Annals of Home Ownership

I recently wrote about the horrid condition of our yard, and how I vowed that this year will be different. I have now taken steps to ensure that this year we will not be fined by the city, nor will the ants get to take over a whole room in our house, to the point where we moved our stuff out, and they stayed. Sad, but true.

The first step was to find someone to mow and edge the yard, since neither R nor I have the time (or the babysitting support) to do it. I solicited quotes from a few local lawn care companies, and proceeded to faint in horror every time I got one. The lowest one was $1500 (for the growing season), and that was just for mowing and edging, without any weed or pest control. It escalated from there. Now I'm sure that these are reasonable charges, but unfortunately I just can't afford them at this time. So I compromised. I hired my brother to mow, weed, and edge twice a month, and water the yard once a week. We agreed that $100 dollars a month is a reasonable charge for this. More importantly, it's one that I can afford.

The second step was to find someone to defend against the impending ant invasion. Exterminator Man came over this morning, looked around the house and yard, and declared that we had a "moderate fire ant problem." He sprayed the outside and put some dust in our weepholes and gave us a 90 day guarantee for ant prevention inside the house. When EM was done with his ant prevention, he called me out to the back yard to show me the termite damage on our fence. He recommended some products that we could use around the yard to prevent the ant mounds and to protect the fence and the wooden play set from termite damage. Then he took a deep breath and said:

EM: Is this your first house?
Lisa: Yes.
EM: [surveys the already knee-high weeds we're standing in, the termite damaged fence, the ant mounds, the tall grass that still rings the house, and shook his head]
EM: Taking care of the yard is just as important as the interior of the house, you know.
Lisa: [wishing the ground would swallow her where she stands] Yes, yes I know.
EM: This is impacting your property value.
Lisa: Believe me, I understand that. That's why you're here! [flattery will get you everywhere?]
EM: [nods head] Prevention is important, but you have to keep doing it!
Lisa: Yes! Thank you, Exterminator Man!

Really, he was very nice, but he clearly felt compelled to lead the idiot homeowner down the path of righteous yard maintenance. He only charged me $100 and he gave me some pretty good advice regarding further ant prevention. But it was truly, horribly embarrassing.

I think the house is pretty peeved about the yard. It's starting to turn on us. Yesterday the bathroom sink sprung a gushing leak and flooded the cabinet. I got to spend 30 minutes sopping up water and trying to keep the Moosh from licking it off the floor. He was most displeased. Now that cabinet is clean, and there is a plastic basin situated under the leak to catch the water until R has time to fix it.

My husband likes my family, but they are not good homeowners or good housekeepers. I definitely come from that family. Whenever the house becomes particularly egregious (to his super picky sensibilites), he will refer to it as the "Cloutier family home" just to piss me off. Luckily I am not my parents. In their home the situation would be the same, but it would persist for years on end. At least our problem will get fixed this year. I hope.

'Tis True

Every morning I take my thyroid medicine right after I wake up, so I don't forget. I have a very special alarm clock that is small and male and wakes me up by putting my glasses on my face for me. Bet you wish you had one. Another feature of this alarm clock is that he follows me into the kitchen and watches as I take my medicine. Then, invariably, he requests his payment for being an alarm clock by demanding "E-dee, e-dee!" I stare at him for a few seconds, initially thinking that he wants his Aunt A, but then realizing that he wants candy. So, of course, I give him some.

Now before you cast me into bad parent hell because the first thing that I give my son to eat in the morning is candy, let me inform you that what he thinks is candy are actually vitamins. I am a sneaky, sneaky mommy. One Flinstones my first vitamin and three vitamin C and echinacea gummy bears, to be exact. Hee. Toddlers are sooooo gullible.

Recipe

Here is my slightly bastardized recipe for Gormeh Sabzi. Here is a link to the actual recipe. I have eaten this in Iran and my sister-in-law did not make it with potatoes. Also, fresh fenugreek is impossible to find here. I cheat a little and use dehydrated vegetables that are available in stores that sell Persian food. You can use either fresh or dried veggies. Dried veggies need to be rehydrated before use. Fresh veggies have to be very finely chopped. I use a food processor.

