAX.

I've been going nuts with the bicycle shots these days. The more I photograph them, the more I *want* to photograph them.

Stage 2

The purple is in.

Also, after a disastrous return to work yesterday (duh, I *knew* I was pushing it with the non-waterproof mascara!), today is a better day. The crisp fall weather is finally here, I woke up with an idea of what was causing the bug I spent hours on yesterday, and, most importantly, Al is becoming incredibly expert at cheering me up. What's more, he enjoys doing it—cheering me cheers him. SO glad I married that guy (5 years ago last Saturday!).

can you feel the wacky?

One thing that cheered me up on day off #2 (prior to the disastrous return to work) was reading through my blog archives. I didn't intend to do it—I was mostly in there fixing all the references to Flickr photos that broke when I made my Beaner photos Private/Friends & Family Only—but I started looking to see which Beaner milestones I'd reported on and which I hadn't, and I got sucked in. I thought to myself, "hey, I'm actually kind of good at this blogging thing. I'm even funny sometimes." Well, I crack myself up, at least, which suits my purposes at the moment.

Speaking of the Beaner, I'm not going to beat myself up about not having written the School post yet. I'll just offer a few bullet points for now:

• He's enjoying it
• I'm starting to think that they tell the kids, "when your parents ask, 'what did you do today,' the answer is "I DON'T KNOW."
• Al drops him off in the morning, and he climbs the stairs to his classroom on his own now.
• I like picking him up. He looks for me between the railings on the stairs and shouts, "Mommy!" and waves. Very sweet.
• He wants a lunchbox like B_____'s, he's friends with A______, and he points out other kids in his class as we leave each day.
• He's sometimes dismayed at the drawings that his teacher sends home in the Friday folder. "I don't like that one. I can do better than that."
• The fall picnic is tomorrow. I'm looking forward to seeing more kids & parents together (I've met many of the moms/nannies who pick up their kids, but I'm not always sure which kid belongs to whom).

[Pretend there's a transition here.]

Last night I was really struggling to keep it together, and eventually I just stopped trying and sat on the floor in the kitchen with tears streaming down my face. "Are you happy or sad?" the Beaner asked. Then he saw the tears, and I could tell by the look on his face that he didn't really need me to answer, though I did. "Sad." He sat down next to me and tilted his head to look me in the eye. "Why are you sad, Mommy?" I started to explain, but got stuck on where to start. "Well, it's a combination of factors..."

The Beaner interrupted me. "Are you sad because Daddy's not home yet?" I smiled and said, "yes, that's one of the reasons I'm sad."

"Don't worry, Mommy," he said. "Daddy will be home soon."

When did my son become so grown up? So stoic? Lest you think he's like this all the time, I should mention that we are firmly in the "but I don't WANT to!" phase. At bedtime last night he about drove me crazy with the whining about wanting to have a picnic, and he seemed to purposely fail to understand my explanations about choosing one OR the other of two options, not both. As in, you can watch Blues Clues OR have a picnic, but not both. You can have chocolate OR vanilla, but not both. But I want chocolate AND vanilla! OK, kid, let me explain OR again...

He finally conked out under protest—and I mean that literally. As I extracted myself from under his little body, he flopped over and moaned, "but I want to have a PICNIC!"

And then he was silent.

So... I'm In San Francisco

Yeah. Title says it all, really. I didn't explain in my last post that one of the things that cheered me up on Friday was the decision very late Thursday night, after the disastrous work day, to fly out to the SF office for a week. I used frequent flier miles, I was so desperate to get out here and see my colleagues. So far it's helping; I'll have a better idea of where I'm at when I return to Philly and see if I can keep it together.

Today's actually Work @ Home Wednesday on the Dreamweaver team, so aside from two other colleagues who came in because it's quieter than at home, I'm here by myself. Not that different than working at home as I usually do, except that there's more room to roam around, and it's only the Dreamweaver team that works at home on Wednesdays. I can go visit my friends on the Flex team across the hall if I get lonely. Mostly I'm trying to use the quiet time to do some intensive bug-fixing that's hard to do when I'm in face-to-face meetings all day.

Because my body clock is a little messed up and I don't have the regular schedule I do at home, I've been walking/MUNIing to work in lieu of my normal morning walk at home. I've of course been taking photos while I walk, so my morning walk and about town: san francisco sets have been growing. My plan this morning was to finish up the roll of expired 400MAX that was in the Vivitar on my way in, drop it off at the Walgreens on Townsend for processing, continue on to work, and then pick up the CD and negs at lunchtime.

Sadly, however, it was rather dark when I left the hotel at 7:18am (I checked the time when I realized the streetlights were still on), and the low clouds meant that it hadn't brightened much by 8am. I knew I wouldn't get much, as the Vivitar doesn't seem to do well in low light—something I'd mostly chalked up to the expired film, but without really knowing why. Then Bob said something in the comments on this photo about a pack of expired film not even coming CLOSE to its stated speed rating, and I had an "aha, that's the reason" moment. I wouldn't be surprised to find that the expired 400MAX is more like 100 or 200 at best.

So anyway, as predicted, the shots I took with the Vivitar this morning did not come out. Or rather, I can tell in most of them what I was photographing, but they're otherwise unsalvageable. The ones I took on Saturday at the Beaner's school picnic came out relatively fine (with a couple double-exposures), as did the ones I took here yesterday. The only problem was that the photo guy at Walgreens clipped the black mask out of the frame. It never occurred to me that he'd do that, so I didn't think to specify NO CLIPPING.

I'm now trying to decide whether to put the last roll of expired 400MAX (which I brought with me) into the camera, or whether I should buy a fresh roll to shoot with and compare. I could also test-shoot the camera I bought for the Beaner this morning for $8; it's a film camera, and every time you bring the film to Walgreens for processing, they reload the camera with a fresh roll. I think that'll make more sense to him than the disposable camera I gave him when we went apple picking; he keeps asking me, "where's my camera? you gave me a camera, mommy." He doesn't understand that we exchanged the camera for the prints, and now he won't have to.

Oh, and I also brought the Finepix with me. As much as I love the 10-D, it's quite nice to have only pocket-sized cameras to manage.

Test Week

I'm back from San Francisco and eager to see if the trip helps me get through this week. I suspect it will, if for no other reason than I have some small, specific tasks to work on which will be relatively easy to complete. Many small successes are exactly what I need right now.

It was great to see some of my colleagues face-to-face, too. I often say that 90% of the time, working from home is perfect. The other 10% of the time, I miss the random conversations that happen when you're in the office. As great as e-mail, phone, and especially IM are, they're no substitute from gophering—popping up from your cube to say to a neighbor, "hey, do you know how...?" For one thing, you're likely to get an answer faster. For another—and this is the really important part—the person you ask might not be the one who answers. Instead, someone within earshot may say, "oh, I know..." And if nobody within earshot knows, someone will at least make a suggestion about who does.

In addition to gophering, there are also serendipitous conversations that happen, sometimes because someone you haven't seen in a while stops by to say hello, or, more often, because you overhear others talking about something interesting and join in. I so miss those "oh hey, I was just thinking about that, too!" moments... to the extent that when I'm visiting the office, I spend a good portion of my time daydreaming about moving back to the Bay Area. I forget that 90% of the time, working at home is perfect for me.

So anyway, I'm back in Philadelphia, and I'm looking forward to this week. Looking forward to diving back into the code with renewed vigor, to appreciating the benefits of working at home, to wearing non-waterproof mascara with confidence. Oh, and I'm looking forward to turning 39 on Friday.

My motto for the week (which may only be appreciated by my fellow engineers):

with props to Chris Bank for the inspiration

Let's Get This Party Started!

Last night when I put the Beaner to bed I told him that tomorrow would be my birthday, so when I came in to wake him up in the morning, I'd say, "good morning, sunshine!", and he could reply, "happy birthday, Mommy!"

I held up my end of the bargain, but he forgot. "Is there something you want to tell me?" I asked. He looked thoughtful, but I could tell he wasn't going to come up with it. "Happy birthday, Mommy!" I whispered in his ear.

"It's your birthday?!" he exclaimed, jumping off my lap. "Where are the hats?? We need Blues Clues hats! And we need to set up the house!"

"Set up the house?" I asked.

"You know, for YOUR BIRTHDAY."

"Do you mean, decorate it with balloons?"

"Yes! And paper!" [I think he meant streamers.]

"OK, well, I'll see if I can find hats and balloons while I'm out on my morning walk."

"Will M___ be coming over with presents?"

"No honey, you're thinking of YOUR birthday. It's *my* birthday, so there probably won't be any presents."

"But you GOT to have presents!"

"Well, when you're 39, there often aren't any presents. Or maybe just one present. It's not such a big deal at this age."

[He repeats that I must have presents.]

"Presents are more of a kid thing..." I started, but I lost heart. Why ruin it for him? Birthdays are supposed to be BIG! IMPORTANT! OCCASIONS! WITH PRESENTS!

I think we'll be stopping at Target on our way down to Virginia tonight to pick up supplies. And maybe even presents.

Happy birthday also to Victor Grigorieff, Hillary Rodham Clinton, and especially to Heather B. Rock on, my fellow October 26 Scorpios!

Who Needs Target?

For those of you wondering what happened at Target on Friday—did we get party hats? did we get presents?—an update. It was not necessary to buy presents at Target because when I came down to the kitchen at the (early) end of my workday, I found a bag from the AT&T store sitting on the counter. I tracked Al down and said, "did you buy me an iPhone?" He smiled and nodded.

AL BOUGHT ME AN iPHONE.

