Deleting Posts

In principle I generally do not believe in deleting posts. I think if you believe it and say it you have to stand by it. However, in the light of day it seems best not to start a war with neighbors and technically, I suppose, my bitching about a neighbor and divulging how much she drank at a party could be considered an act of war. So, I took down my last post. If you missed it, sorry. I'll try to reign in my anger next time so I don't go overboard and offend anyone.

It's a Boy!

We're thrilled! Perhaps I had a twinge of disappointment thinking that this is my last child and I'll never have a daughter, but overall, I'm elated. I really can't imagine Brendan with a sister, but totally see him with a brother. And as I said before, I never saw myself with daughters, but with sons. I'm pretty happy.

Happier still that the doctor said that the baby looks "magnificently healthy!" She examined everything via ultrasound in great detail. I got a little concerned because both the doctor and the ultrasound technician focused in great detail on the heart, looking at it closeup and watching the bloodflow. Freaked me out a bit, but the doctor assured us it looked healthy. No markers for any chromosomal problems that she could see. Measuring almost a week larger than he should be, but not so much they were worried.

Bottom line, we're having another son and I couldn't be happier.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

In just a few hours I'm going in for a Level II ultrasound. Obviously, we are hopeful that the scan reveals nothing other than a healthy, growing baby. Still, I can't help feeling nervous. We went through the same test with Brendan due to my previous miscarriage that resulted from the baby's chromosomal abnormality, trisomy 8.

So, on pins and needles we sat (or laid, in my case) in the exam room while the ultrasound tech and the perinatologist did their thing until they finally told us we had a very healthy looking baby. Then they told us it was a boy. Of course, we were thrilled. Both by the good news on the health front and by his gender.

I had always seen myself as the mother of boys. I never really imagined having girl children. Obviously, I knew it was a possibility, but when I saw myself as a mom, it was as a mom to boys, doing fun boys stuff like shooting hoops and playing chase and baking cookies endlessly for them and their friends.

At some point, prior to that ultrasound, I thought it might be a good idea to not know the child's sex. To fall in love with a human being rather than a boy or girl. But, you get five months to work on that before you find out, I suppose. And for me, everything changed on learning that little babe growing inside me was a boy.

I think part of my nervous anticipation today is in regard to whether I carry a boy or girl child. Of course it is. I have waffled these entire twenty weeks, first wanting a brother for Brendan, then a daughter for myself. Now, I've just settled on healthy. Boy or girl. I still don't have a clue what you're supposed to do with a daughter. Zero interest in Barbie, princesses, brushing someone else's hair, teaching someone to sit with her legs closed, prepubescent and teenage hormones, or slumber parties with a gaggle of giggling girls. I don't know what I will do with a girl, but I guess I'll figure it out. One thing's for sure, I can always pressure her to attend my alma mater.

All I know is that he or she, I will love this little person with all my heart. I've been terrified since before I got pregnant that I could never love another child as much as I love Brendan. I've been surprised (pleasantly, I should add) to find the love in my heart growing. And I'm sure that just as my love for Scott has grown stronger and deeper and more passionate as I have watched him be a father to our son, that my love for Brendan will change and grow as I see him become a big brother.

Now, in these last few hours, I think I will simply enjoy loving this little being with no judgments, no preconceived notions, no desires of my own for what he or she might be some day. Just love him or her for the perfect creation he or she is.

Mean Low Pregnancy Blues

I loved being pregnant with Brendan. My morning sickness was mild. I had just been laid off my job, so all I had to do was keep house and read and relax and enjoy being pregnant.

This pregnancy is so different. The morning sickness was miserable. I had to start wearing maternity clothes at 8 weeks. And now, I'm emotional. Crazy emotional. Clueless. And clumsy. Not in the "your center of gravity has changed so you fall down a lot way," but in the "drop everything you pick up, close your hand in the door" kind of way.

I can't think straight. I'm confused. I'm so moody. I cried today because another kid didn't want to play with Brendan. I cried because I thought about how disappointed Brendan will be if we have a girl and how it would be so sad if he never gets to have a brother. I cried because when I told Scott that I was having round ligament pain he commented that not only was I getting stretched, but that it was happening in a different way than before. Those are just the instances I remember. There were probably others.

I just don't remember being this moody and emotional the last time. I was like this for weeks post-partum, but not during the actual pregnancy. It's damned annoying.

The thing I hate most is when I feel like everything is closing in on me and I lash out in anger. On Sunday I completely lost my temper with Scott and yelled at him. I never yell at my husband. We may have disagreements, but we've always been able to talk without raised voices or anger. And the thing that pushed me over the edge? His cleaning up the mess in our freezer where a Coke exploded after I left it in there too long. I put it in to get cold and totally forgot about it. Came back a few hours later and found the mess, but didn't have time to clean it. When Scott saw it, he immediately started cleaning it up. I yelled at him angrily, asking him what he thought he was doing. His response was, "Cleaning up your mess."