I used to hate rice. Then I learned to cook it the right way. Get long grain basmati rice. No other rice will do. I spit on other kinds of rice.

Gormeh Sabzi

1 lb stew meat, cut into small chunks
3/4 cup kidney beans, soaked
2 large onions, finely chopped
1/2 cup lemon or lime juice

A good quantity of each of the following, finely chopped:
spinach
green onions
parsley
chives

or use the prepackaged dehydrated veggies, if you can find them.

Directions:
Fry onions in oil until golden. Add meat and cook until it turns whitish. Add beans, salt and pepper, and some water and cook for about an hour and a half.

In a separate frying pan, fry prepared vegetables in oil until wilted. Add vegetables and lemon juice to meat mixture. Simmer for another 10-15 minutes. Serve with rice.

Busy, Busy, Busy

Well, the Moosh and I spent about 4 hours yesterday driving around Dallas doing errands. We picked up the tickets for our trip to Iran, and we hit the World Food Market (not the chain store World Market) to pick up delicious Iranian food for the husband.

We left the house around 10:30 AM, and we had to take the back roads because the interstate was shut down for some reason. I was glad that I called ahead to the travel agency because they were the ones who gave me the heads up about the highway. Unfortunately, the back roads took a while, so by the time we got there, was past 11:00. The travel agency ladies spent about 15 minutes oohing and ahhing over the cuteness that is the Moosh, and by the time we got out of there and drove to the Iranian store and finished our shopping it was almost 1:00. We were at least 30-40 minutes from the house (using the evil tollway, which costs a whopping $1.50 ONE WAY) and I didn't want to spend $1.50. I was also worried because it was dangerously close to naptime and we hadn't had lunch yet. Hmm, 40 minutes from home with a sleepy/hungry baby... MUST EAT OUT.

We went to the fabulously scrumptious Tasty Egg Roll, which is in Plano close to three companies I used to work for: PageNet (now Arch Wireless), Metricom, and Weblink Wireless. Yes, I enjoyed the tastiness of the Tasty Egg Roll many a time back in the day when I worked in Plano. I kind of hate the fact that Gigantic Telephone Company is not located in Plano. Every other telecom company in the metroplex is there. Gigantic Telephone Company obviously thinks it's better than those other telephone companies. Snob. Anyway, I had General Tso's Chicken, and the Moosh had a kid's meal of sweet and sour chicken. He ate 3 pieces of chicken and about 3 bites of rice. I stopped for lunch and paid $2.99 because I was afraid that he would go to sleep hungry and he ate 6 bites of food. Naturally.

We stopped in at the Tom Thumb next to the Tasty Egg Roll and got some onions and tomatoes for dinner. About 2 seconds into our drive home the Moosh was asleep.

I neglected to turn at the right place going home, so we spent about 20 minutes longer on the road. When we got home I moved the baby into bed, then I cleaned the kitchen and started dinner. After the Moosh woke up, he "helped" me cook, and I discovered that he had a new skill. His favorite part of cooking is shaking the salt/pepper/seasoning into the food. I let him do that, and then I put the cap back on the shaker and gave it to him to carry around. I then discovered his new skill: he learned how to open twist caps and dumped salt and pepper all over the living room. He is gifted. I wept tears of joy the whole time I was pulling out the vacuum cleaner. Since I had the vacuum cleaner out, I decided to vacuum the whole house. Then we played keep away with a balloon until R came home.

For those of you who like exotic dishes, you should try making some Iranian food. I've learned to make a few dishes that are fairly easy. This is a site with some good recipes. Last night I made Gormeh Sabzi and served it with basmati rice (prepared Iranian style). The husband raved and the baby ate two helpings.

So that was my "day off" from work. Soon I will write about how a woman's work is never done. I'm sure you are all holding your breath.

Iran FAQ

I don't think that I've mentioned this before, but my husband is from Iran, and the Moosh and I are citizens, too. Guess what? I've actually been there. You know what else? I'm going again, this time sans husband, in about two weeks.

Ever since I went to Iran last year, people have asked me several questions about the trip. So now, without further adieu, here is my:

Iran FAQ

1. Were you freaked out before you went?

I must admit that I was slightly nervous because of all the crap propaganda we are exposed to here in the good old US of A.