I've been wanting a PDA/PIM/phone for a while now—I've been traveling a lot for work, and trying to keep my schedule straight and my e-mail correspondence up to date has been daunting—but my current Verizon contract doesn't end until March. I figured I'd get one then. Al noticed that the need for an iPhone-like device had reached a critical mass just as my birthday was approaching, however, and viola! The perfect birthday gift. So far, I LOVE IT. There were some minor problems transferring my California cell number over (well, minor is probably kind—I was on hold with various departments of AT&T for over an hour between Friday night and Saturday morning, and I eventually had to report to an AT&T store to get a new SIM card *and* call to cancel service on the 267 number that iTunes had issued me), but everything seems to be working smoothly now.

Back to Target. It was also not necessary to buy party hats, as Aura and the Beaner crafted some of their very own design. They even made enough so that my in-laws each got one.

It's debatable whether it was necessary bring cupcakes with me. My in-laws purchased a cake—a carrot cake, which I love—but this cake apparently was chock full of walnuts, to which I am allergic. (One accidental lick of my fingers after cutting slices for others had me running for the Zyrtec and my inhaler.) I ended up eating a cupcake instead, with a bit of the cream cheese frosting from the carrot cake—the Flying Monkey Patisserie frosting left something to be desired.

So yes, we did still stop at Target, even though we probably didn't really need to. The Beaner lucked out in that he got a $1 miniature Lightning McQueen lunchbox and a $1 set of Radiator Springs pencils out of the trip, we stocked up on soy milk, and I got some carrots and a granola bar for dinner (I was trying to eat light in anticipation of a cupcake). Oh, and I found a $5 bill on my way out of the store.

All in all, a very good birthday, indeed.

Ow, WTF?

So I've been packing on the poundage lately, most likely because (a) I've been depressed, (b) I've been sedentary (well, I *did* start walking daily in August and playing hockey in September, but before that my injured ankle made me less active than usual), and (c) I can't seem to get the pregnancy and nursing nutrition guidelines, wherein fat = good, out of my brain. I haven't been nursing the Beaner since December, 2005, and yet I'm still eating like I am.

When I got up to what for me is a rather alarming number a couple weeks ago, I decided to start counting Points again. (I use the old Weight Watchers point system from the early 90s, before the fiber modifications, because it's worked for me before.) I'd been doing great; maybe not feeling thinner or noticing the change so much in my clothes, but I did feel like I'd at least reversed the upward trend.

This morning, however—despite having neither gained or lost any weight for two days—I suddenly can't simultaneously breathe, sit, and wear pants. One of these things has to go. Picture baking a double recipe of cake batter in a single 9" pan, and you have an idea what my stomach looks like spilling over my jeans. It's not only ugly, it HURTS! Ow! What the f&^% has happened?

And why does this painful scenario make me want to eat more rather than less?

Update: I removed my jeans and put on stretchy, too-big yoga pants. It was an emergency, y'all!

Busy, Busy

I'm starting to find my footing again at work, but at the same time I find myself wishing I could have more time off. Running the household, I found in 2003-2004, is a full- time (or nearly full-time) gig. Why I think I can do it competently while also taking on more responsibility at work, I'll probably never understand, but that's my expectation.

I was going to make a long list of the things I would do if I had the next week or three off from work, but one bullet point in I realized that (a) it's too hard to write HTML blog posts on an iPhone, and (b) I'll have to do the first 8 or 9 things on the list before Friday, work or no. The things that will fall off the list are catching up with e-mail and written correspondence, shopping for the perfect birthday gift for my sister, reading, and sleeping. Probably some writing/photography/blogging/web projects, too. All the other stuff, from sending out invitations for--and then planning--the Beaner's third birthday party to paying bills and filing expense reports, must get done. Oh, and so must the work I actually get paid to do.

I've got to figure out what I can drop or delegate while still feeling like I'm accomplishing something professionally, being a good parent, and expressing myself creatively. Just your everyday Mom dilemma, I know. How clichéd.

Redesigning

I realized this morning that all the (non-work) projects on my list involve re-designing/re-configuring. Apparently I am in need of change. I want to rearrange my office, get a new chair, and get an L for my current desk so I have actual space for all my computers. Currently my MacBook is up on a pantry rack, both to keep it cool and so that I have space for two mice underneath; my personal laptop is on the too-high-for-a-seated-person project table; and my chair, which was bought for my old drafting table-style desk, is too high. My shoulders are always aching from hunching over.

We've been giving some thought to moving my office into the guest room, getting rid of the queen-sized bed in there in favor of a sleeper sofa, and returning my current space to its original sitting area status or leaving the project table here and using it as the craft area. I'd like that, since I lost my combo craft area/office when the Beaner came along. The trick will be Internet access; currently there's none in the guest room. There's a line running up from the cable modem in the basement in the Beaner's room (again, because it used to be my office), as well as a second cable modem hooked up to the cable line in there. We could move the second cable modem to the guest room and run all my connections through there, but we'd have to do some thinking about how everything is split.

Meanwhile, the frame for the Beaner's new bed arrived yesterday, and we've been thinking about how we want to rejigger his room to accommodate it. I didn't bother to get the dimensions of the bed or measure the room before I ordered it, so we're now wondering if the slide's going to work at all. Al has suggested moving everything out, Trading Spaces-style, and then reassembling the room around the bed. We might have to do that.

We also need to make some adjustments to the storage in the living room, and we're considering moving one of the Expedits down there and getting rid of the white dresser, which was supposed to be an interim solution (one I never liked). The living room and the entry hall both need fresh paint and photos or art on the walls. Oh, and speaking of painting, we still need to touch up a bunch of spots in the bathroom. I really want to get that finished and cleaned so I can take photos of it to show y'all.

Last, but not least, I want to redesign my websites. Both the avocado8 and the hockey blogs have gone a long time with their current designs (avocado8 has gotten some tweaks over the past couple years, but I realized yesterday that the hockey blog's last redesign was October 2005). This is obviously rather low priority, as they're working fine the way they are, and I haven't even been updating the hockey blog as much as I'd like to anyway.

I think the bottom line is: I'm in need of a little Autumn Cleaning, and I need to take 2-3 weeks off work to do it. Hrmmm. There's got to be a way to get this all done before summer.

Ugh, The Goo!

I've been really sick for the past few days with what I at first took for strep throat, but which I now think was probably a major sinus infection. The latter makes more sense, as the Beaner had all the same symptoms *except* for the sore throat, and the icky green goo was coming out of his nose instead of going down the back of his throat, as it was in my case.

Aren't you glad you asked? No? Then you'll probably want to skip the next paragraph, too. [Just scroll down (or click this link) until you see the cute photo of the Beaner all bundled up on top of his jammies for a quick trip to Whole Foods for the soy yogurt he wanted to eat for dinner, and you'll miss the ickiest bits.]

In any case, I took my feverish, nauseated, weak-from-not-being-able-to-eat-or-drink self to the doctor on Wednesday afternoon and got a prescription for a humongous dose of Amoxicillin, plus one for an anti-nausea drug when I puked in the doctor's sink after the throat swab. Because I hadn't been eating, all that came up was bile and globs of goo, which was probably the reason for the nausea in the first place.

gratuitous photo of the Beaner bundled up, because he's cute

I could feel the antibiotics kick in about 5 hours after I took the first dose, and I woke up 13 hours after that dose (at 5:24am) knowing that it was essential that I take the next dose RIGHT THEN instead of waiting for an hour that would make it easier to get the pills into me at regular 12-hour intervals. I've been steadily improving since then, thank god; I only needed one nap yesterday, not three, and though I didn't take my temperature to confirm it, I knew that my fever was gone. I even ate a yogurt for breakfast (after taking an anti-nausea pill)—or rather, breakfast and lunch, as it took me 3 hours to actually finish it—and an almost-normal dinner (I had to push away anything remotely spicy because my throat couldn't take it).

Needless to say, while I was down with the Sinus Infection That Invaded My Throat, my blog and Flickr stream were sadly neglected. Well, by me, anyway. The blog was apparently attended to by hackers. A big thanks to S. for e-mailing me to let me know, and apologies to anyone who had to endure the spam links that broke the blog layout in my absence. Apologies also to followers of my My Every Day set on Flickr, who will be treated to fuzzy iPhone photos of my socks for two days in a row because I didn't have the energy or the inclination to photograph anything else. (Members of the Sock It To Me! group, on the other hand, will likely be thrilled.)

The good news is that today I felt well enough to go on my morning walk (yay!) and well enough to work (which also means I had a chance to download al the photos I took of the Beaner last night), so you won't have to endure fuzzy sock photos in my photo stream for long. In fact, I also managed to pick up the roll of film I'd dropped off at CVS on Sunday when I picked up my prescriptions Wednesday afternoon, so there are some new Vivitar pictures to see already.

The fact that I'm feeling better also means that I shouldn't have any trouble playing in my hockey game tomorrow night in Harrisburg. On the way we're going to make a stop that might involve some secret presents for a couple of colleagues, if I can afford the shipping of the items.

It Was Strep

For any of you who were curious, the doctor just called: It was indeed strep throat. Luckily the antibiotics did the trick, and I'm fine now. Just a little lingering goo from the cold/sinus infection that preceded the strep, but that's manageable.

The "Oh, Who Cares?" Dilemma

I, like many others, tend to complain when I'm sick but forget to celebrate when I'm healthy. You notice the headache, but not when the headache goes away, as it were. The same is true for my bouts of depression; when I'm low, I know it, and it weighs on me, often dragging me down further. When I'm not, I don't really notice, and I certainly forget to mention it. You can probably guess just from the tenor of my posts (or the lack of posts entirely) how I'm feeling at any given moment.

This is just to say that I've generally been OK for a while now. I pulled myself out of the rut I was in a few months ago... though occasionally I have days when it seems like I've fallen back in, days when I think, "oh, what's the point?" or "oh, who cares?" These thoughts are dangerous, and I'd like to fight them off, but they tend to multiply.