Of course, that's exactly why I was angry. I felt guilty about making the mess and didn't want him to do my dirty work. And it would have been so simple to say that in a nice way. Instead, I told him he was making a bigger mess by getting it on the floor I had just mopped. Of course, he was planning to clean it up, but I was being a bitch for no reason. And I hate that. It's so not who I am.

I hope this emotional roller coaster slows down soon so I can climb off. In the meantime, I guess I need to figure out when to just step away and keep my mouth shut.

Easier said than done, apparently.

Am I Expecting Too Much

For a while I was really judgmental about the use of poor grammar. Now, I've simply come to accept that no one cares. I've even started to allow myself to be amused by common mistakes.

While browsing craigslist.org this weekend in search of a bed for Brendan, I found some amusing examples of folks misusing words. More likely they've been hearing these things incorrectly their whole lives and don't know any better. Still, I thought they were pretty cute.

There was a lady selling a "chester" drawers and if you wanted, there was a man, in my town no less, selling "wingbat" chairs. Crazy!

Just now on a babycenter.com message board I saw someone saying that our job as parents is to teach our children how to be "ladys" and "gentlymen."

I know I make my fair share of typos and occasionally get careless. I even have a few mistakes ingrained in my brain because of poor teaching. My third-grade teacher taught the class that there are two spellings for "separate." She said "separate" was the spelling for the verb meaning to divide things, but if you wanted to use the word as an adjective meaning things that were not together, the spelling was "seperate." I still have to think about how to spell "separate" every single time I want to use it.

So, I don't really blame anyone for their mistakes anymore. But I do find them amusing.

And Now for Something Completely...Weird

This morning I got up and did a few chores like ironing before getting dressed. By then, Brendan was awake and running around. He came into our bedroom while I was changing out of my pjs into yoga pants and asked what I was doing. I told him and then he said, "Mommy! You can't do that. The baby might fall out."

Uh. Okay. Thanks for the warning, weird kid.

Where on earth did he come up with such a notion? We haven't told him anything more than "there's a baby growing inside mommy's tummy." The end. Certainly we've told him no details about how the baby comes out. That's horrific enough for adult minds to comprehend.

I just think it's kind of strange. No stranger, I guess than the fact that he has named his hands. The left one is BoBo and the right one is Lisa. I sometimes overhear him talking to them. Usually correcting them for touching something they're not supposed to touch. Today it was the dog's water bowl.

I hope these are merely signs of a burgeoning creative mind and not signs of something worrisome.

We'll see I guess.

The Way We Get By

I can't believe it's been a month since I blogged. No wonder I'm blue and out of sorts. It's been a long and busy month.

We took a trip to St. Simons Island where Brendan had his first beach experience and loved it. It was, for lack of a better word, awesome. We all had a wonderful time.

Scott ended his job at the mega-corp and began working for a cool, 75-person company that is growing fast. The company works in SMS technologies and does cool things like Beyoncé promotions, etc. Scott is working on client services stuff and is loving it. He's actually their Senior User Interface guy and has already made an impact. He came home from work at the end of his second week there and said he was disappointed that the work week was over. He's really enjoying his work,feelsl challenged, and is thriving. I'm so happy for him. This is what I've wanted for him for a while. Additionally, he has continued to record and has some excellent demos up on his site. I'll link to them sometime soon.

Brendan's doing better than he was a few weeks ago, but I've gone a little crazy. As a result of what happened with the grandparents, I've become increasingly paranoid about my parenting skills and now second-guess every discipline decision. I'd really begun to push Brendan a little harder to be a "big boy," but after a talk with Scott a few days ago, I've backed off and things are going so much easier. Flies and honey.

Now, I'm on a decorating binge. We've had three rooms painted this last month. The nursery-to-be is a really pretty periwinkle color, kind of dark, like a midnight sky. The guest room, which we moved to the bedroom in our basement, is now lilac. And today, I had Brendan's room painted and it's sky blue. I'm probably going to add clouds to it this weekend. We'll see how creative I'm feeling in a day or two. He wants clouds, but I'm worried he'll change his mind in six months.

As part of my decorating frenzy, I ordered curtains and some cool antique metal wall hangings for Brendan's room. I spent roughly $32 on four 84" panels for B's windows and another $59 on the six wall hangings that are three bi-planes, two trains, and an antique car. Pretty cool. I do love eBay.

I just can't wait to get the room done. Of course, focusing on this the last few days has given me something to think about instead of how depressed I am that Scott gets to go to a cool, new, exciting job and I'm stuck here indefinitely. I love being a mom, but I feel so lonely and isolated sometimes. It sucks. I wish I didn't feel this way, but I do. I feel less like a stunted sub-human when I have something to occupy my mind and time.

I also have my freelance work to keep me occupied, but so much of that work is done in isolation. I do a lot of interviews on the phone or via e-mail and of course, I write alone. Still, I get to think and write and writing is all I've ever really wanted to do. Hopefully, the work will continue to come in.

So, for now, I guess I should just be grateful and quit my belly-achin'. Life is good. Really.

And in case I need a reminder, I just keep telling myself mood swings are normal during pregnancy. This too shall pass.

Still a Bit Hit List

Rather than calming down, my anger continues to grow as I have more time to think about and process what my in-laws have done, and as the ramifications of their insanity continue to manifest.

