tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74071210075363511622024-03-13T20:08:58.807-04:00Exile on Mom StreetA (mostly) true account of life in the Mom lanenatasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.comBlogger167125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-74020134335072488862010-02-02T07:36:00.001-05:002010-02-02T07:37:32.228-05:00The post with no title because everything I tried seemed triteThis post is because of <a href="http://bloggingmama-andrea.blogspot.com/">Andrea</a>. Because she asked me why I haven't been blogging, and I realized that it's because I didn't want to talk about this. But I'm doing it anyway.<br /><br />When I become aware of my spirit, I know that I'm in trouble. <br /><br />When my life is moving forward, and my brain is functioning the way it ought, I am very seldom aware of my own human spirit. My life is too full, my experiences too rich for there to be that awareness. But when I start to consciously think of my spirit it is because I am feeling it, constantly, and because it doesn't feel right. It becomes dark and weighty and it no longer properly fits the confines of my body. I start to notice it in the tightness of my shoulders. In the grim set of my mouth. In the nagging headaches and the terrible exhaustion. In the squeeze of my ribcage when I try to get one, just one, deep, filling, cleansing breath into my lungs. And can't.<br /><br />Then one day I wake up, and I don't want to do anything but cry.<br /><br />I started on a regimen of antidepressants and therapy after my third miscarriage in 2005. Confronting my infertility was difficult beyond imagining, unless you've been there too. But the drugs helped. The therapist helped. Adopting Grasshopper helped most of all.<br /><br />In January 2007, I made the decision to give up my dubious chances at a biological child and underwent a hysterectomy. It was a very freeing decision for me, the removal of that uterus I'd come to hate so fiercely, and one that allowed me to feel strong enough to go off the drugs, and (with her blessing) to stop seeing the counselor. I didn't regret it. I still don't.<br /><br />I made it through my <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/01/interview-meme-from-jim.html">various other hells</a> between then and now, and I handled them on my own. But lately I am discovering that my hands are too full for me to continue doing so.<br /><br />The <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/07/painful-process-priceless-result.html">adoption of our second child</a> is still moving forward, albeit slowly. There have been more setbacks on that topic than I care to integrate into a post that is ostensibly about my mental health, so I'll save it for another time. Suffice to say that it has been <span style="font-style:italic;">far</span> from easy.<br /><br />There have been major crises in JR's business, and in his family. One of our very best friends went into an emotional free-fall a few weeks ago and I did all that I could (it wasn't much. Not nearly as much as I'd have liked) to help and support them. The anniversary of <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/02/good-bye.html">B's suicide</a> is approaching. I'm preparing to sue someone for the first time in my life (nothing like a lawsuit to make a girl feel like a real, red-blooded American!) and I have been <span style="font-style:italic;">deeply</span> disappointed by people who had the power to disappoint me. Finally, someone very important to me, and even more important to my husband, has <span style="font-weight:bold;">cancer</span>.<br /><br />This list is by no means comprehensive, nor is it indicative of how many wonderful and positive things I have in my life. <br /><br />When you are in the grips of depression, the good things are all muffled and muted, like a TV in the apartment next door, by that heavy darkness that seems to spread from the inside out. The things that add weight to the darkness? Those you perceive in stark relief.<br /><br />I have an appointment on Wednesday to see my doctor about a prescription, and hopefully a referral. I'm exercising again and taking vitamin D. I'm doing one of the things that I hate most in the world and <span style="font-weight:bold;">asking for help</span> (if you know me IRL, you know how true this is) before I reach the point of letting the dishes and the cat hair and the laundry pile up and my hair go unwashed for 6 days at a time because, "who cares, I'm worthless?" <br /><br />This time I recognize the path that I'm on and although this isn't where I want to be, and I wish that I'd caught it sooner, I know that I can to find my way back to the road I actually want to travel.natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-71699297006045338702010-02-01T05:33:00.001-05:002010-02-01T05:33:00.672-05:00More Conversations with Grasshopper (You Can't Make This Stuff Up)JR and I were talking at the dinner table the other night while Grasshopper mowed through a cheese quesodilla and grapes. JR glanced over to find that our son had managed to join the Clean Plate Club in under 4 minutes. They had the following conversation:<br /><br />"Wow! Where did your dinner go, Grasshopper?"