I'm having a day like that today. I wish I could shake it off, go back to bed, read a book, take a nap, do WHATEVER to bring the motivation back, but the paradox is that I feel guilty for feeling this way, and so I stay at my desk, not wanting to work but feeling that I SHOULD, which of course just ramps up the guilt and the feelings of "oh, what's the point?"

Yeah, OK, so that wasn't very coherent. There's a more coherent post coming up, but it's taking a while to write. Stay tuned.

Note to My Future Self

If someone suggests that you take an online course, especially one in some type of programming language, please remember to stick to your guns and say NO firmly and unequivocally. Whatever happens, DO NOT CAVE. Your happiness and well-being depends on this.

That is all.

We Did It!

Hey, want to see me making a total fool out of myself? I knew you would! Al, the Beaner, and I played several games of Dora on Sunday morning, with the Beaner assigning us various roles ("ok, this time I will be Swiper and Daddy will be Dora and Mommy will be Boots") and the three of us acting out Beaner-defined adventures. Here's me in the role of Dora, after Swiper (the Beaner) stole my toy Lexus that Boots (Al) and I were going to use to drive to Grandma's. [Enter the name of this blog into the password field to see the movie.]

Why Yes, I Do Take Each and Every One of Them As a Personal Insult. Why Do You Ask?

Short-answer questions from Unit 2 of my online C++ course, and my short answers:

1. What is the size of a class object?

Tell me why this is important, and I might care. Or not.

2. What is the difference between a class and an object?

Yeah. See above.

3. In general, why is it a bad idea to make data members public?

I know, but I have no interest in trying to put my knowledge into words.

4. What are the similarities and differences of structures and classes? When do you use one versus the other in C++?

See answer to #3.

5. What is the primary advantage that C++ classes have over C structures?

Um, clarity? Automatic constructors and destructors? Something else? <shrug>

6. What are the advantages and disadvantages of using defaultable parameters?

Why don't YOU tell ME? That would save us all a lot of time and trouble.

7. What are the advantages and disadvantages of using name and operator overloading?

See #6.

8. Why might it be hazardous to overload comparison operators?

How about I just promise not to, and we'll call it even, OK? (Ooh! Unintentional humor!)

I am so not cut out for learning this way.

Catching Up

As I mentioned in the last post, I spent last week at my company's technology summit in San Jose, CA. Aside from brief internet access on Monday morning and Friday evening (the latter's when I pushed the last post, written Wednesday, live), I lived on my iPhone. I'm thrilled that that was even possible, but not having anywhere to download all the photos from my camera and having very little time to get my blog thoughts together means that I'm a bit behind. I have the week to report on, photos to upload, injuries to report, hockey games to write about, etc. Hopefully I'll get my shit together tomorrow.

Impropriety

Yesterday I went to a meeting in New York, a "face-to-face" meeting/discussion/series of presentations with some folks I either don't know at all or have only interacted with via telephone. It occurred to me, when I noticed that one of the other people at the meeting was staring at me, that maybe it wasn't quite proper to be snacking on nuts while taking notes? Later, I wondered if he was staring not so much because of the nuts, but because I had my feet up on a chair? Maybe it was both?

For the record, I have a photo from that meeting of another attendee with his feet up on a chair, in the exact same position I was in, so it didn't seem entirely out of place. The fact that I dashed out of the room with a nod and a wave to the few remaining attendees in the middle of the last, least-formal discussion and then shouted back my thanks when the startled-sounding meeting organizer yelled his after me also made me worry, however. Wow, was that weird? Impolite? Worse?

I've never been particularly adept at social graces, I must admit. If I get it right, it's by accident, not by intention. However, I'm beginning to wonder if working at home hasn't made me worse in this area. Working at home is a wonderful, wonderful thing for me, but it also means that I get to indulge my already self-indulgent nature even more, that I mostly only have to please myself, that I have no guideposts about what's "normal" when it comes to propriety in the workplace.

A former boss once told me that I have no poker face, and that it was essential that I develop one when in the office. I got a *little* better at that over the next few years, but I fear now that I'm so out of practice—and the line between my personal and professional lives is so thin, being only a flight of stairs—that I'm back at square -1. Worse, I'm not only unaware of my own boundaries, I'm unaware of others', too. I need to find a way to practice social graces, to practice propriety. And I need to remind myself that just because I'm thinking or feeling it, doesn't mean I should say it.

So after an awkward day yesterday, when I had the sense that I committed a few faux pas, that I didn't really fit in with the group and made it worse by staying in my own little bubble, and that maybe I wasn't fit to be communicating with the wider world (in person at least), I probably should have put myself in a time out and reflected a little before broaching the subject of politics with my sister tonight. I should have known that I was so off-kilter that I would put my foot right in it, and boy, did I.

By way of background I should explain that, despite my protestations here that I am a staunch Independent and actually kind of a moderate, I am considered by my family to be a flaming liberal. This has been a running joke for years; my brother-in-law and I see eye to eye on practically nothing when it comes to politics and policy, and we've often argued for sport. My sister and I also do not agree on many things, but it's harder to joke about it, I think... and I forgot that when I said something tonight which turned out to be both hurtful and offensive to her on the phone.

I didn't realize it was offensive when I said it, though I suspected by her clipped response that she was angry; Al had to explain to me how awful it was when I related the conversation to him after hanging up. It wasn't enough that I'd said I'd meant no offense while on the phone. After five minutes talking with Al, I called back and apologized for being a complete idiot.

I won't even try to defend myself, aside from the context I've given above about feeling off in the social graces department. As usual, I was only looking at things from my point of view, and not anyone else's. I swear, if it weren't for Al I'd be even more of a self-centered, disrespectful bumbler than I already am.

I apologize again—profusely, publicly—to my sister and her husband, and hope that they can forgive me. To everyone else I've interacted with in the past week or so, I offer a general apology for being such a spaz. Please bear with be while I reacquaint myself with common courtesy.

Untitled

I have so many things to say, but for one reason or another—discretion, a desire for privacy, laziness, technological hurdles, lack of time, guilt that I should be doing work/playing with my kid/tending my garden instead of blogging—I'm not saying them here. I've been Twittering some of my observations because sometimes it's easier to blurt out a thought in 140 characters or fewer than it is to expound on it (with photographs!) here, but other observations are just stuck inside because they need more time, attention, and mulling-over than I'm willing to give right now.

The Beaner goes back and forth between being the best kid ever to the biggest, bitterest pill ever, with more time spent on the latter half of the spectrum than the former, and it's wearing. "Very smart, but gives up too easily" would be an apt description of both of us. In fact, I'm seeing lots of shades of my own childhood, to the great amusement of my father. (I find it less funny.) Al and I have been strategizing about how to handle it, and we're tweaking that strategy about weekly.

Anyway, I know that while the Beaner is wobbling his way through the Terrible Threes, I am being just as inconstant here, going back and forth between incoherent and utterly silent. I'm hoping to break out of that pattern by participating in NaBloPoMo for the month of May. I think the discipline of writing every day will be good for me. I *know* writing helps me process, helps me figure out what I really think and feel, and I need that right now. I may split my entries between this blog and my hockey blog, but I do plan to write something—posts about Disney World, my container garden on the deck, the UWHL playoffs, and the tournament Shelly, Nielle, and I went to in Greenfield, MA a couple weekends ago are all on the To-Do list—every day in May. See you tomorrow!

It's Amazing What a Bottle of Wine, a Polaroid Camera, and Some Good Conversation Can Do

I started the day sleep-deprived (on account of staying up late to see the west-coast Sharks beat the Dallas Stars in overtime—woot!) and a bit depressed, and there was a moment where I almost burst into tears for no particular reason except that I was sad and not liking the feeling. BUT! things improved as the day went on, mostly due to three important factors: (1) Al recognized the malaise and most generously offered to stop the car along Lancaster Avenue so I could get out and take photos (I'd mentioned that I'd like to do that sometime, but I didn't think we had the time or he'd have the inclination to do it today); (2) after a shaky end to the school picnic, I opened a bottle of really yummy wine and ordered pizza for me and the Beaner; and (3) HeatherB came over to share the wine and hang out for a few hours.

I'm too tired to post the Polaroids I took along Lancaster Ave and at the school picnic, and despite having no less than 6 cameras within easy reach, I completely forgot to take a photo of Heather when she was here, so for the moment you'll just have to trust me that all of this really happened. I blame the sparkling conversation (and the yummy wine) for the lapse in photodocumentation. Heather was lovely company, and she handled the constant interruptions from the Beaner with aplomb. It was really the most pleasant afternoon I could imagine, especially after the cloudy start to the day (both literally and figuratively).

My Sunday in Photos

 
stretching (or not) at tee ball

There was some drama at tee ball as the Beaner went into full "this is bullshit, I refuse to validate this nonsense by participating in it" mode (otherwise known as Lori Mode). <sigh> There's nothing more discouraging than watching your child exhibit your character flaws.

calibration

I've known for a long time that the viewfinder in the One Step didn't match the final result. This shot was an attempt to figure out how far off, and in what direction, it was when using the 4ft-infinity setting.

In the viewfinder, I was lined up such that the left 2 in the 22 was on the edge of the frame.

dresses

On the walk home from tee ball, I spotted these dresses in the window of a shop I'd never noticed before. My first thought: oooh, pretty. My second thought: Myla. Ali. Camera!