God, I hate them with every fiber of my being. Really. Would put the heel of my boot directly into my stepmother-in-law's face if I could right now. Of course, I understand that violence is not the answer and would never actually do it because I don't want to give her the pleasure. She already thinks I'm white trash anyway. For years she has referred to my mother as an alcoholic (my mother did not drink at all) and has talked about my smoking habit (she has never seen me smoke because I don't).

But back to my being more pissed off than I have been in years...

My son who was starting to choose his dad over me in the last few weeks is now clinging to me and will not let his dad touch him or help him with anything. He also won't respond to discipline from his dad now and when his dad tries to correct him, he hides. Yesterday when my husband told him not to color on the carpet with his markers, Brendan ran upstairs where I was showering and hid in the bathroom closet in a pile of dirty laundry.

Before the Attack of the Crazy Fundamentalist Grandparents, this was not a problem. Like any three-year old, Brendan resisted being disciplined to some extent, but would ultimately sit in time-out and apologize and be good. Now, when we try to correct him, he freaks out! I am so pissed!

This morning, he cried for 45 minutes and we have no idea why. This is a boy who normally sings and laughs and makes up silly rhymes. He has even come up with his own form of cockney rhyming slang, which I find adorable. The one that comes to mind so quickly is his calling someone billy goat when he means they're silly.

Where is my happy boy? Quashed by that evil witch of a step-grandmother. God! I am so mad. I want to let it go, but I just can't.

The thing is, I'm torn between telling them exactly how pissed I am and that they will never see my son again and just letting it go and letting them figure it out on their own.

I seriously hate these people now. And to think a week ago I was looking naively hoping to encourage my son to have a closer relationship with them.

Really Mystified

Maybe I should have titled this "Really Fracking Pissed Off!" However, in addition to being so angry at my father-in-law and step-monster-in-law that I might seriously never speak to them again, I am oddly confused by their behavior.

They complain that we never come visit them. They also never visit us. If they do, it's for dinner and not an overnight visit. Stepmonster once complained that our guest room bed was very uncomfortable. This is not a woman who has a lot of tact. She once told my husband when she learned the kind of music he was into that he would fit right in with the boys in the kitchen. A very subtle, old-school racist way of saying, "You're into that black music."

Anyway, I schedule a visit because I am eager for my son to have meaningful relationships with all of his relatives because I have such a small family. My mom is dead and when I grew up, I only had one grandparent. I was extremely close to her and knew she loved me deeply. I want my son to be loved that way by his grandparents.

After jumping through hoops to find a time that worked, we settled on June 9 and 10. Brendan was already scheduled to be in summer camp at his school and I had already paid $90 for him to be there for five days. Step-mother insisted this was the only time until August they could see him, so I agreed. Brendan seemed eager to go and I overheard him telling his friends he was going there. Very sweet, I thought.

Brendan has not been to their home since Christmas. The last time we were there, he got into trouble with her for sitting on a particular chair. Neither he nor his parents had been told this chair was off limits. He was quietly sitting on it watching a Barney video. Because he didn't jump off the chair when he was told to do so, evil stepgrandmonster turns the video off with no warning. He was not even three years old at the time. He freaked out. Naturally.

So, we get there yesterday afternoon. Brendan is shy and takes a while to warm up. Once he does, he talks a mile a minute, laughs at funny things you do, and is a joy to be around. But you have to ease into things with him. Especially if he hasn't seen you in seven or eight months. Because she is a grandparent, Steppy thinks this doesn't apply to her and forges onward trying to talk him into running joyfully into her arms. Grandpa knows to hold back and let the child come to him. Finally, she backs off and retreats to the kitchen like a hurt dog. Slowly, Brendan warms up to them both and things go relatively smoothly for a few hours.

Then, my child unwittingly carries a drink into their living room. We have never been told we can't do this. I remember him being allowed to have a sippy cup in the room previously, but apparently they're implementing new rules. Which is fine. Their home, their rules. We should respect them and their rules. However, rather than stating the rule and inviting Brendan to carry his drink into the kitchen, old Steppy snatches the drink from his hand and tells him "No drinks in the living room!" As if, of course, he has heard this rule a hundred times before. Embarrassed, Brendan throws himself to the ground and hides his face. He's not crying or having a tantrum at this point, but I can tell he's a) confused, because at home we allow drinks anywhere in the house, and b) doesn't like having a virtual stranger tell him what to do in such a forceful manner. This is totally unacceptable behavior as far as my stepmother-in-law is concerned and she proceeds to tell me and Brendan as much. When he then starts crying and comes to me, I try to gently explain why we have to follow the rules in other peoples' homes and that they will often have rules that differ from ours, etc. She keeps trying to talk over me, upsetting him even more. I remove him from the situation and even put him in time out to try to calm things down.

I will leave out many of the details. It suffices to say that Brendan became very uncomfortable around his grandparents after this. We both had fitful nights sleeping together in the world's most uncomfortable guest room (stuffy, hard-as-rocks bed and pillows! and a bed too high off the ground to be safe for kids). This morning there were a couple more small instances where Brendan disobeyed them or got upset when they tried to hold him. Steppy tried to force him to sit in her lap and read to him while I went to the bathroom. When I came out, I saw my child straining to get away, crying, and pleading for me to help him.