<br /><br />"It in my tummy!"<br /><br />"Aww, but I wanted to have some quesodilla and grapes! Now what am I going to do?"<br /><br />"I dunno, but you can't have mine! Mine is in my tummy, and my tummy is attached to me."<br /><br />*<br /><br />*<br />"And not wif tape!"natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-11900679915898122702009-12-25T10:32:00.002-05:002009-12-25T10:36:15.976-05:00Hoping that all of your holiday wishes come true.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_r2u2-QFlMpUVEIJfqvmEzki14flRkJw_YKtC64JWc1hrde8M5hciqxV5n732sCYIhMFYkRIC8MRrpIwzcPIomAFVc41rwjGuQl8dWsYRrVuV5zFJ0K3XcyDXw_oxBe3eLSkOaYw97klk/s1600-h/PC050015-2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_r2u2-QFlMpUVEIJfqvmEzki14flRkJw_YKtC64JWc1hrde8M5hciqxV5n732sCYIhMFYkRIC8MRrpIwzcPIomAFVc41rwjGuQl8dWsYRrVuV5zFJ0K3XcyDXw_oxBe3eLSkOaYw97klk/s400/PC050015-2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419197652105988834" /></a><br /><br />Love,<br /><br /><br />Natasha, JR and Grasshoppernatasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-29557220462640918282009-12-18T09:26:00.004-05:002009-12-18T09:49:23.119-05:00Is it even possible......to have a Perfect Christmas?<br /><br />I don't think that it is.<br /><br />I mean it can be perfect for SOME members of the family, but I just don't see how it can be perfect for everyone. I've tried to make it such (bear with me, I realize that the Big Day isn't even here yet, really, I do) but I'm wondering if it's not a lost cause.<br /><br />Because Grasshopper, well Grasshopper is having the time.of.his.life. The <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/12/all-aboard-advent-train.html">Advent Train</a> has been a huge hit, and he greets me each morning with, "It time to open anover door on a Advent Twain, Mommy!" He has loved every single thing that we've done, from the small holiday crafts to the huge extravaganza of Christmas lights and most recently The Nutcracker Ballet, "There were RATS and dey was huwge! And da Rat King, him got DEAD!"<br /><br />And I have loved making these memories with him each and every day. <br /><br />It has put me more deeply in touch with why the Christmas season is so special to me because I see the roots of that growing in my own child. I imagine him making gingerbread waffles with his own kid 30 years from now and my heart feels like it's liable to burst.<br /><br />But the exhaustion. Oh my word, the exhaustion.<br /><br />I don't know how to make things perfect for my boy, easy for my over-worked husband and festive for my friends and other family members without burning myself completely out. <br /><br />I haven't worked out in weeks. I haven't headed downstairs with a clear head in the morning in ages. I barely sleep. I'm waking up in the middle of the night ticking off lists of cards that still need addressing, teacher gifts that still need buying and ingredient lists for cookies that still need baking.<br /><br />I haven't logged into Blogger or Google Reader in WEEKS. I have no idea what's happening in all of your lives(unless we're Facebook friends, which if we're not, why aren't we?), and it sucks. I WANT to know how you and your families are fairing. I hate feeling so out of my little bloggy loop. I haven't been on Twitter in 2 months and I wonder who will still care about what I might have to say when I find the time to log on again.<br /><br />I love this season. I'm having a great time making Grasshopper's one and only Christmas as a three-and-a-half-year-old as memorable for him (and for JR and I) as possible.<br /><br />I just haven't figured out how to do it and still find time for myself. Maybe THAT'S the true Miracle of Christmas.natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-24635838241491506252009-12-01T13:30:00.008-05:002009-12-01T14:11:51.774-05:00All Aboard the Advent TrainMy name is Natasha and I am a sucker for family traditions. (Hi, Natasha!)<br /><br />I didn't grow up with very many set-in-stone traditions, but the ones that we did have are still sacred to me. I am trying to fit as many of those and as many new ones into Grasshopper's childhood as possible because, to me, tradition is the foundation that family is built upon.