ZÉ sighting

About a block later, I saw a No Outlet sign and was reminded of this photo. As I got closer, I looked to see if there was a ZÉ sticker on this one, and behold! There was.

license to hunt terrorists

Despite a forecast of rain, we decided to drive out the Ocean City, New Jersey, where we parked behind this car. "Does that say license to hunt terrorists?" I asked Al. It did. I'm not sure what to say about that.

synchronized cracker eating

Al had expressed interest on the drive out to Ocean City in finding a crab shack and getting a clam strip sandwich or something similar. We lamented that we'd never been able to find a decent seafood place at the beach. As we were walking in a light rain from the car to the boardwalk, Al was grumbling about the distance, and I was welcoming the blame for choosing such a terrible parking spot (1 whole block farther away from the boardwalk than I'd intended!), we noticed a little building with a sign out front that said Clams - Oysters across the street. Suddenly, my parking choice looked like GENIUS.

lobster curtains (and al)

After finishing his chowder and while awaiting his flounder sandwich (I ordered the clam strip platter, thanks to Al's planting of the idea earlier, and the Beaner shared our food and feasted on crackers), Al and I admired the crustacean curtains. The rainy day and the cozy surroundings brought back vague memories of the Cape (or perhaps Martha's Vineyard?) from my childhood.

cracker tricks

The Beaner had a ball eating (and performing tricks with) the oyster crackers that accompanied Al's chowder. He had demanded fried macaroni and cheese (something that to my knowledge only Cheeburger Cheeburger has on their menu), but he seemed content when we told the waitress he'd just share what we were having. He got plenty to eat, so did we, and there was less waste than usual (something that's begun to bug me lately).

shrivers

Using the info I learned from the earlier calibration shot, I tried to squeeze the entire Shriver's sign into the frame. I lined the left edge up with the R, I think. Still cut the Y off of TAFFY.

italian

I forgot to apply the right shift to this photo; I was sucked in by the framing in the viewfinder. Consequently, the extra bit of window that's showing on the left is bugging me. I really liked the neon, though, and the plural Dinners next to the singular Breakfast and Lunch.

taking a ride at the arcade

I actually like cool, rainy weather at the beach; I like the idea of bundling up and walking the near-empty boardwalk, or staying inside reading or coloring (if you have a place there, that is). Unfortunately, I wasn't quite bundled enough on this day, and the wind kept pouring down the back of my neck. We stopped in this arcade so the Beaner could play a few games and ride a couple rides, and so we could get out of the wind for a bit.

fries - funnelcakes - lemonade

Unfortunately, I had to go right back out into the wind when I discovered that our meter was about to run out. We'd only put in an hour and fifteen minutes worth of quarters... but that was before we'd spotted Spadafora's. Being able to eat yummy seafood out of the wind and rain extended our visit a bit. I made the most of my walk back to the car by stopping to take photos of interesting signs.

closed for the season

Or perhaps more accurately, Not Yet Open for the Season. The theater next to Shrivers was open, however. "Oh, that's the movie were talking about seeing—Baby Mama," said Al as we passed the Now Showing posters. "I'm glad we saw Iron Man instead," I replied. Although I'm a fan of Tina Fey, I have doubts about Baby Mama. And I think Al was secretly thrilled that I expressed interest in seeing a superhero movie on Friday night. I'm not a fan of the genre in general, but I *am* a fan of good movies, and I enjoyed Iron Man. (I also really liked Batman Begins, which defined the New Superhero genre to which Iron Man belongs, in my opinion.)

jetty

I really need to think of the viewfinder-to-photo discrepancy as the "shift right" instead of the "left shift". Here I ended up moving the camera further left instead of further right, and almost cutting off the jetty in the process. I wanted it to be on the right edge of the frame, but not *that* far right. Apologies to the fellow contemplating the ocean waves whom I scared with the sound of the One Step ejecting its prize.

wonderland

At the end of the boardwalk is Wonderland, a strange little amusement area. The Beaner wanted to investigate, but opted not to go in and ride the carousel, much to my dismay (it would have been an opportunity to get out of the wind). He and Al played a round of miniature golf instead, and then we headed home (with a stop at Home Depot first, where I picked up some more chicken wire for the garden—photos of my further efforts to protect the garden from the attacking birds to come).

"Ordered List" Is Probably a Misnomer in This Case

1. The Beaner has a fever. We're planning on going to Dutch Wonderland on Saturday, so I hope it's not the beginning of strep or something.
2. I need to have a discussion with someone not in my immediate family about parenting boundaries. As in, dude, I'M the parent here, STEP OFF.
3. We might be having company this weekend, and after cleaning the living room, the guest bath, and the dining room, vacuuming the downstairs, and doing three loads of laundry (including guest sheets and towels), the house is still a complete disaster. I feel like I haven't even made a dent.
4. Either my fitness level is improving, or reading is the magic bullet that makes exercise palatable. 38 minutes on the elliptical trainer, most of it spent at the top end of the heart rate spectrum, feels like nothing these days. American Creation, Friday Night Lights—both do the trick equally well.
5. I hope to finish the roll of film on which resides the last few My Every Day photos this weekend, and then I can finally call that set complete. I may start another such project in January 2009, but for now I'm taking a break.
6. My secret supplier of Polaroid 600 film has raised its prices again, and is currently out of stock to boot. Damn, right when I felt the need to hoard some more.

365 Days of My Life

I finally got the roll of film that was in the Vivitar Ultra Wide & Slim back, and thus I was able to finish off my My Every Day set on Flickr last night. I then stayed up past midnight clicking through each and every photograph in the set, reading the copious notes under some of them, wondering at the choices I made to represent certain days when there were 20 or 30 or 100 photos to choose from, lamenting that other days had only a single grainy cell phone or webcam photo to mark their passing (though sometimes that cell phone photo could not have summed up the day more perfectly).

I'd seen most of the set before as a slideshow, but it was really only in going through page by page and seeing the descriptions, the tags, the dates, the titles, and the context that I got a feel for what the last year has been like for me. All the yummy meals, all the crazy travel, the deep depression and feelings of inadequacy when it came to work and parenthood, the wonderful family adventures, watching the Beaner grow up, go to school, become obsessed with Blues Clues. Our first whole weekend away together without the Beaner, the Beaner's first day of school, his first time on ice skates—it's all there.

I know I could look at my entire Flickr stream to get a sense of where I've been, and the bi-weekly Photojojo TimeCapsule e-mails help, too, but there's something about the editing of my year into a single photo a day that's really compelling. I can see why so many people start 365 projects each January (or 366 projects, as the case may be this year). I plan to take a break before starting up another project like this—maybe a long break, maybe a short one, I'm not sure—but I *will* do it again.

Work Out!

I'm sure I've probably mentioned this before in passing, but in case I haven't: I'm going to a gym these days. I "won" a six-month membership at the Beaner's school auction ("won" being in quotes because what I won was the auction for the membership, not the membership itself—meaning that it still cost me a decent amount) a couple months ago, and upon returning from our Spring Break trip to Disney World, I started the clock on it.

I think my first day at the gym was April 14, and I've been going almost every weekday since then. At the same time, I've been keeping track of what I eat every day at The Daily Plate. Although I've only lost about 3 or 4 pounds so far, I'm starting to feel (and see!) results. I'm finding myself *wanting* to get up early and go to the gym every day, and I find I miss it on weekends. (This past weekend, when we were in Lancaster, I actually used the hotel gym both days. Usually I pack some workout gear and then never use it.)

Part of the attraction is, of course, the time it affords me to read. I listen to an audiobook on my iPhone—currently Mansfield Park, which is one of the Jane Austen novels I never got around to reading on paper—on the walk there & back, and then I read a physical book—currently Feeding the Monster—while working out on the elliptical trainer. The fact that I'm now up to 40 minutes total (35 program + 5 cooldown) is both a testament to the absorbing qualities of my recent reading material and to my improving fitness levels.

Every other day I spend another 10 or 15 minutes doing upper-body weights after I'm done on the elliptical trainer. I'm starting to see biceps, and my massage therapist definitely noticed the difference in my upper back and shoulders. I'm mainly doing the upper body training to complement the workout my lower half gets at hockey for half the year, and also in hopes that it'll make me stronger on the ice. (I'd like to have a more powerful shot.) I imagine it'll also help me lift the Beaner, who's now about 43 lbs. (Actually, now that I think of it, both the aerobic workouts and the weight lifting are already helping; I was able to carry him more than 1/2 the way to the PATCO station at 16th and Locust last Sunday without my arms burning like they used to.)

Lately I've found myself waking up at 6:50 or so in anticipation of my alarm going off at 7:05, even when I've gone to bed past 11pm. Last night I realized that there's really nothing stopping me from leaving for the gym earlier than I currently do except for a desire to sleep, so I pushed my alarm back to 6:55... and found myself awake at 6:40. This is EXCITING. Sleep is good, and I'm more than happy to get at least 7 hours of it, if not 8 or 9, when possible. But I'm pretty thrilled not to be feeling tired and mopey during the day despite barely getting 7 hours. The workouts seem to be putting pep in my step.

Having so much time to myself in the morning is, of course, a bonus as well. Although my errand options have become much more constricted than when I was roaming all over town on morning walks, I do have daily access to Whole Foods, I still get some mind-wandering time on the walk to the gym & back, and with my back deck garden I get as much Zen-like relaxation as I could wish for before starting work. It's heaven. I'm already starting to worry about what I'll do when the membership is up in October. Can I go back to morning walk + twice a week hockey and be happy? Or will I be a gym addict by then?

Burning the Candle (But Not Melting Down)

I'm on Day 2 of 7 where I'm responsible for watching the Beaner from 8:30-11:15am, then working from 11:15 to 7:15 as well as for my usual hour or so after he goes to bed. In order to fit my trip to the gym in and get back and showered before Al has to leave for work, I have to get up at 6:30am.

I know that almost any other mom reading this is probably laughing at me now; getting up at 6:30am and going to bed at 11pm, a few hours of childcare and a full day of work are probably normal for most. For me it's a bit of a stretch. Or, at least, it's a stretch when it's 90+ degrees out and humid. I'm seriously ready to go back to bed right now.