When I tried to talk to him and calm him down and explain to him why he couldn't do certain things or that his grandparents just wanted to spend time with him, I was accused of coddling him and consoling him too much. They advocated spanking and books by James Dobson, he of Spongebob is gay fame. I got two lectures about my poor parenting skills and the lack of discipline in my home and ultimately, stepmonster-in-law told me that she was so uncomfortable in her own home and that having us visit was such an unpleasant experience for her that she couldn't take another night of it.

In essence, she and my father-in-law threw their 14 weeks' pregnant daughter-in-law who has done nothing but try to build a relationship with them and their sweet, but strong-willed three-year old grandson out of their house.

I know that I sound full of vitriol right now. I am. But until today, I have done nothing but try to make them like me and love my son and husband. I have always been the one to reach out. Despite the fact that they left our wedding early because we didn't take a picture of Scott with the two of them before we took a picture of Scott with his two brothers who were both in the wedding. Despite the fact that they did not come to Brendan's baptism because they are uncomfortable being around Scott's mom. Despite the fact that Scott's stepmom converted his dad from being a lifelong, practicing Catholic to being Methodist and now is trying to convert the rest of the family because she doesn't believe Catholicism is a valid religion. (No offense intended to other Methodists). Despite the fact that they have made little or no effort to see him or have him in their lives.

But this is it. The end for me. Frack them. I am not making the effort anymore. Not after they told me today that they don't feel like they can have a relationship with my son because he won't listen to them. He doesn't fracking know them. And whose fault is that? Can they not stop and see things from his perspective? Or even mine?

They told me I'm blind to how my child manipulates me. I coddle and spoil him. And that a parent's job is not to protect their child, but to give them structure and teach them how to handle difficult situations. They said you shouldn't have to explain to a child why they shouldn't do something, but rather just saying "No" should be enough. They told me that a child who isn't spanked is unable to show respect to anyone else and will be selfish.

I really am overwhelmed and dumbfounded by all of this. And my poor husband who wasn't even there...Bless him. He's beside himself with anger and I feel responsible. I wish I had never gone down there. I thought I was doing a good thing. Now we're both wide awake at 5:00 a.m. He because he's so angry. Me because Brendan is sick. He awoke at midnight with a cough and high fever. Then he started vomiting. I've changed his sheets three times. We ended up sleeping on the couch for a while until he insisted on going back to bed. I had to put a double bed sheet on his bed because I was out of clean sheets for his bed.

And I do blame them. My child rarely gets sick. He hasn't been sick for months. I think his little body just got so stressed out from all the tension and drama last night and today that whatever germ was there sprang to life.

Ugh! This kind of anger and upset cannot be good for my pregnancy. How could they do this?

Of course, they think they're "doing it for our own good."

The thing is, I know my child isn't perfect. There are no perfect kids. But he's certainly not as bad as they make him out to be. He's smart and funny and at home he listens pretty well. His preschool teachers tell me how good he is most days. Other parents compliment his behavior when we go to their homes. This was not normal for him, but they won't hear me out on it. They think I'm lying.

They want sheep. Mousy little piss ants who follow where they are lead, drink the Kool-Aid, and fit into their conformist little picture of how children should be. My son is not like that. His dad isn't like that and neither am I. They should know that.

Stepmonster's kids are. As whitebread as they come and I seriously doubt either of them has ever said "No" or had an original thought once in their lives. Perfectly nice. Perfectly likeable. But not fun or interesting or anyone you would want to get to know.

If you've made it this far, I congratulate you on your stamina. I had to get it all out because it was killing me. I am seriously having sharp pains that have me a little concerned. I needed to write about this because I still can't believe it happened. Of course now, in my sleep-deprived and worried state, it seems like a really bad dream.

I wish it were.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

It seems 2006 will be a big year for us. Not only will we (hopefully) have a baby, but something even more exciting has just happened. At least it's more exciting right at this moment.

Scott has a new job. After almost nine years at the same company as a web applications developer, my darlin' is going to work at a new gig. He'll be a senior developer for a company that specializes in wireless apps. Pretty cool. He'll be their user interface specialist and he's pretty psyched about the job. Me, too. It's so up his alley.

The job does mean a small pay cut, but we'll have insurance with maternity coverage (we currently do not) and for the first time in nine years, Scott will get paid vacations. Yay! This year, because we won't be paying for the birth of our child out of pocket, we'll do alright. Hopefully, it will all work out. I think it will, if for no other reason than the fact my husband will be doing something he loves.