2. Were those fears founded in real, actual fact?

Nope.

3. Did you have to wear those weird clothes?

Yes. Before I went a friend here hooked me up with a coat, called a manteau, that I wore over my clothes when we went out in public. She also loaned me a scarf. After my arrival, I borrowed a few from my sisters-in-law, and then I bought my own set.

4. Did it bother you?

Kinda. Especially when I as feeling stressed, and I didn't want to be a "good guest" anymore. Overall it didn't bother me too much.

5. So, you have to wear those clothes all the time, right?

Not in the house (or other people's houses). R's family were really respectful of my beliefs. I wore regular clothes and pajamas around the house. I am not a controversial dresser, however. Jeans and t-shirts for me.

6. So, everyone over there is really religious, right?

Nope. R's mother and the sisters-in-law prayed every day, but I never saw the men pray. Most of the young people are kind of reform Muslim. Very liberal.

7. Don't they just hate Americans?

I always introduced myself as American and everyone was very nice. No one told me flat out that he or she hated Americans. Some people mentioned that they didn't like Bush, but I don't like him either, and I'm American. To each his own, I suppose.

8. Isn't Iran just a big desert?

Hardly. In the northern part of the country, there are alpine mountains with ski slopes. R's family lives in and around the capital of Tehran. There is a desert in the southern part of the country. This is where the recent earthquake occured. Iran is famous for it's beautiful parks and gardens. It is a beautiful place.

9. Do they have electricity there?

Someone at work actually asked me this. My answer? Yes, dumbass. They have flat-screen TVs, wireless phones, and computers, too.

10. Will you go back?

Yes. In fact, we are going again in just a couple of weeks to celebrate the Iranian New Year.

11. Their new year is in March?

The Iranian New Year starts on the first day of spring. This year it falls on March 20.

12. Don't you care that Iran is part of the Axis of Evil and that they may be developing nuclear weapons?

No.

I hope that clears up some stuff for all of you. Now I have to go and buy copious amounts of toys to entertain my son on the trip. Actually the only thing I am worried about is making the trip by myself with a 21-month-old. Now that's scary.

My Mom Calls It the Underworld

My mom calls hell "the underworld" because she thinks that hell is a bad word. She's an English teacher so I usually employ the "parts of speech" defense for hell. You see, if you use "hell" as a noun, e.g. "Go to hell," it's not a bad word because it's the name of a place. However, if you use "hell" as an adjective, e.g. "Oh, the hell with it!" that's a swear. Mom doesn't buy it, but it makes perfect sense to me.

That was my roundabout introduction into yesterday, the day from hell. (NOT a swear. See above.) I had to send out the registration forms for the gas tanks at the store. These forms should have gone out a month ago, but the contractor neglected to give them to us until last week. Timecrunch much?

I finally finished entering the data on these forms (they were the fillable Adobe Acrobat PDF forms) and tried to print them. It printed the main parts of the form, but not the answers that it took me two hours to find. Instead of text, it just printed little boxes. So I printed it again. And again. No luck. I called my husband and told him that I was buying a new printer because the one we have is a piece of shit. About that time my mom came over to spend time with me and the baby, so we all went out and I dropped about $100 on a new printer. By the time we got home, it was getting late, and I was running out of time to get the form done and sent out before I had to go to work. My mom took the baby for a drive to get him down for his nap and I set up the printer. All went well until I had to install the software for the printer, which stated that it would take 35 minutes. Oops. I had to go to work before the thing would finish installing.

I realized that I could just get my sister to print and send the form after the printer finished setting up. As soon as she got to the house, I asked her if she would be willing to do this for me, and she agreed. I was relieved because I'd promised my husband that I'd get the form out that day. I went to work.

Apparently when I left my house and drove to work I descended from the 7th level of hell, where computer equipment torments you forever, to the 6th level of hell, where your loving co-workers decide to stick you on California when it's raining for all eternity. From the time I sat down at my terminal I was inundated with phone calls for 4 hours straight. Tip: it should NEVER rain in southern California. When it does, all telephone service ceases. I took one personal call during that four hours: when my sister called to tell me that she'd had to reboot the computer, thereby losing all of the information on the form. There was no way that form was going out that day.