<br /><br />To that end, I bought <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Train-Advent-Calendar/dp/B002HFUBW8/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=home-garden&qid=1259693409&sr=8-2">this advent calendar</a>. It's not heirloom quality (heirloom quality is soooo not in the budget, this year) but it's just right for sparking imagination, and that's what I really wanted. That and a way to (hopefully) explain that, "No. Today is not Christmas. No, tomorrow is not Christmas. Why? Because it's not until December 25 and today is only December 1 and if I have to answer this question anymore this morning I will take down the Christmas tree and put it back in the attic until Christmas Eve so help me!" Ahem.<br /><br />Also, I wanted a way to make the holiday season more about creating memories together than about the accumulation of more stuff (I'm looking at you, Toys-R-Us catalog). So I started brainstorming ideas for seasonal fun that we could have every single day between now and Christmas and printing those on little strips of paper that I tucked inside the calendar. Some were obvious like attending The Monkey Boy's family open house on the 12th, or seeing a special children's performance of The Nutcracker Ballet on the 17th. This morning we planted paperwhites in a pretty silver pot, and tomorrow JR and I will crank up some <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ultimate-Christmas-Collection-Setzer-Orchestra/dp/B001DZDTEK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1259693494&sr=8-1">Brian Setzer Orchestra holiday music</a> and have a dance party with Grasshopper after dinner.<br /><br />I've scheduled in viewings of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Polar-Express-Widescreen-Tom-Hanks/dp/B000AGTPUK/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=dvd&qid=1259693570&sr=1-2">The Polar Express</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Charlie-Brown-Christmas-Remastered-Deluxe/dp/B001CO42J8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=dvd&qid=1259693608&sr=1-1">A Charlie Brown Christmas</a>. I'm hoping that we can make a trip to <a href="http://www.callawaygardens.com/callaway/info/fantasy-lights.aspx">Callaway Gardens</a> for their Fantasy in Lights and at least one Sunday morning will be spent making gingerbread waffles. Grasshopper is going to take some of his own money with him to the Dollar Store to choose a present or two for Daddy, and we're going to wrap them together. He's going to help me choose some items for <a href="http://www.toysfortots.org/">Toys for Tots</a> donation, and he is also going to go with me to donate foodstuffs to the local food bank.<br /><br />I hope that the process of opening those little calendar doors each morning will lead to the opening of some much bigger thought-processes about what Christmas really means, and why the season is so magical. <br /><br />At a minimum, I'll get to rock around the Christmas tree with two of the handsomest boys I know.<br />**********************************************<br /><br />What about you? What are you most looking forward to this season? I've still got a few cubbyholes left to fill and I would love to add your ideas to the mix!natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-47988735193321017152009-11-25T15:25:00.003-05:002009-11-25T15:37:41.430-05:00Still More Conversations With Grasshopper (You Can't Make This Stuff Up)Today, Grasshopper gave me more evidence of his <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/11/more-conversations-with-grasshopper-you.html">ever-shrinking britches</a>:<br /><br />"Grasshopper, why don't you help me clean up these toys so that we can vacuum the den? Unci* and Granddaddy will be here tomorrow for Thanksgiving and we want everything to be nice and clean for them."<br /><br />"Unci and Granddaddy are coming today!"<br /><br />"No, Grasshopper. TOMORROW. The plan is for Unci and Grandaddy to be here tomorrow."<br /><br />"Well, dat not my plan. I planning for dem to be here today! Humph!"<br /><br /><br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I hope that your family brings you many laughs during the holidays and everyday.<br /><br />*Unci means grandmother in the Lakota languagenatasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-19486409561322633692009-11-24T15:34:00.004-05:002009-11-24T16:10:26.795-05:00More Conversations With Grasshopper (You Can't Make This Stuff Up)My child is getting too big for his britches. <br /><br />And I don't mean in the "I might start making him walk around with a brick on his head if he doesn't stop this infernal GROWING" way. I mean in the "He may not make it to his fourth birthday if he keeps up with that smart mouth" way.