How things change...

I know, I am a terrible blogger. terrible. I really should just hang this whole thing up and admit defeat.

But, I'm stubborn...

There have been big changes here on the Ark. Big. Like, we know longer know where the Ark is going big.

Last month, I randomly applied for a job. Last week, I accepted the offer. On Friday, Dyke Two found out she might be losing her job.

In an amazing chain of events, my new job offers domestic partner benefits. And, will offer me flextime to take my last four classes.

But, the important news: Bigfella is truly wonderful. We're planning to trial milk or eggs sometime soon. He talks (a lot). Being weirdo, nerdy parents, we have a list of his words. I'm not sharing it. After all my months of saying that parents lie about their kids in the blogosphere, Bigfella has a list of words that would immediately make others assume I am lying.

But, for those of you whose babes aren't talking much, fear not. Bigfella is still attached to the breast for hours a day. He randomly slept through the night for a couple weeks this winter, and is now back to waking up 2 times a night.

We think he is cutting his second set of molars.

Bigfella has two dadas...

he loves his dadas. And they love him. When he sees them, he points and screams, "dada! dada!" and his little face lights up as he grins from ear to ear. he chortles out belly laughs when his dadas come in the house.

he loves to play outside with his dadas. He loves when he gets to crawl on top of one of them and snuggle up close. When he eats, he always shares his meal with his dadas. His favorite thing to do each evening when we get home is to run to the kitchen to get his dadas a milkbone.

They run with him, tails wagging. And then they sit patiently, waiting for him to give them their treat.

Do you ever feel?

Do you ever feel like your time and attention are being pulled in so many directions that there is no way you can do anything well--let alone everything?

Do you ever feel like no matter how hard you try, you will end up disappointing someone, especially yourself?

Do you ever feel like even though you want to drop some of your obligations, you just can't bring yourself to do it?

Do you ever feel selfish for wanting to keep those obligations because the activities are things that help define you, even though you are doing a piss-poor job at them, and they are taking away from other things?


I don't even want to get into the list of things that are piling up around me, and the numerous ways I feel like I have failed at the things I set out to do. I just want to know I am not alone...

What about you?? What are the things that are weighing you down?

worst blogger ever...

...i think i have been in a seasonal affective disorder fog. I spent most of the semester hiding from my advisor because i was too embarrassed to tell him I messed up some administrative paperwork. I finally owned up today, and he was fine with it.

what a fucking waste of energy.

I also went to the gynecologist today for my pap and annual. My hooha is totally hosed. I piss on my self when I run, and sometimes have such bad constipation that the shit bulges from my ass toward my vaginal wall. So, the doc referred me for physical therapy. He said I might need surgery, but won't do it (or refer me out, which is more likely since he doesn't do pelvic floor rehab) until we are done having babies. Since the next one may dwarf Bigfella--who was 10 pounds 5 ounces, the doc doesn't want to have to do the repair twice.

Which brings me to another point. When we were there, surrounded by the preggos, watching them weigh themselves, and rub their bellies, it totally made me want to do it again.

We don't know when for sure, but the doc said he hopes he sees me again before my annual next year. He was totally smitten with Bigfella, and said he can't wait for us to have another....

we'll see if I do a better job updating this. I'm not making any promises. I know myself too well.

New semester

Our semester began last week. I am looking forward to my classes, though I can't tell if it is just that the magic of the new semester hasn't worn off yet. I love when a new semester starts. All those exciting readings, new shiny books, brand new office supplies, a datebook that is organized and not yet packed to capacity. Let's see what I think in 5 weeks...

I had a professional disagreement with one of my professors already. Smallcity is, appropriately, a small city. Back in my previous life, this professor and I had a run-in when we both were involved in a contentious time in the local schools. He and I were not entirely on the same page, though my big issue was that he was a bit of an ass when dealing with it.

Now, I am taking his course. The issue (which was two years ago, mind you) came up on the first day of class. He shared his opinion, which I think was wrong. So I told him. In front of the other 7 students. Yeah, we'll see what I think in 5 weeks.

Apparently, in honor of the new semester, Bigfella has decided to:

a. cure his thrush. it disappeared from my nipples too.
b. continue teething at a rate that rivals glacier formation.
c. fall and crack his forehead open on Dyke Two's metal office door.
d. sleep through the night. (ssshhhhhhhh, we don't want to jinx this one.)

Apparently, in honor of the new semester, I have decided to:

a. forget my pump horns at home on Tuesday.
b. forget my cooler icepacks at home on Wednesday.
c. finally cut all dairy out of my diet again
d. write an incredibly boring blog entry.

Seriously, why are you still reading this?

I am way too lazy...

...to be poor.

Seriously. That myth about poor people being lazy. From watching the poor folks in our neighborhood, poor people are some of the hardest working people I know. Our handyman is currently homeless, living at the Salvation Army. He is always working at hard, manual labor. He digs trenches, mulched a 15 foot by 15 foot patch of our yard in 90 minutes, hauls junk all over town on his bicycle, and is always clean, neat and presentable. All while living in a homeless shelter.

I watch moms with little kids dragging their laundry five blocks uphill to the laundromat. I see people waiting to catch the bus, and then see them 2 hours later, just arriving at work. I see families waiting outside the pediatrician's office for their ride home.

Seriously, I could never be poor. Our washer broke last year. The dirty clothes sat until the repairman got there three days later. We were too lazy to even drive to the laundromat. When my car breaks down, there is no way I would get up two hours early to take the bus to school. I bitch about having to park at a remote parking lot and take the bus across campus.

I'm not sure where this myth about poor people being lazy came from. The poor folks I know work hard. Dyke Two's mother worked as a domestic her whole life. Again, we are far too lazy for work like that. We can't wait to hire a cleaning lady as soon as I am working again. Dyke Two made me promise that we'll hire a white woman...

(I'm not even going to try to explain the convoluted thought process that made this post relevant to anything. It had something to do with those embryos that were rescued from New Orleans while poor folks were still stranded and without food....)

My days are numbered...

Since classes ended in December, Bigfella has remained going to daycare when he's been healthy. The healthy days have been sparse this month, but on the days he goes to daycare, I have had hours stretching luxuriously in front of me.

But don't worry--I haven't let my brain completely rot. I have spent that time doing research. Important research like watching "The View" each morning. Yesterday, (and I can't even believe I am saying this) Elisabeth Hasselbeck said something important. Yes, Elisabeth Hasselbeck the formula spokeswoman, social conservative, Bush-supporting talk show host said something important about gender roles. I tried to find the video clip to post, but I couldn't locate it on line.

Basically, she was watching her daughter Grace play at the park, and realized that she was not climbing and running as much as she did at home. So, she looked at Grace's jeans, and compared them to a pair of boys' jeans in the same size. The boys' jeans were looser, stretchier, and had a higher rise. So, and this is why I have some respect for the woman, she bought Gracie boy's jeans. As she said, she didn't want her daughter's activities constricted or dictated by her clothing.

So, while we are not currently raising a daughter, this little example of the subtle shaping of girlhood by commerce sticks with me. While we have always looked for clothing for Bigfella that is not actively encoding gender roles into him, we have only looked to avoid sports symbols, tools and construction equipment. We had always assumed that our theoretical daughter would be similarly dressed: no overload of pink, no frills, no toddler belly shirts, no rhinestones. It had never dawned on me that the cut of the clothing would be different.

It really made me stop and think about how pervasive gender coding is, and how subtle some of it actually is...