The Beaner and I walked to Reading Terminal Market this morning to buy eggs, and by the time we arrived back home at about 10:50, I was dripping with sweat and ready to flop on the floor. (The Beaner actually *did* flop on the floor.) There was laundry to be done, however, so I tackled that first, and then the Beaner and I went out back to pick some peas and eat them on the spot.

I have to say, it's awesome having a couple hours in the morning with the Beaner. He's not sad at all when Aura arrives, making the handoff easy, and it's just so nice to be able to interact with my kid at leisure. He's so articulate, and now that he's coming out of his super-rough Teenager Phase, he's a delight to be around.

I think the end of the Teenager Phase can be attributed to several factors, namely:

• Time (every phase, good or bad, ends eventually)
• The schedule change that gives Al more uninterrupted time with him in the morning, and me more uninterrupted time with him in the evening
• Diet (we're trying out a semi-Feingold program, essentially skipping the elimination of all salicylates and going straight to Stage Two, and I think we're already seeing progress. Just eliminating artificial colors and preservatives seems to have helped all of us.)
• Momentum (the better he behaves, the more patient and calm we are with him, and the better he behaves).

I wish I had the energy to fully appreciate this time. Hopefully going to bed at 10pm (I'm trying to BE FIRM with myself) will help. That, and staying indoors tomorrow. It's just too dang HOT to be running errands on foot.

Just Ignore Me. I Get Like This Sometimes.

I am SO off the (wagon|rails) with my eating. All the resolutions I make upon waking up each morning have been broken by 11am, which means those of you who'll be seeing me in San Francisco next week will be seeing someone who's at the high end of her "normal" weight range (as opposed to decidedly fat, thank god; that would be 10lbs. northward of where I am now). It's rather unlikely that I'll be at my goal weight by next Wednesday.

The fact that I'm about 4 pounds (I know! a mere 4 pounds!) heavier than I was when I got pregnant four years ago, and 6 pounds heavier than I really like to be, seems like it shouldn't be that big a deal. But despite working out regularly, having back muscles that impressed my massage therapist at my last visit, and actual arm muscles for like the first time EVER, I'm a little annoyed at my body. What the hell happened to my middle? It's blobby in a way that usually happens at that point 10lbs. northward of here.

I'd blame it on having borne a child... except that less than a year after giving birth, I fit right back into the clothes I'd worn before I got pregnant. Those clothes do not fit me now, due to this blobby middle and what appears to be a slightly larger ass and thighs.

Right now, I have two theories about why my old clothes no longer fit:

1. I've gained muscle in my hips, thighs, and butt from playing hockey HARD twice a week, without losing any fat in those areas (due to a high chocolate consumption rate).
2. I'm getting old.

The fact that it usually hurts to climb stairs for two days after hockey indicates that I'm definitely getting a heavy-duty lower-body workout, which is where theory #1 comes from. I wouldn't give up hockey just to stay thin, and honestly, I'm thrilled that my legs are so powerful (ka-zam!), so #1 is more a source of pride than embarrassment. Anyone who wants to tell me I have a fat ass now can kiss it.

Theory #2 would account for the blobby middle, and frankly, it pisses me off. My stomach is the last place I gain weight (hips, thighs, and face all come before it), so I'm not used to waistbands digging into my gut. The pressure on my stomach would be bad enough on its own if it weren't also a reminder that I'm turning 40 this year. Forty seemed kind of cool when I considered that I didn't look 40 (in my humble opinion, of course, and apparently that of the neighbor who mistook me for my son's babysitter) or feel particularly old. Now, thanks to the love handles and uncomfortable waistbands, I'm starting to feel my age. The question is, would I also start to look my age if I wore yoga pants all the time to relieve the pressure?

I was about to end this post right there, but it just occurred to me that the painful post-hockey climbing of stairs may not be an indication of a great thigh- and butt-building workout, but rather further evidence of #2. Crap.

Today's Randomness

One resolution down, more to go:

I find myself suddenly exhausted today and in dire need of a nap at 10:47am. This shouldn't be surprising; the more surprising thing is that it's only hitting me now.

I have high hopes of being able to sort out my multiple drive problems (only Lightroom and iTunes remain stubbornly anchored in the past and looking to the old locations for files that are no longer there) and get caught up on my photo uploading soon.

I'm also looking forward to upgrading my iPhone's firmware and finally getting push e-mail, calendaring, and access to the bugbase while not in front of my computer and logged into VPN. I LOVE that I can get my work e-mail now when I make arrangements to take the Beaner out for lunch or otherwise have to be away from my desk during normal California working hours, but I've definitely missed important meetings because without calendaring support, currently meeting requests are filtered out of my Inbox. I can't reply and say, "that time doesn't work for me, can we reschedule?" or even call in from where I sit. Soon, I *will* be able to do that, and it's thrilling. I just want to get my iTunes sorted so I can properly backup my iPhone, and then I will truly be free.

Speaking of iPhones, does anyone else constantly find themselves sending IMs to the wrong people because you fail to explicitly choose your intended recipient from the Text Messages list and instead simply append your latest thought to whatever conversation was ongoing when you last used your iPhone? I did it three times in one day a few weeks ago, and I just did it again this morning. Tedious! (Not to mention embarrassing.)

My Canon 10D has been stuck in -1 exposure mode for freaking ever, and it's been driving me nuts (though apparently not nuts enough to RTFM to figure out how to fix it). Well, in my defense, the manual's usually nowhere near me when I'm shooting, and I tend to forget about it when I'm not shooting. Consequently, I have to correct the exposure in lightroom for EVERY. PHOTO. I. TAKE with the 10D, and it's annoying. I also often lose photo quality, too.

Well today I finally resolved to fix the problem before shooting garden photos. It was easy, but not straightforward; the combination of buttons and knobs required to set the +/- back to 0 was unguessable (it involved holding down the shutter halfway and using the large wheel on the back of the camera to shift the pointer). However! I am now shooting at the correct exposure, and my photos are no longer all dark and gloomy. Woo!

Restless Sleep, Restless Mind

I haven't been sleeping well lately, mostly due to working a bit too hard and too long, mentally trying to get up to speed with my new job, not feeling well physically (hello, fall allergy season—otherwise known as respiratory distress season for me), never quite getting back in the right time zone after my last trip to the Bay Area (see: working long and hard), and trying to do some long-term planning for the family. Oh, and the recent death of a former hockey teammate that I didn't interact with much since I moved to the Freeze (we played on the same HNA team, but different Freeze teams), but about whose passing I can't help but feel some sadness and angst. So, in short (or rather, at length), there are a bunch of reasons I'm not sleeping well.

Of course, when I don't sleep well, especially when work is one of the reasons, I tend to dream strangely, and about work-related items. To whit:

• On Sunday night, I dreamed that a male Twitter acquaintance said to me, "That's it, no more cutting your hair by yourself. You have to go back to Julius Scissor."
• On Monday night, I dreamed that I weighed only (!) 153 lbs., and that I was so thin I could wear a second pair of jeans over the pair I already had on. (NB: I weigh more than 153 lbs. at the moment, but not so much more that a drop to 153 would allow me to drop even a single jeans size.) I walked out on stage (!) and said, "look, honey! I'm wearing TWO pairs of jeans AT THE SAME TIME!"
• On Tuesday night, I dreamed that I was an accordion panel, and I had to keep bending and straightening my legs to test the smoothness of the panel animation. I think I actually did expand and collapse my body several times in my sleep, but it's hard to say for sure.
• Just now, when I was forced by extreme exhaustion to take a 15-minute catnap (I set my iPhone timer to wake me up), I dreamed that a JSON to XML converter was not what I needed after all. "If I could only get a Chaos plugin that WORKED, all my problems would be solved," I said to the newest of my recently-hired colleagues.

Silent, Sorry

Sorry to anyone checking this site for updates; my long silence is all part of my plan to lose the few readers I still have, because I'm of the mind that you can never have too few readers.

It's not that I have nothing to say. If you follow my Twitter stream, you know that I have plenty to say about politics and Ajax library frustrations and the repetitive stress injury that's turning my right arm into a limp and useless (but still incredibly painful!) appendage. It's partly because of that RSI problem that I'm not eager to do more writing than I have to, and partly because I don't feel the need to share my current thinking about work, parenthood, living in Philadelphia, ambitions, books, and politics in any depth. It's easier in all respects to be vague in 140 characters or fewer.

I think writing is therapeutic, however—for my psyche if not for my hand and arm—so I'll try to get at least a short thought up over here daily and on my hockey blog weekly going forward.

Processor Misfiring

I'm having problems lately with my secondary processor. That is, the mental processor that verifies that my math is correct when I calculate a tip or add two numbers, and that tells my fingers what to type when I have a thought, is misfiring. I looked at a $52 bill today and said to Al, "is $12 enough?" My primary processor calculated $12 as being more than 20% and therefore more than enough, but my secondary processor refused to confirm the calculation, no matter how long I stared at the check.

Similarly, in the past two days I caught myself typing entry when I meant entree, fix when I meant fish, addition when I meant edition. I shudder to think how many e-mails have gone out with similar word substitutions; if you've received one of them, please be assured that I'm not stupid, that I can spell, and that I chose my words carefully in my head. The words just got garbled in transit to my fingers.

I hope it's a sign of sleep deprivation, overwork, and distraction, not of early senility. I'm turning 40 in a couple weeks, and IMHO, 40's a little too early to be going round the bend.