Brendan faced his own dramatic change this week. When he went to summer camp at his preschool, we were both a bit shocked that his class was in a different room with a different teacher, though she is one he knows. While I was perfectly okay with this change, my sweet boy sat on the floor and cried, begging for his old teacher. The new teacher, a darling English woman who was the assistant in his old class, just scooped him up and carried him in, where he sat and pouted until his buddy Matthew came over and talked him out of his funk. Today, he told me that he was going to go into the old teacher's class instead, but since I got to drop him off in the carpool line, I, thankfully, didn't have to deal with that meltdown. Of course, when I arrived to pick him up, Brendan was sitting on the floor of the director's office, playing. Turns out he did have a meltdown when they wanted to change his poopy diaper on the playground. Rather than upset the other kids, they separated him. Sadly, he's one of the only kids left in his class still in a diaper. I'm at my wit's end with potty-training. I've been trying off and on for a year and he's so stubborn, crying and fighting with me every time I try to get him to sit on the potty. So, starting Monday (after preschool camp and a trip to the grandparents this weekend), I am throwing away the diapers. I'm not going to give him a choice and I'm going to make him clean up his messes. Hopefully, he'll get sick of being wet and nasty pretty fast.

So, there's lots of drama going on around here. Hopefully, we will all come through it better people and a happier family.

Best Imitation of Myself

First off, I want to clarify something. I did not mean to imply that my husband is thinking of doing anything untoward with anyone. Everything in our conversation the other night was purely theoretical. Just one of those conversations you end up having when you're a certain age and your life is in transition.

Right now we're looking at having a new child, a potential job change, we've made a lot of new friends in a short time, and it just seems like we have a lot going on. A lot of really good things. So, anyway, it's all talk and being the pregnant emotional monster I am, I had a minor freak out over a perfectly normal conversation. Not typical of me, but it's over. And I'm sorry.

And by the way, I also didn't mean to imply that I'm some sort of depressed, frump of an unattractive housefrau. I'm not. I'm pregnant and I'm just anxious about all that does to one's body. Not fun.

Now, on to something really cool! We had a nuchal translucency test yesterday. Everything looked great. All the measurements were normal. We'll get the bloodwork back on Friday. I feel so much better now. I was really worried, but I feel as though we've cleared one more hurdle. Eight more weeks until we can find out the sex.

It was so cool to see our little one on the screen in the doctor's office yesterday. Cooler still was that when we first saw him/her, baby was all asquirm, arms and legs waving. The u/s tech commented that the baby was moving so much she didn't know if she'd be able to get a good picture. So, I told the baby he/she needed to calm down and be still and instantly, the arm and leg kicking stopped, baby stuck his/her thumb in the mouth and bent both knees, like he/she was just kicking back and relaxing. It was so cool!

I really feel much more connected to this baby and pregnancy after yesterday. I think I was afraid to get too attached in case there was a major problem. Obviously, I am so thankful there's not.

Marriage is Hard Work

Last night Scott and I had an interesting talk that left me thrown off kilter and feeling more than a little insecure today. Just days ago, I felt wonderful and secure. While this may be too much information, I think it's relevant to this topic, so I'll just say it. This pregnancy has been great for our sex life and my ego.

For weeks, Scott (and most of my friends) have been telling me how great I look, how I'm glowing and beautiful. Better yet, we have been having more sex than at any other point in our relationship. Sex has always been an issue for us because it has always meant a risk of getting pregnant when we might not have wanted to be pregnant. So, I think the fact that I am pregnant and we can have sex whenever we want to without worrying has made all the difference. Of course, this wasn't the case when I was pregnant with Brendan. Scott had zero interest in me. It was worse for the several months after Brendan was born and I hadn't lost much of my baby weight. I felt unattractive and apparently was unattractive. Eventually, as I took off the weight and was in better shape than before I had B. Then, things really took off, resulting in my present state.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. We were discussing male/female friendships and whether or not they're okay when you're married. We both want them and basically agree they're fine, but that you have to be realistic about the fact that part of why people want those friendships and why they happen in the first place is because you want someone other than your partner to find you interesting and attractive. And that's okay. We all need it. I think it's normal. The problem is when that basic attraction turns into something deeper and more real.

At that point in the conversation, Scott admitted that if he had a female friendship that started to cross that line, he would want to explore it. Crash! There goes my heart breaking into a million little pieces.

The thing is, I understand that need. I romanticize the notion of the first kiss with a new lover and those new exciting emotions you experience when you're first getting to know someone new. It's kind of a recurring dream for me and I had it last night.

That doesn't mean I'd ever act on it or want to. I truly adore my husband and love being married to him. I certainly wouldn't trade our relationship for a few blissful moments of blossoming attraction.

Hell! I'm a work-at-home mom. All of the editors I work with are women. There is very little chance I'd ever meet another man who'd find me attractive any way.

Not now that I'm 36 with one child and another on the way.

Of course, my husband is hot. Hot, I say! He's good-looking, charming, witty, incredibly intelligent, and made all the sexier by the fact that he's a musician. He works in an office with the occasional good-looking young woman in an unhappy marriage who flirts with him and makes him feel good. A tricky situation. Still, I would never want to say, "You can't have female friends." I wouldn't want anyone dictating who my friends are though I think if a friendship makes your partner uncomfortable, you have to listen to his or her feelings on the matter.

