Go fuck yourself, San Diego.

[	mood	|	Tired, but calm.	]
[	music	|	"(Reach Up for the) Sunrise" - Duran Duran	]

What do you say when you want to say something, but you don't know what to say?

Is this writer's block?

As someone who considers herself something of an "open book" in spoken discourse, I seem to be clamming up here, in this privately public forum. The self-conscious editor takes over, I suppose, and censors what she might find (or assumes that other people might find) over-the-top, juvenile, or just bad syntax, pedantic prose, or lame subject matter.

Is there so little going on in my mind that is of any meaning anymore, any real significance?

I'd have to say "yes," since meaning/fulness is quite subjective. Would many of you care that B. sat on the potty 8 times today (some unsolicited!)? No, but it's pretty meaningful to me (the sooner I have at least ONE out of diapers, the better!!).

Perhaps it's time to write this for myself, and not worry so much about what my readers think. If they don't like it, they can always navigate away. And if my friends don't like it, then give me inspiration!

-db 

[	mood	|	calm	]
[	music	|	The washing machine.	]

Oy, the mama drama. This one leaves the group, this one starts a group, this one bashes that one, but joins her group anyway ... seriously, you need a scorecard.

Two of the three women who are currently in the "We Hate Deborah" club have been the recipients of my generosity. I gave J. no less than $200.00 worth of baby gear, to say nothing of clothes. T. has my Baby Bjorn, which she took just 3 or so days before starting the WHDC. As M. pointed out, with friends like that, right?

On a lighter note ... my brother will be visiting over President's Day weekend. He has a meeting w/one of his Tampa-based companies, so we'll have the joy of being with him once again :) There is NO ONE like my brother. Stupid Wall Street, why'd you have to be in NY?

Time to relax now. The children are asleep, I have a sandwich to eat, a husband to nuzzle, and a book to read.

Shavuah Tov!

.

[	mood	|	WTF?	]
[	music	|	"Lucretia My Reflection" - Sisters of Mercy	]

Madness. Sheer madness.

Dave Coulier will be skating with Nancy Kerrigan.

Jodie Sweetin is on meth.

And Kirk Cameron has simply lost his fucking mind.

PREEMPTIVE PS: Yes, I know that Kirk Cameron was never a member of the -Full House- cast.

But his sister Candace was. And Candace Cameron was in -Some Kind of Wonderful- (1987) with Elias Koteas, who was in -Novocaine- (2001) with Kevin Bacon.

So bite it.

[	mood	|	crappy	]
[	music	|	"There's Never Enough Time" - The Postal Service	]

Lots of mama drama last night "on the boards" (read: in one of my moms' grpups). I think the tension and confusion have fed into my already crap mood.

Oh, my dear friend Cj  (z"l) used to laugh and laugh when she would get her "time," with me to follow shortly thereafter. "I'm old," she would say to me. "I'm the hormonal dominatrix." Sometimes I miss her so much. She would have been one of my bridesmaids, but after the chemo port was inserted into her neck, she was too self-conscious to wear the dress. *sigh*

All right, this is so maudlin. I need to snap out of it. "Two tears in a bucket," right? seems like the PMS has gotten worse since the birth of son #2. PPD + PMS is not a delicious alphabet soup.

Perhaps I need to concede that I still need the antidepressants. Oh, fuck you, Tom Cruise. Go chase after Xenu.

What I need is a good night's sleep. I was up much of last night w/son #2, who regressed into weird infantile inconsolability.

And also I need something to look forward to. Maybe I should book my Saddlebrook day.

Yeah, and the Jeep Liberty B-L-O-W-S with a capital SUCK. Bring my van home to me, repair shop!

Time to eat, I guess.

-db

[	mood	|	sad	]
[	music	|	Sesame Street	]

So yeah. Moodiness and hormones and stress to my chin. All of this makes a mom burst into tears at Busch Gardens.

Sometimes I want to just sit down and not be in demand for a few minutes.