When I got home from work, I typed up the form again tried to print it on the new printer. I still got the damn boxes instead of text. At that point, I realized that it was more likely a problem with my computer than my printer. After spending $100. I tried to fix the computer, but it was late and I was tired.

The upshot of all of this is that I didn't get the form sent out. Of course I told my husband that it went out. What else could I do? I just spent $100.

Argh.

You Know It's Getting Bad When...

... you're at work heating up your lunch, and to pass the time, you rearrange the contents of the kitchenette drawers so that the sharp implements of destruction are out of the reach of your toddler. Then you realize you're at work.

Oh! The Horror!

I've been very inspired by other people's blogs lately. Today I was reading Dooce's account of her daughter Leta's 12 month well baby check. Leta is fine! But it reminded me of my many encounters with the Moosh's pediatrician (Dr. R). Let me sum it up for you right now: I hate her. I hate her partner (Dr. S) EVEN MORE. Let me tell you why.

The excessive crying problem that the Moosh had when he was born turned out to be caused by GERD. You know, acid reflux. It's actually quite common in new babies, but it made our lives miserable. So, you're probably thinking, when did your doctor inform you of this condition? Well she didn't. I figured it out by reading the internet. I found some articles. I read them. I printed them out and took them to her office, accompanied by my screaming infant. I told her that he had acid reflux. She gave him medicine. It all got a lot better. I should have had the insurance company pay ME, because she didn't do a fucking thing to make him feel better.

After that I really wanted to switch docs, but all the other peds in my area were either not on my insurance plan or weren't taking new patients. So we stayed with Dr. R.

Every well baby check we went to, she told us what was wrong with him. The early appointments were all related to the excessive crying and how she thought we should switch him to formula. I was committed to nursing him (good thing) so I wouldn't allow her to derail me ( he did fine on breastmilk and it wasn't the cause of the GERD, according to the specialist). After we got the GERD thing sorted out, she had to find other things that were wrong. One time she thought his head had grown too much (it hadn't). Another time she was worried that he was in the 50th percentile for weight at his previous visit, but at that visit he was in the 47th percentile. Three whole fucking percentile points. He'd also started crawling during that time. You know, moving around. Which burns calories. She didn't think that the crawling was significant. You know, I didn't go to medical school, but even I know that moving around burns calories, bitch.

The Moosh only had one fever in the first year of his life, in May of 2004, when he was 11 months old. He caught it in the Emergency Room at Dallas Children's Hospital, where we'd taken him to have a hernia looked at a few days before he got sick. The fever was pretty high, and since it was the first time he'd been sick, we thought we should take him to see the doctor. Unfortunately, it was Friday night when he got sick and we had to take him to the doctor on Saturday morning. Dr. R was not in the office that day so we saw her partner Dr. S.

Dr. S examined the Moosh, and the first thing that she told us was that he'd gained weight and needed a higher dose of Tylenol than we'd been giving him. She then gave him a dose of Children's Advil. OK so far. Then she told me that he had an infection in his blood (bacteremia). According to her this infection was quite serious. It could turn into meningitis if we weren't careful. Hopefully he would make it through. Stuff like that. I, of course, became nearly apoplectic with worry as she was going through all of this stuff. Then she said that they needed to get a blood sample, a sterile urine sample, and give him some antibiotics. Fine. I said I wanted to hold the baby while she was doing these procedures. She told me that I couldn't, that if I held him that it would make everything worse, pain wise. So instead of letting me hold him, they TIED HIM TO THE TABLE. Of course he started screaming. They took blood first. It only took them 5 times to get a vein, because they'd TIED HIM TO THE TABLE so he couldn't move his torso, but he could still move his arms, and his arms were flailing because they TIED HIM TO THE TABLE. So they finally got the blood sample. Baby is still screaming and I am very, very upset. Next came the catheter. Unfortunately he'd just peed and so when she put in the catheter (oh, the SCREAMS) she barely got anything out. She pushed hard on his abdomen a few times. More screaming. Finally, they gave him antibiotics, two shots, one in each leg. And he SCREAMED SCREAMED SCREAMED. I was crying and close to hysterical myself.