I hate hearing it, but I appreciate that he can be honest with me. And at least it lets me know what I'm up against. It pisses me off that I'm not enough. It pisses me off more that I used to be hot, too. And smart and witty and charming. Before I met Scott, I had men and boys falling at my feet. When I was 24 or 25, I had college boys lying about their age to try to get me to go out with them. I was pretty confident. Then, at some point, I realized I didn't just want to date, I wanted to find someone to love and love me. And ultimately, I did. But, when I did, I stopped putting myself in situations where other men would find me attractive and eventually, my confidence waned. Now, here I am.

I'm probably overreacting. I hope so. Apparently, these feelings are normal for men, at least according to Rich at championable.com. While I don't mean this as a judgment on Rich at all, I am glad that Scott is open about what he feels and when women flirt with him. Like I said, at least I know what I'm up against and we can discuss it.

Blinded by Science

Seems the folks over at Duke's Pratt School of Engineering have figured out how to make an invisibility cloak. At least in theory.

Of course, it's not like Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. It sounds more like the Star Trek cloaking device.

All in all, if it works, what a major breakthrough. Very cool. Very cool, indeed.

Girl, You Have No Faith in the Legal System

As a woman, I'd like to believe that when a woman says she has been raped she's telling the truth. Not just because I want to have faith in my fellow man, uh wo-man, but because it makes the rest of us look bad. Once one woman lies about being raped, it causes the powers that be (read Men) to doubt the rest of us when we bring forth allegations of an attack.

As a human and an American citizen, I'd like to believe that our judicial system works as it should: that we are innocent until proven guilty and that those in charge of prosecuting crimes take their positions seriously as a means to eradicating true crime and not just as vehicles for political gain or executing their own personal vendettas.

Sadly, the alleged rape case involving the Duke Lacrosse team has left me disillusioned and disappointed in both my fellow woman and my fellow American citizens, most especially Michael Nifong, the Durham District Attorney who is pursuing this case despite the lack of any evidence proving the guilt and more shockingly, in the face of clear evidence showing that neither of the two young men who have thus far been indicted could have been involved. Both have witnesses and evidence including ATM receipts indicating that they had left the party well before the hook, uh stripper, -- damn! I mean the alleged victim, arrived. Nifong refused to look at any of the evidence collected by defense attorneys.

Worse yet, is the fact that he has dropped pending charges against the alleged victim related to her theft of a vehicle and the subsequent high-speed chase on which she led police; the fact that he reduced parole violation charges against the second stripper involved after she changed her story to say that, indeed, a rape had occurred.

Now, in a further effort to intimidate a witness, Durham police yesterday arrested the taxi driver who came forward to say that he had picked Reade Seligmann up from the house where the lacrosse party and alleged rape took place and then drove him to an ATM, a fast-food joint, and back to his dorm, all before the alleged rape allegedly occurred. Apparently, the police asked him if had anything new to tell them about the case before they arrested him.

How is this happening in the U.S.? How is Nifong allowed to get away with this? Clearly, he has no case if he's so desperately trying to coerce testimony and throwing witnesses into jail in order to get his way. And ignoring that the alleged victim has mental health issues and a previous history of lies, deception, and criminal activity that might indicate she could be making the story up.

I wasn't going to write about this because I understand how it could be a controversial issue and that's not my game. But I am incensed over the idea, the very act of witness intimidation Nifong and his black-booted thugs are trying to carry out in Durham. I hope he fails miserably.

I hope someone with some sense sees what he is doing and disbars this asshole.

I hope the woman who started all of this gets the help she needs to get her life together. For her sake, her parents, and her children.

I hope the young men, and their fellow teammates, have learned that it's never a good idea to hire strange women to come to your home and take their clothes off unless you want to risk being accused of rape, and I hope that ultimately, they are able to clear their names and put this behind them.

Most of all, I hope our criminal justice system can withstand the battering it's taking right now.

Freakin' Evil Bird

thrasher, originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL.

I dig birds. I have two bird feeders and a bird bath in our yard to attract a variety of songbirds. I planted red trumpet vine to attract hummingbirds. Nature is my friend.

That said, there is a freakin' brown thrasher living somewhere in our yard that I want to kill. Evil bird.

Every day for the last week when I let our sweet orange tabby boy, Mao, go outside to lounge in the sun or stalk chipmunks, this bird tries to attack him. When s/he isn't swooping down to pester him, the bird sets on a perch about two feet away and nags him with an irritating chirp that sounds like someone flicking their tongue against the back of their teeth. It will literally fly around the house to follow him if he tries to go from the backyard around to the front of the house. I can hear it over the TV or music it is so loud. I want to kill this bird! That chirp has become the single most irritating sound on Earth to me.

I'm sure it's a new parent and only wants to protect its young. I should relate to that. If my sweet kitty, who is a notorious killer, did in fact kill one of this bird's new offspring, I would feel sad and be angry at Mao.

However, my darling cat is innocent until committing an act of Darwinian brutality. So far he hasn't done that. To this bird or its young.

I never root for my cat against smaller animals. Except rats. But this time I find myself hoping he will get angry enough at this bird to put an end to its annoying chirping.