<br /><br />A week or so ago, Grasshopper and I were both sick. We'd had the same cold for about 10 days and mine was segueing nicely into a sinus infection while his infection chose to take up residence in his ears. I had a contractor on my roof and a tissue semi-permanently attached to my nose. I needed to take us to the doctor. <br /><br />So I got us appointments on the same morning at my primary care doc's office and his pediatrician's office which is right around the corner(can you say miraculous, boys and girls?).<br /><br />I left the contractor on the roof and hauled us out to spend money on co-pays that were frustratingly unnecessary since I had already (correctly) diagnosed us and we just needed some damn antibiotics, PLEASE! But no, we needed to be exposed to MORE germs in over-crowded waiting rooms to have a nurse practitioner spend no more than 45 seconds examining each of us and then prescribing antibiotics. Woo health care industry!<br /><br />The visits took a couple of <span style="font-style:italic;">hours</span> and by the time we got home it was lunch time and Grasshopper wanted pizza. I threw a frozen pie in the pre-heated oven, set the timer, turned on a DVD for Grasshopper and tried to focus on what my contractor was telling me about my roof and the cheap a-holes who owned it before me while my sinuses pounded out a distracting rhythm.<br /><br />The timer beeped and I opened the oven door to a very odd-looking pizza: melted cheese but absolutely no "rise" or browning to the "rising-crust." In fact, the edges were flopping down in between the bars of the rack (I bake our pizzas directly on the rack to get crispier crust). It didn't take too long for me to determine that the bottom heating element on my oven was not actually heating.<br /><br />My hands were getting shaky from lack of food, and I was waiting until we had something in our stomachs before giving us our first doses of antibiotic. Plus the contractor needed to go to Home Depot (which always takes 2 hours even though it's 3 miles away) because WHY should a job that he told me would take "a couple of hours" actually only take that long?<br /><br />So I loaded a protesting Grasshopper in the car and headed for the nearest drive-thru, thinking that this would make his day AND get food in our tummies fastest. Mommy win!<br /><br />Or not.<br /><br />"But I want pizza Mommy! Why us going to McDonald's?"<br /><br />"Because the oven is broken sweetheart. I <span style="font-weight:bold;">tried</span> to make us a pizza, but the oven isn't working right now."<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Grasshopper kicks the back of the passenger seat huffily and catches my eye in the rearview.<br /></span><br />"Um, I think that the oven at <a href="http://mellowmushroom.com/">Mellow Mushroom</a> is not broken." He informs me with <span style="font-style:italic;">oh so much</span> contempt for my problem-solving skills.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Serenity now, serenity now, serenity now, seren...<br /></span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-49101555091195710132009-11-20T14:45:00.018-05:002009-11-20T15:30:59.270-05:00...and to think that this time last year I was telling myself, "NaBloPoMo in November 2009!"So. Things have been a mite busy on Mom Street, which I'm sure you knew thanks to my relative silence.<br /><br />I've been a really crappy blogger. But! (And it's a very big But indeed. No, not butt. Although that's also very big indeed.)<br /><br />But! I have been a very good mom/friend/MOMS Club officer/adopting mother. Since I last posted a real, honest-to-goodness post with, like, words and stuff, there has been this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpmVsxxjwbOFlcsE7A_DDV5bJh8hwooQmaQtTaYX6TuIcYcCm129YGntw7O5TIFJHfuci9BOf6huNlE430b7Z5uEAVkARFd0hnzNBwlaAJ-nCu8s7qvujsTaDj9bomkEx3ER53dBJ15Fa/s1600/PA270001.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpmVsxxjwbOFlcsE7A_DDV5bJh8hwooQmaQtTaYX6TuIcYcCm129YGntw7O5TIFJHfuci9BOf6huNlE430b7Z5uEAVkARFd0hnzNBwlaAJ-nCu8s7qvujsTaDj9bomkEx3ER53dBJ15Fa/s400/PA270001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406280949149483346" /></a><br /><br />And this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoG-v-8VzlOn5G1sItqk2BnHox9-jG7L7rTWdlEuwdNcprLZA_HfwZG3gUQ7vohwtxX6hkCogrd9kGA8GZJgGm-vpjgMTdhc2ZXdNQdxdTT_LAkJ67dFUd9gAyG_yM-uXdbu4kfKlO4Iz/s1600/PA300028.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoG-v-8VzlOn5G1sItqk2BnHox9-jG7L7rTWdlEuwdNcprLZA_HfwZG3gUQ7vohwtxX6hkCogrd9kGA8GZJgGm-vpjgMTdhc2ZXdNQdxdTT_LAkJ67dFUd9gAyG_yM-uXdbu4kfKlO4Iz/s400/PA300028.