Dr. S and tech retreated and I undid the straps that they used to TIE HIM TO THE FUCKING TABLE and nursed him. He finally started to calm down. We waited in the office for about 20 minutes to see if he had any reaction to the antibiotics. He didn't, and we went home. I couldn't put him down for the rest of the day. He just nursed and nursed for comfort because he was SO UPSET and I was SO UPSET for him. I justified the whole thing in my head, the doctor said he was REALLY SICK, and so all of the PAIN and SCREAMING were necessary. His fever had come down with the correct dose of Children's Advil, so I kept giving it to him. He was completely recovered the next day.

A few days later Dr. S's nurse called me with the results of his tests. Turns out he didn't have a serious bacterial infection that could have killed him. What? No, he had a cold. A cold. Caused by a virus. I must admit, I got pretty snippy with the nurse on the phone. I asked him why they pumped him full of antibiotics if he had a virus. I asked him why all of those tests were necessary. Of course, he had no answers for me, and I knew he didn't but I needed to yell at someone.

As soon as I hung up the phone I knew that all of my rationalizations for letting that bad stuff happen to the baby had flown out the window. I still feel guilty about it. Still to this day. I've talked with other parents and I've been informed that not all offices TIE BABIES TO THE TABLE to take blood and do catheters. In fact, none of the parents to whom I spoke knew anything about TYING BABIES TO TABLES. Personally I felt that TYING THE BABY TO THE TABLE was excessive. I did tell the doctor that I wanted to hold him. She told me it would hurt MORE. I now know that is not true, and I cannot get over my GUILT.

I have since talked to another parent who sees this Dr. S as her regular pediatrician, and she told me that Dr. S always thinks the worst and acts like the kid is going to die. Of course I didn't know that at the time.

There has been emotional fallout from that disastrous visit. The Moosh, who had never minded going to the doctor before, now cries if we so much as drive by the building. He refuses to get on the examining table at all, and I've laid down the law with Dr. R about holding him while she gets his shots. She still doesn't like it.

The Moosh was sick for the whole month of November 2004 with three back-to-back ear infections. Dr. R was supportive and willing to work with me about avoiding unnecessary procedures. I appreciated that.

However, since we switched to PPO insurance in January, and there is a new pediatrician's office down the street from us, I think it might be time to switch doctors.

I think the main problem that I have with pediatricians is that they don't consider the results of doing all of these painful procedures on babies. I once had a kid that didn't mind going to the doctor(despite the shots), now I have one who cries the whole time we're there. That's not good.

Moral Superiority

Sometimes I wonder about the parenting choices we've made, about the burden we've put on ourselves in raising this child. I was reading Julia's blog (just started on the archives) and she was writing about how desperately she needs another child. I am amazed when I hear people talk in such glowing terms about their future children. I really, really wish I had the same feelings.

After I had the Moosh things went downhill pretty fast. Here we'd had this uneventful pregnancy, uneventful birth and a beautiful baby. The truth is that I was completely overwhelmed. The baby was beautiful and perfect, but he cried and cried for 12-15 hours every day for the first 3 months of his life. Then he continued crying, screaming if we left him alone for any length of time until he became mobile (around 7.5 months). I hated myself. I hated my husband. I hated everything during that 8 months or so after the baby was born.

Actually, strangely enough I don't remember actively hating the baby. It wasn't his fault. It was mine. I think the main thing was that I didn't enjoy having him. He seemed to be doing fine, though. Whatever we were doing was working for him. It just took some getting used to.

I had an aquaintence at work who had a baby 4 weeks after I had mine. Of course, we entered a baby competition. Friends, I hate that parent. You know, the one who hears what your child did and then claims that his/hers did it 2 seconds before yours. Here's my confession: I was that parent. For a while, it's the only thing that got me through having a baby. I retrospect I realize how tiresome I must have been, going up to my friend and pumping him for information about his child or his parenting style, only to gloat about how my child/parenting style was so much better in my head. Out of my mouth came these crappy platitudes, "Oh, so-and-so's not crawling yet? Really? Because Moosh was crawling at blah, blah, blah." God, I was such a bitch.