Of course, the day my kitty boy trots through the door with a limp brown thrasher dangling from his mouth, I'll be out searching for the abandoned brood of baby birds, hoping there's something we can do to save them and cursing my cat for his evil ways.

Sick last night, Sick the night before...

Many moons ago when I was in college, we had a drinking song that we used to sing on occasion. The lyrics were as follows:

Drunk last night, drunk the night before,
Gonna get drunk like we've never done before,
'Cause when I'm drunk, I'm as happy as can be,
'Cause I'm a member of the Scott family.
Oh, Scott family is the best family.
The best family in all of Germany.

From the highland Dutch to the lowland Dutch,
From the Rotterdam Dutch, to the goddam Dutch,
Glorious, glorious, a whole keg of beer for the four of us,
Glad there aren't any more of us, 'cause one could drink the whole thing.
Damn near!
My eyes are dim (are dim)!
I cannot see (can't see)!

Then, i don't really remember the rest of the lyrics. I'm not sure anyone knew them. All of our drinking songs had been handed down over the decades, one class to the next.

Anyway, for some reason, every time someone asks me how I'm feeling, I just keep thinking of this song, except in my mind I'm hearing, "Sick last night, sick the night before..."

This morning sickness is really taking its toll on me. I am miserable. And not too happy about it all. The only thing that seems to be soothing my stomach is Coca-Cola on crushed ice. I get sick if I'm hungry. Sick if I eat too much or the wrong thing. Breakfast is the worst, but I can get sick any time of day really. I've definitely thrown up more the last three weeks than I have in the last three years.

And speaking of throwing up, I think I need to go now.

A Terrifying Pregnancy Side-Effect

Since I was twelve, I have suffered from migraine headaches. My mom had them, too. And my grandmother. I remember how debilitatingly painful they were. They usually started in the afternoon and by nightfall, I would be moaning in agony, clutching my throbbing head and running down the hall to throw up in the bathroom. I remember my grandmother applying camphor compresses to my head, turning off all the lights, and sitting with me in my darkened room. Eventually, my mom took me to the doctor and he diagnosed me as having migraines and prescribed Midrin, a pain reliever which provided great relief and sleep, blessed sleep.

I had migraines off and on throughout junior high and high school and once or twice in college. As a young adult, they picked up again once I had a series of stressful jobs that didn't pay nearly enough. In 1999, they picked up again. I was planning my wedding and had just been promoted to Director of Marketing for a high-tech firm. My neurologist wrote me a prescription for Imitrex and wrote the headaches off to stress. A month or two after my wedding, I went off the Pill and hadn't had another migraine until last night.

This one was a doozy. It started with the classic migraine aura symptoms. I had spotty, fragmented vision and felt a little disoriented. It started while I was cooking dinner, including our favorite Robert Redford dessert. Scott came home, I sat and chatted with him while supper cooked, then I returned to finish up supper, feeling a lot better. Within about 30 minutes, I began to feel totally disoriented and confused. I was trying to write a note to a friend and realized the words I was writing were not the words I was thinking. I tried to speak and I couldn't make my tongue do what I wanted it to. I realized I was experiencing a form of aphasia and I began to freak out. I managed to tell Brendan's little friend Haley to go home and went back upstairs to get Scott. I didn't want to freak him out, but I was terrified. I thought I was having a stroke.

I managed to get the words out, very slowly and painfully, to tell Scott I thought I was having a stroke. He then took me through the tests to see if I was having a stroke: lift both arms above the head, smile, repeat a specific sentence. I didn't have any trouble with any of those, so we ruled out stroke pretty quickly. I began to feel less confused, less disoriented, so we went downstairs and ate dinner. By the time we were finished eating, the headache had started and I was pretty incapacitated.

Scott did a great job taking care of me and Brendan and helped me get him to bed. Then, we relaxed and watched Prison Break and 24 and went to bed and cuddled, thankful I was alive and for the time being, not the victim of a stroke.

Why Can't There Be One Right Way?

I wish there were one right way to parent to ensure each and every child comes out feeling safe, loved, appreciated, wanted, smart, talented, and unique.The things we all want to feel.

If this were the case, the day we give birth to a child, the hospital would simply hand over The Parenting Handbook and we'd all know exactly how to stimulate, educate, inspire, discipline, and grow perfect, healthy kids.

Unfortunately, the closest most of us get to any kind of teaching in the arena of being parents is by doing what our parents did. In my case, that's not going to work.

My mom was selfish, critical, mean-spirited, and angry. I was, as they put it back in the Sixties, a Love Child, never quite as good, ashamed, afraid, misunderstood. I don't think my mom hated me, but I think she had to warm up to the idea of loving me, and ultimately the way she expressed that love was in trying to control everything I did. If I did something wrong, she would explode in a fit of terrifying anger. I was definitely afraid of my mom. Afraid of what she could or would do to me and afraid of what she might do to herself.

My whole life I have battled my own expressions of anger, to the point, that I had mostly learned to swallow my anger with the people I love and let things that drove me crazy slide because I loved them.