After 2 hours of no naps, the children are out in the bedroom with me, and they're watching an episode of Sesame Street on DVR. I just don't feel like being SuperEngagedParent right now.

-db

[	mood	|	aggravated	]
[	music	|	"I Don't Sleep, I Dream" - REM	]

My glasses broke! Double damnit. I have the half-rims, and the right lens popped out. Phil was able to get it back in, but there is damage to the top, and the fishing-line bottom is stretched.

When the boys wake up, we'll have to make a trip to Visionworks. Damnit, damnit, damit,

-db

[	mood	|	good	]
[	music	|	"Abandon! Abandon!" - The Jealous Sound	]

Right. I only have a hat trick of degrees in English.

What really stunned me is that Math beat Chem.

-db

[	mood	|	blank	]
[	music	|	"I'm Not Sorry" - Morrissey	]

My older son is at his grandparents' tonight; my younger son is, I think, asleep in the crib. He had Benadryl again because his rash is worsening. When Phil put on the homemade paste, the poor little guy was shrieking, that high-pitched wail that makes a parent grab all of the pain and take it on him/herself.

Hmm. Chronicling again. I want to avoid that, but the temptation is so strong. The regimen, the routine ... I can harness the chaos of my day and type it into neat little chunks that flow together so well.

Of course, this is not life. But it does make me feel better when I can impose some kind of retroactive order on my chaos.

Weird. I am in no mood at all.

-db

PS The icon for "blank" is dumb. Why does its mouth angle downward? That implies expression. Should be just straight across. Or maybe an empty circle. Oooh, edgy.

[	mood	|	complacent	]
[	music	|	"Friend of the Devil" - Counting Crows	]

Last night, I slept. For realz. The boys were both down with some stomach thing, and both had gotten pretty significant diaper rash (especially son #2, who inherited doubly fair and sensitive skin from Phil and me). To ameliorate the rash, I coated their respective bums with a mixture of Benadryl paste, Maalox, and corn starch (weird, but it works!). The doc also recommended some liquid Benadryl to help with the reaction.

One teaspoon of Benadryl each resulted in a very, VERY quiet night for Phil and me. Son #2 squawked a couple of times, but nothing demanding enough to require attention (usually he gets a water refill and a diaper change between 2:00 and 4:00 AM).

Well, at least that was the report from Phil. I was OUT with a capital EXHAUSTED. I think I slept from 9:30 PM - 5:00 AM w/o waking up ONCE. That is rare for me, a mild insomniac w/a baby who doesn't yet sleep through the night.

So, anyway, yeah, Benadryl.

We had a very nice playdate this morning at the mall. The boys were incredibly well-behaved at lunch; we celebrated the birthday of one of our moms, and I was so gratified at the way all of the children behaved, actually. So often, I am apprehensive about bringing the boys to a restaurant, but today was great. *sigh* The unpredictability, the wild card-ed-ness of it all ... keeps a mom on her toes.

This is a lame entry. I didn't mean to chronicle, but so it goes. Maybe later I'll wax more philosophical. Right now, I am just wondering ... why the hell aren't my children napping?

-db

[	mood	|	frustrated	]
[	music	|	"Wondering" - Ben Folds	]

Our rabbi is leaving!! He took a non-pulpit position in TX (where his wife's family lives), and he's outta here in a few short months.

Well, CRAP. We joined the synagogue specifically because we like him so much. I suppose it's time to synagogue-hop again ... that's never any fun, particularly for my husband, who is painfully shy on a good day.

Damnit.

-db

[	mood	|	cheerful	]
[	music	|	"The Stone" - DMB	]

For those of you who don't know, I challenged myself to grow my hair out for Locks of Love. They require 10" beyond the point at which you want it cut off (did that make sense?), and boyohboy, do I have a long way to go.

My hair was brutally short -- over my ears, maybe an inch on the top. Not spikey, but very close-cropped. Now I can get the back into two short little ponytails (which look very stupid), and the bangs are almost chew-on-able.