We are committed attachment parents. No crying-it-out, no schedule, we carried him around all the time, we breastfed for 18 months (he weaned himself to the bottle), the baby either slept with me or my husband when I was working nights, and now that I'm on the evening shift, he sleeps with me exclusively. Unlike many who grow to hate the family bed, it has never bothered me. My parents played musical beds with all five of their babies and everyone turned out just fine. I know that one day he'll leave my bed, for his own, just as someday he'll leave my house to live somewhere else. It's all a process. I think the only way we really deviated from attachment parenting "doctrine" was that I did not stay at home. We worked so hard to make that kid happy.

For a while it just didn't work. He was a classic high-needs child and frankly, high-needs children and first time parents do not a happy group make. We were all miserable. I really don't think it had anything to do with our choice of parenting style. That kid would have been unhappy and a bad sleeper no matter what we did. I am convinced that we did the right thing, but everyone I talked to thought the parenting style produced the high-needs baby and they told me so in no uncertain terms.

My workmate who had a baby four weeks after mine hated being a parent, too. After the always rocky newborn time, though, his baby settled down and was acually pretty easy. Considering that our baby screamed constantly and stayed up all night, hearing stories about their baby who went to sleep by himself, woke up maybe once or twice at night, and took good naps made me want to throttle my friend for saying that having a baby is hard. His baby was a sweet, easy baby and it was too much for him and his wife. He talked constantly about their fabulous schedule and how they never had to spend more than three hours with the kid on weekdays (baby was in day care), and I just wanted to shoot him. I think that the culmination of the baby competition thing we had going on was the day he told me that his wife felt sorry for me, that I had such a hard time. I was amazed. I couldn't believe it. Because I felt sorry for them with their baby unfriendly lifestyle (in my personal, warped opinion).

When the Moosh started walking, he had a complete personality makeover. He became happy and balanced. He chattered at us and followed us around like a little puppy dog. I started to enjoy having a kid around. And since I was happier, I stopped needing to put other parents down to make myself feel better about how I was raising my child. Now he and I are inseparable and I love it. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But if someone told me how it was going to be before I had him, I think back on it and realize that I don't know if I could have gone through with the whole pregnancy/birth/newborn thing knowing in advance what it was going to be like.

I just wish that I were enamored with the whole baby making process. I have written about this before, but it's been bothering me, because I can't just get blind and optimistic and know that everything is going to be easy and OK.

Truthfully, my desire to have another child is more for logical reasons. I want the Moosh to have a sibling. I want my husband to have the second child he's always hoped for. I just want this desire to actually become a desire, not just the logical conclusion.

Well this post is long enough. I guess it's time to wrangle with this problem in my head.

Random Thoughts

Well Valentine's went pretty well here. I gave R a sweater and a box of chocolates and I gave the Moosh 2 sheets of Clifford the Big Red Dog Valentine stickers. I haven't gotten my gift yet, because it's dinner out and the only day we can do it is this Thursday. So I'm looking forward to that.

It is yet another beautiful day here so we made another trip to the park, but luckily there were only nice people there. Yesterday there was a bitch at the park. We didn't like her at all.

The Moosh has a tooth coming in and is refusing to eat anything but chips and crackers. I really don't get it. When I had braces (for 18 months and I was 22 when I got them) I had a lot of mouth pain issues, and I couldn't eat anything but soft foods. But the Moosh, he wants hard, salty foods. To each his own, I suppose. I worry when it seems like he doesn't eat. R is willing to sit there and shove food, bit by bit, into the Moosh's mouth. I don't have time for that, and I don't think forcing a child to eat is the best way to go. I figure that he'll eat if he's hungry.

The other day I had a startling moment when I realized that I didn't know exactly how old the Moosh was. He turned 20 months on February 10, but someone asked me how old he was and I had to stop and think. This is new. Up until now I had his exact age, down to the number of days, right on the tip of my tongue so that when someone asked me I could proudly spout off, "Eighteen months, two weeks, and three days." Horribly geeky, I know. The older he gets, though, it's just easier to say "He's almost two." Tempis fugit.