Then, I had a child. And in my efforts to guide and teach him, I've found we are two stubborn peas in a pod, and as parent, I feel the need to assert my dominance over him. It's my job to help him turn out okay. He gets a ton of love and affection, praise for all the good things he does. And, he's a little spoiled. I do things for him that he should probably be doing for himself now. But I'm aware of that, and working to correct the problem areas.

Unfortunately, every now and then, I blow my stack. I yell, stomp my feet, and act in a way that I know must be very scary for him. It's all usually over in a matter of seconds, then I apologize, and try to explain why his behavior made me angry. The last two instances involved his intentionally spilling his yogurt all over his puzzles after I had expressly told him not to spill his yogurt and refusing to pick up his trains and put them into the box where we keep them. I asked him several times and finally lost it. What's really frustrating to me about his refusal to clean his room is that his preschool teacher is constantly telling me what an awesome job he does picking up toys at school. She says she doesn't even have to tell him to do it. So, I know this is a power struggle and as parent, I feel it imperative that I win the battle. Problem is, I don't know how.

Obviously, blowing up isn't the solution. I don't know what is. And that's very disheartening. I should know my child better than anyone, know what motivates him and what doesn't.

A few nights ago, Scott and I were discussing it and he says he doesn't understand how I can lose my temper with Brendan. He also says he thinks I'm too critical, that I am way more critical than his mom ever was of him or his brothers. In my mind, I'm criticizing B's behavior, not him. Scott thinks two and three-year olds can't discern that difference. Maybe he's right. I hope not.

The only time I've actually criticized my son was when I told him he was being a baby for refusing to sit on the potty. And I told him I'd take away some big boy privilege of his if he didn't sit on the potty. It didn't work. Again, a major power struggle and I'm at my wit's end. I felt horrible after that day and didn't even mention the potty for a whole month.

I don't want to be my mom. Who does? So, why is this such a struggle for me? I love my son more than my own life. So, why can't I find the right ways to encourage and motivate him to do the things he needs to do? I'm not trying to change him.

I don't want to crush his spirit, dampen his defiant nature, or discourage his persistence. I do want him to sleep at night. Clean his room. Respect adults. Listen. Be nice to his friends. Share. Love. Keep his brilliant sense of humor. Use the freakin' potty and be out of diapers before school starts in the fall. That's it for now.

I don't think that's so much to ask. So, why do I feel like a horrible mother? Hopeless? Like I can't do this? And Good Lord! If I can't do it with the one I've got, what the hell am I going to do when I have another?

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's Off to Work I Go!

For a couple of years, I have been struggling to find enough freelance work to bring in enough money to pay for a few of life's luxuries: health insurance and health care, haircuts for me and the boy, a manicure every now and then, clothes, babysitters so Scott and I can get out once in a while. I'm very lucky to be able to stay at home, but it has meant cutting back on a lot of the things I used to take for granted. Because Scott is self-employed, health insurance has been our biggest financial burden and headache. I worry about it a lot. And I pray about finding work so that I can help take some of the strain off my husband's shoulders.

Mostly because finding freelance work is a full-time job in and of itself and I have a young child and a house to take care of, I've found that I rarely have the time I need to find the work I need. I have a few regular clients that keep coming back, but that means one or two projects a quarter.... Not really enough to meet the goals I've set for myself.

Well, suddenly, and thankfully, out of the blue the work is starting to come in. I've got two articles I'm writing for a relocation magazine, plus another possibly on the horizon. Another magazine, Atlanta Dog Life, hired me last fall to write a column about dogs with jobs, but after writing my first article, I was told their funding didn't come through and they were putting the magazine on hold. Two days ago, I got a call from the owner of the first dog I "interviewed" who told me that she had gotten a call from the magazine about advertising. So, I called up the editor and she told me we're back in business and they definitely plan to have me write for them, though I'm not sure if I will still be writing the same column or not.

Now, here's the most exciting event of the week. And the most flattering. Renee Palmer who co-parents Miss America, the first dog I wrote about for ADL is also co-owner of Camp Woof, the open-play boarding facility where we board our darling boy, Cooper. Renee's partner, Patsy McGirl, is the other co-owner. They're awesome and foster a lot of rescues. And Cooper loves staying at Camp Woof.

Anyway, Renee called me yesterday to ask me if I might be interested in authoring a children's book about one of their dogs. It's a long story and I can't go into all of the details, but ultimately, part of the proceeds from the book would go to fund scholarships for disadvantaged African-American students from our community.

I'm so excited and so flattered to be asked to do something like this. Granted, I have no experience writing for children, but I've actually been thinking about it some the last few years. I figure I can try.

So, I'm just very thankful today to have so much wonderful work on my plate. Even though I am still feeling very sick and very tired. I'll just do my best and muddle through. Thank you, God, for all these wonderful blessings raining down upon me all of a sudden!

I'm Sorry, So Sorry

Okay. Having had all day to think about this, I realized I don't know why I was so intensely angry over a small-minded person acting in a petty manner.

I realized that I, too, was being petty in expressing such vitriol toward someone I barely know just because we don't see eye-to-eye on a particular subject.

So, I'm sorry I subjected y'all to my anger. I'll try to do better next time.