One 30-Minute Slice of My Day

I plan to try a few more of these, because any one 30-minute period can't possibly represent my whole day, nor can it reveal how I manage to fit all kinds of activities in (as Heidi asked about in her comment on my last post). This 30-minute period does reveal, however, how short my attention span is. I've said often that if something takes more that 3 seconds, I'm very likely to switch to something else—which, depending on what I switch to, can either be a productivity boon or a producitivity killer. Judge for yourself in this slice of Friday, October 17, from 4:27 EST to 4:57 EST. (I didn't write down the times of all the task switches, but I did write down what I switched to each time, so you can include "writing down what I did" on the list of things that I did. :-)

• Open enormous archive I received from an Ajax toolkit developer with 7Zip. Start extracting files. (Win)
• Upload two photos to Flickr. (Mac)
• Ping colleage on GTalk about whether trunk is open for checkins. (Win)
• Check on status of archive (still unzipping) and photo upload (still uploading).
• Add a folder to SVN with Tortoise. (Win)
• Add description and tags to Flickr photos. (Mac)
• Add photo to group pool, peruse group pool. (Mac)
• Check on status of archive (finished unzipping, but attempting to open unzipped folder freezes Windows Explorer). (Win)
• Engage colleague who's now responding to my IM. (Win)
• Check on status of add in Tortoise window. Complete. (Win)
• Check Google Reader for postings in the two Aptana forums I'm responsible for monitoring. No postings. (Win)
• Read latest TechCrunch post while in Reader. (Win)
• Refresh local SVN folders so I can commit files I just added; Windows Explorer freezes. (Win)
• Check latest tweets in TweetDeck. Nothing worth responding to, no comments to add. (Win)
• Explorer still frozen. (Win)
• IM from husband reporting on status of several things we have pending. (Win)
• Force-quit Explorer. (Win)
• IMs still coming in from husband, but otherwise, machine is frozen. Can't switch apps. (Win)
• Reboot Windows machine. (Win)
• Update NPR, CNN, and Slate podcasts in iTunes while waiting for Win machine to come back. (Mac)

I'm thinking I might slice my days in other ways, too; perhaps instead of writing down everything I do in a 30-minute period, I'll try setting an alarm that goes off every thirty minutes and write down what I'm doing *right at that moment*. I hope it doesn't reveal that I'm eating every thirty minutes!

40

Yesterday I turned 40 years old, and it was good. My actual birthday was the culmination of a lovely weekend away with my husband, spent doing the things I most wanted to do: eat, sleep, read, hike, leaf peep. I have no photos of the sleeping or the reading, but I've got a LOT of photos of leaves.

More thoughts on 40 coming soon.

Accidents Will Happen

At 2:40am on Saturday morning, Al and I were awoken by about six twentysomethings chatting loudly outside our hotel room. Despite two frustrated SHHHes from me and a "dudes! I'm serious! My kid is asleep in here," they didn't shut up until they'd all piled into the room across the hall and gone to sleep themselves.

When I saw that we were the only guests at this hotel aside from a large wedding group, I figured we were in for another night of the same.

Despite the clocks rolling back an hour, the first loud group came back at 2:35am EST. I couldn't get back to sleep with a semi-full bladder, so I got up to pee. Unfortunately, in the extremely dark room I misjudged where the toilet was by about 3 or 4 inches. I know, it sounds hilarious—and I'd be laughing right along with you if my back hadn't crashed into the toilet bowl on the way down.

The bruise on my butt from hitting the ceramic tile is nothing compared to the knob-bruise on my spine. It burned for a couple hours, which is how I knew the bruise would be a bad one. I could walk back to the bed, however, so I was pretty sure I hadn't done any serious damage—and I *was* able to fall asleep with an icepack that Al helpfully fetched for me pressed against my back.

That icepack was still cold when I heard the Beaner yell, "Mom! Where are you?" and responded "in here, buddy!", which woke Al. "Who are you talking to?" he asked. Me: "Oh, I thought I heard the Beaner say, 'Mom, where are you?'" Just then the Beaner made it clear that I wasn't just dreaming by saying loudly, "Mom, I'M WET."

Well, crap. I'd asked Al after the Beaner fell asleep whether he'd peed before getting in bed, and Al had responded that he'd peed after swimming and before getting in the tub. He normally pees before getting in the tub, but we'd had some extra time between bathtime and bedtime, and my mind calculated that he'd been due for one more pee before going to sleep. Add in the fact that we were in a hotel, and it was practically guaranteed that he'd wet the bed. (He hasn't wet the bed at home in six months or more, but he has accidents in probably one out of every three or four hotel rooms.)

The good news is that Al totally took care of everything. He washed down and re-jammied the Beaner, who got in bed with me for a few minutes, and then made up the pull-out couch (this was a lucky stroke; the suite had a queen bed for us, a queen murphy bed—which the Beaner had been sleeping in—and a queen sleeper sofa).

It was while the Beaner was snuggling me that the second group of wedding guests tramped noisily down the hall, stealing Privacy Please hangers off of doorknobs (actually, it could have been the first group that had done the stealing; I don't know for sure). I think by this time it was about 3:40am EST. I thought, "thank god for small favors"; they could have easily come when I wasn't already awake, and in that case there might have been another accident in the hallway. An accident involving strangulation by icepack.

Won't Talk About It

I have a bunch of things I want to talk about, but all of them would [a] take too long, and [b] expose too much. It might be painfully obvious, or it might be news to everyone who reads this, but I am a bit uneasy about my public persona. On the one hand, I enjoy sharing here as part catharsis, part family holiday letter, part YOU ARE NOT ALONE billboard. On the other hand, I'm not entirely comfortable knowing that someone might actually, you know, READ what I've written.

I guess I like to think of myself as some anonymous Wife Mother Writer Coder Winger (as my MOO cards advertise), connecting with close friends and family at one end of the spectrum, and like-minded strangers on the other. What makes me decidedly uncomfortable is either becoming a celebrity whom others think they know (archetype: dooce), or (the more likely scenario) becoming sorta kinda well-known for the work I do.

If you're a regular reader, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about with that somewhat-more-likely scenario, because I don't talk about work here very often. Here's a little background: While I used to work on a much more famous product with a much larger user base than I do now, I enjoyed some amount of anonymity in working for a large company. I might have been famous—or at least familiar—among our internal beta testers, but otherwise, nobody really knew or cared what I did for a living. Most people assume that the Dreamweaver hoodie I wear almost daily is a reference to the Gary Wright song of the same name, and never give it a second thought.

The job I'm in now is different in a few ways, namely: [a] I'm working for a much smaller company (i.e., there's nowhere to hide); [b] because we're small, produce open-source products, and don't have a giant advertising budget, everyone's responsible for some amount of guerrilla marketing; and [c] it's my job to work closely, personally, with Ajax framework developers on a win-win-win (for them, for us, and for our users) proposition: getting support for their frameworks into one of our products.

So, why is this a problem? Well, mostly it's not; I like win-win-win propositions, I like being in a position to make developers' lives easier (both framework developers' and web developers'), and I like solving technical and process problems. What I'm not so comfortable with is putting myself out there. I don't like asking people for things. I don't like forcing myself on anyone. And, as I said above, I'm not entirely sure I want anyone who's not already in my inner circle to really know what I'm doing, thinking, saying, or photographing. This is why my Twitter updates are protected, why my photos of the Beaner on Flickr are Friends and Family only, why I have gazillions of MOO cards but hardly ever hand them out. I *think* I want to put myself out there, but when it comes right down to it, I really don't.

Thus the minor freakout when, after releasing an updated plugin for one of the Ajax frameworks we support last month and being reminded by our marketing director to ask the developers of said framework to blog about the release, my contact responded with a lovely post about the work I'd personally done... and linked my name back to this here blog. Now, perhaps no one will read the post (unlikely). And perhaps no one will click on the link to find out who the hell Lori Hylan-Cho is (likely). But all of sudden, my professional life was connected to my very personal blog in a way that set off all my Oh My God I'm OUT THERE alarms.

The first thing I did when I saw the post (which I'm not going to link to lest trackbacks are on and I end up making things much, much worse) was come over here to make sure that nothing entirely crazy or frightfully personal was on the front page. And even though I haven't stopped writing—I'm sort of stealth-participating in NaBloPoMo this month, in fact—I've been thinking a lot lately about what I say and how I say it. I'm self-censoring even more than usual. You might even have noticed that I haven't mentioned the name of the company for which I work, nor the name of the product I work on, even though both are public knowledge and have been mentioned on this blog before. Why? Because if I mention the name, this post will show up in a Google alert for that word that many in my company (including me) get every day. That's EXACTLY the scenario I'm trying to avoid (among others).

So I'm not sure how to end this gracefully, as I didn't intend to write all that I did when I started, and I'm writing directly in the Movable Type web interface. (Usually I write in Dreamweaver when I've got a lengthy post in mind, so I can organize my thoughts better and see everything I've written at once.) I guess I just wanted to put it out there that I'm not comfortable with putting it out there. And I think it's starting to show... which is not what I want.

<le sigh>

Career Self-Counseling

Do you ever have those moments when you think, "god, I suck! I can't do anything well!"? Well, I had one on Monday. And the bucket of cold water I threw on myself to snap out of it was to think, "that's not true. I'm good at...." Here's the list I came up with:

• Writing JavaScript extensions to Dreamweaver
• Writing API documentation
• Making shy, introverted, or outcast adults and children feel welcome and included
• Communicating technical concepts to a lay audience
• Learning something one day and then teaching it the next
• Baking
• Facilitating group discussion
• Summarizing a book in 50 words or fewer
• Finding the flaw in any plan
• Writing letters (informative, persuasive, or angry)
• Photographing sports and social events
• Cutting, bleaching, and coloring my own hair
• Selling products or ideas I really believe in
• Refactoring JavaScript
• Acting as a bridge between technical and non-technical people
• Managing a household
• Defending a friend or family member
• Tracking down, documenting, developing tescases for, and finding workarounds for CSS browser bugs
• Remembering how to get places I've been before
• Making my way in a new city

I'm going to keep adding to my list over time, as I think of other things I'm good at. It'll serve as a reminder that I don't suck (or at least not completely) when I'm feeling low, and I think it'll also help me figure out what I really want to do. It'd probably also help, career counseling-wise, to make a list of the things I *do* suck at, but I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Soon, soon.