I Netflixed (via my brother) Garden State the other day. It's really good, but kind of depressing in a way. When the main character reveals why he left his home town (I won't spoil it for you) I felt like what a crappy thing to happen, but it's something that could happen to any of us. When I wasn't taking my thyroid medicine I was very paranoid about death or non-fatal-but-debilitating accidents happening to either me or R and the Moosh. That scene in Garden State reminded me of that paranoia.

Speaking of movies, the Director's Cut of Donnie Darko came out today. I will own it. It will be mine. If you haven't seen this movie: you must. It's like a stupidity test. If you like it but you don't understand it you're smart, but if you don't like it and you understand it you're stupid.

My DVR has stopped recording Stargate SG1. I guess it hates that show. Actually it just hates the last 20 minutes or so of each episode. It records everything else just fine. I was afraid it had a government controlled V-chip in it, and that the government was telling me not to watch my favorite show. I started to hate the government. Then I realized that I was probably watching too much sci fi stuff and my DVR was trying to get me to stop. But the DVR lets me watch Lost and Alias and they're kind of sci fi. I just don't get it. Maybe my DVR and I have stopped communicating effectively. I should take it out to dinner. I've considered getting a new DVR, but I don't want to hurt my current DVR's feelings. I wish it would tape my stuff though. Are we in an abusive relationship?

Randomness complete.

Outside!

It is a beautiful day today, the first really warm day of the year so far. The boy and I had been going a little stir crazy because of the bad weather, so we took advantage and went to the park.

The large city park is about a mile from our house. I was going to walk it, but our umbrella stroller is at my parents' house, and the "travel system" stroller is really getting to small for the Moosh. If that isn't enough of an excuse not to walk, here's another one: I am lazy.

I wish someone had told us what a waste of money that travel system is. I guess it's different for everyone, but we used ours all of once, when we visited my husband's family in Iran last year. It was very convenient while we were traveling around Iran, but that was really the only time we used it. The rest of the time, it stays in the closet. I think we would have been better off buying an umbrella stroller and a separate car seat. When he was still small enough to use the travel system, he was also small enough to be carried, and that's what I did.

Anyhoo, we drove down to the park and we had a great time. We were both wearing long-sleeved shirts and it was too warm. There were lots of WASP-y SAHMs hanging around with their WASP-y kids. I hate being around other parents, especially where I live. The Moosh is very loving, and wants to hug everyone. However, apparently loving human contact doesn't fit with the park parents. The Moosh was standing near a little girl about his age and went to give her a hug and her mom jumped in there like he was trying to kill her and yelled "NO!" while giving me the evil eye. I told her that he likes to hug and she didn't say anything to me, and told her daughter that it was time to go home. Bitch. He wasn't trying to hurt her, he was going to hug her. I was standing right there. I wouldn't have let him do anything.

This was a minor fifteen second blip in an otherwise enjoyable 45 minutes. I guess that I will have to start a "no touching" rule at the park. I don't want to fight with people, but I don't want to discourage the Moosh from hugging either. Of course, this is the shiny side of the coin. When we go to less WASP-y parks the parents don't watch their kids and inevitably the bully will run around slapping everyone. I don't like imposing discipline on other people's children, but I will if I have to.

Can't we all just get along?

What, Exactly, Is So Amazing?

Well, Freddy and Kendra won The Amazing Race. I'm bummed. I hated this season, and the only team I really liked were Kris and Jon. They came in second. I hate the rule changes they've implemented in Races 5 and 6. I think that I'm about done with this show. I loved all the Races until the last two. The last two just sucked. I hope they amp it up for Race 7, because my TV watching time is limited, and I just may have to dump this show.

Is It Friday Already?

I went to a new gynecologist (Dr. E) today because I just got a PPO insurance plan and now I have the beauty of "doctor choice." So I'm shopping around for new doctors.

The doctor that delivered the Moosh is pretty good, although I wouldn't use him as an obstetrician again, I had no problem with him as a regular gyno. Unfortunately his office is at least a 30-minute drive from my house and since I have to arrange for a babysitter, I needed to find someone closer to home.

Since Dr. E's office was the closest to my house, I decided to go see him for an annual exam. I went to his office, he saw me in (on time!) we chatted for a bit, and then I got ready for my exam.