"Santa" (a/k/a my MIL) gave me a flar iron for Christmas, and it has become my favorite non-kitchen appliance (OK, well, maybe my second favorite non-kitchen appliance).

I have so little patience for this, but when I am really frustrated, I just go look at the pictures of the kids who need this mop more than I. For me, it's a vanity, for them, a necessity.

[	mood	|	tired	]
[	music	|	2-y/o calling for me.	]

Welp, they're awake.

Since 6:15 AM.

Too early.

Doesn't really affect me, since I'm up every morning at 5:30 in order to be ready before Phil goes to work and the boys start to bellow. The problem with the boys waking up so early is that the tend to get tired (and crabby!) earlier than they "should" -- naptime is tradtionally at 1:00 PM in this house.

My 13-m/o doesn't sleep through the night yet, anyway, so it's like having a really, really, really tall newborn.

And my 2-y/o was up this morning at 1:00 AM for a snuggle date w/me. Don't know why.

I suppose I should go get them out of bed and start the day.

-db

Today was an outing to Busch Gardens. Boy, you haven't lived until you have shoved a 44-lb double stroller full of gear, incidentals, a cooler, diaper bag, and two toddlers up the hill by Timbuktu. Sheeeesh. Tomorrow is an easier event, so I plan on using my new Peg Perego double-wide instead of The Bus.

The girls are going to the movies tonight. *sigh* Why must I hate movies so much? I get NO joy out of the experience. Not only do I find most mainstream movies to be pedantic and grating, but I also can't stand paying the rather pricey admission fees (and I always sneak in my own snacks). Inevitably I'll be seated in front of the talker, and that just sours me even further. I'd love a night out, but not like that. I'd much rather go for a meal or a coffee ... something.

Ooooh, a meal. A real one, without anything called "nuggets" on the menu. A meal during which I could converse in full and complete blocks of linear thought without having to shush, wipe, feed, entertain, or otherwise interact with a toddler on the edge of a meltdown.

And coffee at the end of the meal. Oh, what bliss. That last slow, lingering cup of coffee, savored slowly as the server rings out the check. The sweet dregs of cream and crystallized sugar at the bottom of the cup, the feel of the cup warm in my hands.

Oh, god. I think I am getting hot.

Someone invite me out to dinner, for hell's sake!!!

-db

My younger son is desperately afraid of the vacuum.

We have two: one is a small upright, mostly used for the hardwood floors downstairs; the other is a canister that I use on the carpeted areas of the house.

The small bagless is LOUD. Combine that with its really annoying high-pitched whiiiiiiiiiine, and is it any wonder my baby screams, cries, and shakes at the very sight of it?

The canister vac is more muffled then the stick vac, and lacks the hideous whine, but he's only slightly less intimidated by that one.

Today, I needed to vacuum one small section in the boys' room. Yesterday was a trip to the park, and this morning I inadvertently dumped shoe-sand on the carpet while getting the boys ready for our day's adventures.

While both boys were safely strapped in their boosters, dining on veggies and pasta, I broke out the stick vac. My baby's eyes IMMEDIATELY went huge, his lip pooched out, and he wriggled back in his seat, making as much space as possible between himself and the vacuum.

Saying reassuring things the whole time, I closed the bedroom door and blazed the vac over the offending spot. The whole thing took maybe 90 seconds. I finished, wrapped the cord, and went out the door to put away the vac.

My poor boy was weeping, stretching his arms up to me and asking for "uppie, Mommy, uppie."

Sometimes I love them so much.

-db

[	mood	|	curious	]
[	music	|	Still the washing machine.	]

I am technologically incoherent by this time each day, so I need someone to explain to me, in little words, how to upload and use LJ icons.

Thanks in advance!

-db

[	mood	|	listless	]
[	music	|	The washing machine.	]

Is there such a phenomenon as "journaler's block"? If so, I think I am experiencing it.

I want so much to write, but can't think of anything to say. I could chronicle each day's events. Maybe I will do that tomorrow.

Ah, good old Tru Capote: "That's not writing. That's typing."

-db