Grumpy

God, I've had a grumpy day. Started out well, as I recall, but somewhere along the line I got even more irritable than usual, and I couldn't keep my head. I spent much of the day stewing over a dream I had last night—oh, and stewing apples. I'm attempting to make apple butter, at Al's request.

Anyway, it seemed like a good day at first, despite the thunderstorms and warmish temperatures (in November!), but now I'm just grumpy. Al's just turned on Juno, though; hoping that will be entertaining enough to break the spell.

The Director Dream

Last night I dreamed that I was directing a movie. The dream started en medias res (do all dreams start that way? probably, but in this one, I felt like I'd been dropped into the scene); I was standing on a patch of ground outside a house, and there was a film crew behind me. On the large covered porch of the house were several actors.

I'm not sure how I knew it, but I knew that the crew didn't have much faith in me. They didn't seem to think I was qualified to be a director, or that I knew what I was doing at all. I wasn't sure that their distrust and lack of faith was misplaced, as I wasn't sure what I was doing there or if I could manage the situation, either.

I walked over to the porch and addressed the actors (can't remember what I said), then called for the cameras to roll. I watched the scene unfold, and thought to myself, "these are either the worst actors ever, or the script is the worst ever—or both." The scene was terrible: Long, meaningless, ill-delivered. I watched in horror, wondering when it would end, forgetting that I had the power to yell "cut!"

I thought I heard a voice in the distance say "cut", so I turned toward it, and, not seeing anything, yelled "cut!" myself. It turned out I wasn't imagining things; it was one of the technicians in a trailer who'd said "cut". He came out and told me that we were about to lose the light. I said "OK," and that we should go again right away.

Just as we began shooting again, we did indeed lose the light—it became pitch black incredibly fast. The dream sort of became more confused at that point; I remember trying to feel my way to the porch, and I ended up on the outside of a small room with glass walls (like a conference room in the center of an office building), watching the actors from outside. The room was well-lit, but where I was standing remained pitch black, and they couldn't see or hear me.

</end_dream>

The Downsides of Working at Home

As regular readers will know, I work at home. I've been working at home since 2004—first as a contractor, and then, starting in 2006, full-time. One of the conditions under which I took this new job was that I'd continue to work from home. (I already had a job that I really liked and for which I could move back to California if I wanted, and I hadn't done so yet—so why would I move for a new job in the same area?) My husband's job is here, we live in the middle of a vibrant city, both of our commutes can be accomplished on foot, and our son's school is literally around the corner from our house. I pick the Beaner up from school on the days he's dismissed at 11:45 and make him lunch. I can do a load of laundry in the middle of the day if I need to. I can sign for packages and be around if an installer or repairman needs access to the house without having to interrupt my normal work schedule.

[I didn't list "not having to get dressed" among the benefits of working at home because I always get dressed, and I usually wear the same clothes I'd wear if I were in the office. (I do like being able to change into yoga pants if I'm feeling irritable, however; I'm not sure *why* this helps, but it usually does.)]

For all the benefits of working at home—and while the list above isn't exhaustive, I hope it's convincing—there are some downsides. The obvious ones are that it's lonely; that I miss out on cross-cubicle communication and random hallway encounters that always inform and sometimes inspire; that I have to work harder to be remembered and included. It's easy to become disconnected, even when you love the team you work with, the product you work on, and the company you work for.

Perhaps less obvious (at least to me, since it only occurred to me recently) is that working at home gives you a chance to see an alternative to feeling lonely and disconnected. You start looking around you and seeing a kid you could be playing with, a house you could be cleaning, books you could be reading, projects you could be finishing. Never mind that no one will pay you to do those things; when you're feeling lonely and disconnected, the instant and visible gratification of a hug, a clean house, or a completed book or project can seem worth more than even the largest paycheck and the best benefits. This might not be a problem on its face, but if you start pining for the clean house and the completed project, it only adds to the feelings of lonliness and disconnectedness, and there's a danger of spiralling downward and making stupid decisions.

One way I found to combat this downward spiral when I was at Adobe was to visit the office as often as possible... which, sadly, wasn't that often. Just because a trip isn't in the budget doesn't mean it can't happen, however; sometimes you can compromise and share the costs. For example, you could use airline or hotel miles to pay for either airfare or lodging, and have your company pick up the other item. (I did this once, when I was desperate for some facetime.) You could stay with a friend or family member. If you're within a couple hours' drive of your office, you could go in once a week or every other week. The idea is to remind people who you are, have some productive facetime (in both formal meetings and informal hallway chats), and get reconnected to the team and its goals. In short, to remind yourself why you work, so the piles of laundry don't start looking more appealing than your job.

Another thing that helps, for me at least, is to work on a project or feature with another engineer, a QA partner, or just about anyone else, as long as they're a full partner and not just someone you report to periodically. When I work with someone else, I fulfill what my friend Kristin identified as one of her primary needs in a job (and, it turns out, one of my primary needs as well): namely, to "feel like I'm part of a team/hive with a common goal." I definitely felt like I was part of a hive working toward a common goal back in the late 90s when we were working on Dreamweaver 1 and 2 (and I was in the office for 12+ hours a day), but I also felt that way when I was working on my feature for Dreamweaver CS3 with another engineer (who also happened to work remotely). I had someone to bounce ideas off of, to review my code, to help me get unstuck—and, most importantly, to connect me to the team and the release.

For the last release, I worked on a lot of research and feature projects by myself in the early part of the cycle, and I didn't feel nearly as connected. I couldn't see how my contribution mattered, and I felt a bit isolated. Not good. I don't think I realized until recently that working on my own vs. working with a partner was a large part of my feelings of uselessness. (Luckily working by myself was not all I did for the CS4 release; there was also QRB, which I loved; the team lead gig with Hamburg; and the JavaScript Extractor with Kin and Don, among other projects.) I think, in short, that it not only takes self-discipline to work from home, but also self-awareness: It's important to be able to identify when things aren't working, and to examine WHY. Hard to do when you're already feeling like there's no one off of whom to bounce ideas, but essential.

I guess what I'm saying with all of this is that I'm starting to consider whether the downsides of working at home outweigh the benefits, and whether I'm willing to change my arrangement. I think in the short term, just recognizing that I have to work harder to maintain a connection in the absence of frequent office visits and engineering partnerships will help. In the long term... well, we'll see.

Now Is Not The Time to Get Sick

It's the Beaner's 4th birthday today, and it's a bit of a letdown for him after last weekend's party plus visits from his cousin, both sets of grandparents, another set of cousins, and his great-aunt in the past week. For me I think it's kind of a letdown too, in the sense that my body has apparently given up after all the company and planning and baking and whatnot. I'm tired and sweaty and cold and desperately trying to keep my brain and body functioning long enough to pack for my trip to California tomorrow.

Did I mention that I ordered custom thank-you notes for the Beaner to send out to everyone who gave him a gift at the party last Sunday? In any case, I did, and not surprisingly, they have not arrived yet. This means there'll be a delay in thanking everyone until I get back from California and can help the Beaner write cards.

Now that I think of it, that's around the time I should be sending out Christmas cards, so I should probably get on designing those. The good news on that front is that my dad helped me get a good photo of the Beaner (actually three or four good photos) to go on the card. I have no trouble catching a moment when it happens, but I need an assistant when it comes to getting my kid to sit still *and* smile in front of the Christmas tree. Thanks to dad and his elephant impersonations, the session didn't degenerate (entirely) into me shouting "SIT STILL! STOP GLARING AT ME!" while trying not to shake the camera.

All right, that's about all I have time for tonight. There's still packing left to do, and a frittata to make, and sleep to get. Ahhh, sleep, how I look forward to thee. I have a big week ahead of me.

Waving

Just a quick update from foggy San Mateo, where I've been since Monday (when I abruptly stopped blogging due to the changing of the calendar). I'm really glad I came out just now—interesting things are happening at the office, with lots of planning meetings and blue-sky brainstorming and random conversations with colleagues, and I'm also getting a chance to catch up with friends before and after work. This is just what I needed after a couple months of feeling isolated and out of touch back in the Philadelphia home office.

At the same time, I missed Al and the Beaner almost instantaneously, before I even got on the plane. The Beaner called on Monday to ask accusingly why I'd left without saying goodbye: "when I came down to your room you were gone and I didn't get to snuggle you and you always say goodbye before you go out but this time you were already gone." It was enough to break my heart—if it hadn't already been broken by his greeting, which instead of hello was "I miss you."

I miss you too, buddy. Just a few more meetings and a bit more recharging of the work batteries, and I'll be back to see you.

Writing (But Not Publishing)

Just a quick note to say that I've been thinking, reading, and even writing quite a bit lately; I just haven't been publishing anything (here, at least). I've been watching a LOT of The Wire (Al and I made it to season 4 last night), suffering through some sickness (the Beaner's, the nanny's, and my own), and giving a lot of thought to who I am, what I do, and what I want.

I've spewed some of what I've been thinking about on Twitter (the updates on my personal account are protected, so I feel like I'm in a relatively safe environment with these random spewings), but I haven't felt like much else that I'm working on is ready for prime time yet. Hopefully it will be eventually; if not, I may copy it longhand into my Little Book of Frustrations and Embarrassments* for posterity.

*I just this minute came up with this name, though the book itself has been around for three or four years. It took the place of my private pregnancy/baby blog after the Beaner was born, and unlike the private blog, even Al does not have access.