WARNING! WARNING! GROSS EXAMINATION STORY TO FOLLOW! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

He came in and did the breast exam and the speculum-and-pap-smear bit, no problem. Then he did his internal exam, which is never comfortable, but it went OK. And then he did something that I was not expecting: he stuck his finger in my ass. IN MY ASS, PEOPLE. Now I've been going to gyno appointments for several years now, and I have never had an ass-poking included. The worst part about it was that I TOTALLY WASN'T EXPECTING IT. He said something about my rectum and I thought he wanted to test my pelvic floor strength, so I tightened up, AND THEN HIS FINGER WENT IN MY ASS. And he kept it there for a while as he poked around my abdomen. He kept telling me to relax, for crying out loud. While his FINGER was in my ASS.

I don't think that I will be able to use this doctor any more. I think if I had been prepared, it wouldn't have been so bad. But I wasn't prepared, and it was bad.

The worst part of this whole thing was that for the duration of the ass-poking, all I could think about was this scene from The Usual Suspects where the cops have just rounded up the five main characters and they're sitting around the jail cell bitching about being arrested, when this exchange ensues:

Fenster: Man, I had a finger up my asshole tonight.
Hockney: Is it Friday already?

So as this doctor was giving me an ass-poking, all I could hear in my head was, "Is it Friday already?"

I think I need a female gynecologist.

And the Award Goes To......

Summer for making the first comment on my blog. Summer is an awesome lady who lives in DC, and in addition, is one of the bloggers who inspired me to write my own blog. Check her out.

Spare Me From My Lawn, Please.

Well the weather here is turning back towards the warmer part of the spectrum. All around my neighborhood, you see a little green creeping into the lawns. Which brings me to my rant for today.

My husband R had always wanted a house. He bitched about how he had no garage where he could work on cars, he wanted to "save for the future," etc. All the standard stuff associated with home ownership. So as soon as we found out about the Moosh's impending arrival, we started looking in earnest for a house. We finally found one (it only took us three years) and moved in a month before the baby was born.

Unfortunately, a house comes with a yard, and everyone hates yard work. Especially this family.

Since I was eight months pregnant when we moved in (in May) and I had the baby in June, all of the yardwork for the summer of 2003 fell to R. He did a good job. He mowed, raked, and edged, and the yard looked good.

Fast forward to 2004. In June, we started the offical process to purchase the business. We were both busy. I was still working the night shift, and trying to get enough sleep, and taking care of a one-year-old in my non-sleeping/working hours. He was meeting with bankers and investors and all that good stuff, and the yard work started to get pushed to the back burner. It still got mowed once in a while, but at one point during the summer I realized that they yard was getting pretty high. I figured R was busy and would get to it eventually.

He didn't. I came home one day to find a notice from the city on the door stating that if we didn't mow the lawn by the next day, we would be fined. I was livid. R wanted the house, and the yard was HIS responsibility. I called him on his cell, and he informed me that he "didn't have time" to mow any more, and that I was my job now. Of course I hit the roof and started screaming about how I was working the night shift and had a baby and I couldn't even take a shower, much less mow the lawn. He didn't care. He came home to baby-sit and I mowed the lawn. I think the lawn only got mowed about three more times that summer. It looked like crap.

To add to the problem, since we weren't taking care of the lawn, the local ant population decided to set up shop. We had mounds every five feet and they were all over the house, except, amusingly, the kitchen. The kitchen was ant-free. Yay. The poor baby had ant bites all over his pudgy feet. R had bites all over his legs. I hate ants. It sucked.

Now, as the weather warms up, I realize that someone really is going to have to take care of the yard this year. It won't be R, since he is working 12 hour days 7 days a week. I thought that I could do it, but now I realize that I won't be able to find a babysitter for the time that I need (7-10:30 AM one day a week). My sister, bless her heart, just looked at me and said, piteously "I'd have to get up at, like, 6 AM." So I have come to the conclusion that I will probably have to hire help with the yard and insect issue this year. It is going to be horrendously expensive. I have emailed around for some quotes, but when I look at the list of services and realize that we need like, ALL OF THEM, I can just visualize my credit card bill expanding.

We should have bought a condo. We should be Yardless Yuppies.