2009

I'm going to be brave and declare that 2009 will be:

1. The year I make my job what I want it to be, instead of just taking a job because it wants me.
2. The year I stop working from home.
3. The year I find myself by seeking out others.

Perhaps those don't sound very brave, but #2, in particular, was scary to write. I almost added that this would be the year I'd make 5 separate dinner invitations, but that seemed a little ambitious for someone who made 0 in 2008. I decided instead that it could be rolled into #3, and I'd just keep it in mind as a sub-goal.

Something else I plan to do in 2009: Take at least a photo a day, and post it on Flickr. Yep, I'm doing a 365 project again, starting at the beginning of the year this time.

Wish me luck. And fortitude.

Good Day, Few Words

Even though nothing spectacularly good happened (in fact, a few things went wrong on the deployment front at work), today felt like a good day. I walked home happy. I got two giant and soothing hugs from the Beaner. I ate a lovely arugula salad and drank a pineapple-banana-Korean pear smoothie for dinner. I finished off some work e-mails, placed a drugstore.com order, uploaded a few photos from the Princeton trip, and now I'm calling it a night. That's enough.

Invalidity

Tonight Al asked me to order something online for him from Brookstone. I found the site relatively easy to navigate, and I even successfully found something extra we needed to get up to the $100 minimum for free shipping. Then this happened:

Me: Arrrgh! ENTER A VALID LAST NAME? I'LL SHOW YOU 'VALID'!

Al: [without looking at me or screen, leaps out of bed and starts for door, then pauses] Do you want me to get one of my credit cards, or are you going to remove the hyphen?

I Almost Tweeted This

It's been so long since I've written in either of my blogs that I was afraid to even open them for fear they'd been hacked by spammers and were crawling with malware. Tonight I finally got the nerve to take a peek, and found no such thing. Instead, I got caught up in reading old hockey blog posts for a good 30 minutes before coming over here to see what was up.

It's probably terribly self-aggrandizing to say so, but I rather enjoyed reading my own writing. I'm not always interesting or profound or even particularly articulate, but for the most part I think I write clearly and capture moments—an event, a game, a practice, a trip—well.

I tell myself that I'm not writing here anymore because [a] I have Twitter for spewing random thoughts (I'm reminded of one of my old blogs that I can't even remember if I rebuilt or mothballed when I moved to a new ISP years ago, called 255 Characters or Less, where the goal was to capture thoughts brief enough to fit in a pager message); [b] I don't have time to write anything much longer than a Twitter message anyway; and [c] if I were going to write something longer, I'd write about work/Scrum/software development process, and nobody who's ever read this blog before would want to read about that.

There are all kinds of kid milestones and moments I could be writing about, but for some reason I haven't wanted to—maybe for the same reason I spent so much less time on photography this year. No, that last is probably related to the work/scrum/software process obsession.

Speaking of kid milestones, it's sort of ironic that the last post I wrote here was about the Beaner entering Kindergarten, since he "graduated" from it last month. There's lots of school drama now (which, if you live in Philadelphia, you may have read about), what with the school that we specifically moved for last summer saying that they're full for grades K-4 and have no intention of expanding, and a school district report that mentions redrawing the boundaries of the catchment area being leaked. We have a backup plan (a very nice one), but as of right now we still don't know for sure where the Beaner will be going to first grade—and we won't known until mid-August at the earliest. School starts on September 8.

Having said that, and even if we don't get into the neighborhood school, I can't regret moving out here. I LOVE this neighborhood, my commute (at least inbound; sometimes it can be a scramble to get home in the evenings), our neighbors, and especially our house (still!). We have sort of adopted a neighborhood stray cat (or s/he adopted us) who comes as often for the lovin' as for the food. As I'm allergic to cats, a cat that comes to visit and keeps me company while I garden but doesn't want to come inside is exactly what I want in a pet. Her love was hard-won, too, which for some reason is a bonus for me. :-)

OK, it's late. I won't bother making any promises about writing again soon or blogging about hockey; instead, I'll just end abruptly and go to bed. 'Night.

Documentation of a Life

A friend happened to favorite a Flickr photo of mine from 2007 today, which led me to re-read the caption on the photo, which led me to look at the other photos in my stream from around that time, which led me to the photos of our trip to Pittsburgh just after Christmas in 2007. Al asked, "what was the name of the pizza place we went to with Craig, do you remember?" I didn't, but I said that I bet I'd blogged about it.

Of course I had (I didn't specifically blog about the pizza place, but I mentioned it in passing; it was Vincent's Pizza). I used to blog about all kinds of things that were going on in our lives. Now it feels like we're too busy living our lives and I don't have enough time to blog about it, but I'm not sure that's strictly true. After laughing and reminiscing over all the posts from January 2008, I said to Al, "I really should start blogging again." Surprisingly, he agreed—mostly because he knows that even though it seems like we'll remember everything we're doing now, we won't without a blog post to jog our memories (because 4 years from now, we'll be busy having other adventures).

To get me back on the wagon, here's a little tidbit that Al offered after I read the Secret Agent Sunscreen post, in which the Beaner referred to him as Daddy TV, out loud to him while laughing hysterically: "That's not as funny as when he called me The Napster."

Me: Oh yeah! I remember that! That was recently, right?

Al: Yeah, it was about a month ago. I was wearing my Napster t-shirt, and he said, "that's a good shirt for you because you're The Napster."

Me: You do take a lot of naps.

9 Things

I had a to-do list with 12 items on it yesterday, and I kind of can't believe the can of whoop-ass I opened on that thing. I:

• Cleaned Fluffy's cage (with the Beaner). Did I mention we have a pet mouse now? OF COURSE NOT, because before yesterday, I hadn't blogged since January.
• Made the Beaner's lunch for camp.
• Made peach chutney with the peaches the Beaner picked at Grandparent Camp (aka the week he spent at my parents' house).
• Signed the Beaner up for the winter SOR show.
• Filled out forms for the after school program.
• Did four loads of laundry.
• Made the guest bed (my sister is coming to visit on Wednesday!).
• Removed references to uniqueIdentifier (UDID) and replaced them with a combination of CFUUIDCreateString and the keychain in the two apps we plan to submit this week, and created release candidate builds of them.
• WROTE A BLOG POST OMG.

I did not get to the mid-year reviews, the bike ride (it rained), or the bass practice (which I am going to do RIGHT NOW, I swear!), but! I blogged! And that's the important thing.

Oh, p.s.: I could have called this post 10 Things, because even though it was not on my list, I also played hockey and had an assist. Woot!

Bass Badass

Played so much bass during last night's adult program practice that by the last song my left hand and arm cramped and refused to grip the strings. In the grand scheme of things it wasn't *that* much continuous playing time—only a little over 2 hours—but that's more than I've ever done before. (Usually I practice for 30-60 minutes a night, my lessons are 45 minutes long, and at the last adult session I sang half the songs because I didn't know the bass lines to them.)

On a related note, I've noticed that there's a disconnect between the songs I like to listen to and noodle out at home, and the ones I enjoy playing most with the other dudes in the group. I have a pretty wide range of musical interests, but I don't have much in the Blues genre in my library. Blues, however, turns out to be really fun to play. The bass line can really hold up a song and provide a platform for some cool guitar solos—and it's usually chill enough that I can keep up fairly easily.

In other music news, the Beaner got into Punk 'n Funk for this season, so he will start practices for that this Saturday. Oh, and as we were leaving the adult session last night, Yanni said, "we're going to have a show soon. Don't anyone quit the band before the show!" Which... eep!... is both exciting and terrifying. Hopefully we will do all Blues tunes! And we should probably come up with a name for ourselves, so I don't have to keep referring to us as the Adult Program. Maybe we can use the title of the note that was sent home with the Beaner from camp last night and be the HEY GROWNUPS!

Traction or Distraction?

Started back at the beginning—Week 1, Day 1—of the 10K Runner program on Friday. I probably could have started at week 5, which I usually do after a running break, but after a couple hockey injuries and being sick the week of Christmas, I figured it couldn't hurt to ease my way back in slowly. I did Day 2 this morning and forgot to take my inhaler first, and I was wheezing by the end. Technically the chest cold is over, but the goo and the shortness of breath... they linger.

Anyway, I'm starting on the treadmill for now because it takes less effort to go down to the basement in shorts than it does to dress for winter weather, and I need as few hurdles standing between me and a run as possible. Hoping to get back outside before long, though, as I prefer the mental stimulation of running outdoors to staring at the same items on the workbench across from me in the basement for an entire workout.

It was my experience last hockey season that I played better on the days when I ran in the morning; we'll see if that's still the case now that I'm blobbier and more out of shape, as I have not one but two hockey games this evening (one for the Freeze, and one with Al for an in-house league).

Managed to get in some yard cleanup in yesterday morning's drizzle and sleet before the sky opened up to a full-on downpour. Didn't make it to the back yard, sadly—just got the leaves in the alley and picked up the trash that had ended up everywhere when some animal gnawed through our neighbor's trash bags—but it's a start.

[I am mostly talking about the things I have accomplished this weekend and the things I have left to do because I am trying not to think about something work-related on a Sunday. (That's what I get for checking my work e-mail first thing on a Sunday morning.) It would have sucked just as much to get that email on a Monday morning, but least then it wouldn't have ruined a non-work day.]

Saw Big Hero 6 with Al and the Beaner last night (they had seen it together once before). The animation was really good, and I liked the comic book style and the concept of San Fransokyo. Still trying to get Al to watch Gone Girl with me (I read the book last year and saw the movie with my sister a couple months ago), but since it requires waiting until the Beaner goes to bed, and he's been finding ways to stretch his 9:30pm bedtime during the holiday break, we haven't been able to squeeze it in. I suspect Al doesn't really want to see it and thinks reading the Wikipedia article about it is sufficient.