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406281611817485618" /></a><br /><br />And also some of these:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjm3b98MNGUnnF7Yvb0ZxsIbeujAzO9PDaC7WkWnJXyDWceb9gE9g-TiQ97u9ix6J_iOW__UqHHTTtCsB4faq4Ckrtm5ZDhIIV2NhSo6JsBqe-YPjQxL_238vBxOEmtfiGxKcxFL7QM2da/s1600/PB050004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjm3b98MNGUnnF7Yvb0ZxsIbeujAzO9PDaC7WkWnJXyDWceb9gE9g-TiQ97u9ix6J_iOW__UqHHTTtCsB4faq4Ckrtm5ZDhIIV2NhSo6JsBqe-YPjQxL_238vBxOEmtfiGxKcxFL7QM2da/s400/PB050004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406282843329606818" /></a><br /><br />Yes, I have hosted or co-hosted two Halloween parties and a baby shower. I am hosting an intimate Thanksgiving dinner next week. <br /><br />I have chaired meetings, made holiday crafts for the preschool's Secret Santa shop, solicited donations for the preschool's silent auction and met with an adoption attorney. <br /><br />I have been fingerprinted. Twice. I have been criminal background-checked. I have been to north and south Florida visiting grandparents both well and unwell. I have been vaccinated against H1N1. I have had a sinus infection. I have had a leaky roof repaired. I've called the FBI 7 times. I have drunk lots and lots of coffee.<br /><br />Most importantly, I completed our homestudy. <br /><br />The social worker signed off on it today, pending the receipt of our FBI fingerprints. The fingerprints are supposed to be released on Monday or Tuesday, so by Thanksgiving Day I'll be jumping out of my skin every time the phone rings <span style="font-style:italic;">Is it D? Do we have a baby? Be-still my heart!</span> <br /><br />Feel for my husband, y'all. It ain't gonna be pretty.<br /><br />But for now, the merry-go-round that has been my life for the past few weeks (or is it months?) has stopped and I hope to have a little time to find a groove here on Mom Street again before I take my seat on the adoption roller coaster. <br /><br />In the meantime, I changed my ringtone to Tom Petty's "Runnin' Down a Dream." It seemed like the right thing to do.natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-57367046095654728552009-10-31T15:20:00.001-04:002009-10-31T15:23:33.263-04:00Happy Halloween!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips-tLH3f9hbLcH3fKPcUz9qrXvzPwKRmyVRx27IvGZEz4lSoYfOwGYOcQBVAJOgCavKuIW7RlcMlRG1kzwWnRElB_w0KdnQ-dzU5LVGCARvT6ckZ5S0Tj02Os-cvJK4ug0us81gJOdSjH/s1600-h/Wild+Thing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips-tLH3f9hbLcH3fKPcUz9qrXvzPwKRmyVRx27IvGZEz4lSoYfOwGYOcQBVAJOgCavKuIW7RlcMlRG1kzwWnRElB_w0KdnQ-dzU5LVGCARvT6ckZ5S0Tj02Os-cvJK4ug0us81gJOdSjH/s400/Wild+Thing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398846809189963538" /></a><br /><br />From my very own Wild Thing.natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-85540397638537838632009-10-21T07:43:00.013-04:002009-10-21T09:49:23.575-04:00Is Freud in the house?So. I haven't blogged about the adoption in a while. Mostly because there wasn't a whole lot of progress to report. (I also forgot basic punctuation and grammar rules, apparently).<br /><br />JR has been so overwhelmingly busy, and traveling so much for work that it has been virtually impossible to coordinate efforts like going for physicals and drug screens (which we've done), heading out to be fingerprinted and criminal background-checked (which we haven't done), and most importantly to immediate progress, finishing our self-studies. The self-study portion of a homestudy is where you essentially write your autobiography and then answer a bunch of invasive questions about yourself, your relationships and your parenting in the present and future. It is Not Fun. Mine has been done for weeks, but JR has been having a difficult time not only with writing it, but finding the time for it. When something so important hinges on your words, you want to get them just right and that's hard to do late at night after a long day of dealing with vendors and employees and business partners and travel. He finally finished it up over the weekend, and I promptly emailed it to the social worker so that we could arrange our second visit with her.<br /><br />I'm trying to set up this second visit this week, because next week JR heads out on another trip and my heart just really can't take another multi-week delay. We'll see. I have to keep reminding myself that although she is our only social worker, we are by no means her only clients. Sigh.<br /><br />I was filling out the requisite financial forms before bed last night (never a good idea) and proceeded to sleep fitfully, even getting up at midnight to see if the social worker had responded to my emails requesting an appointment time this week. She hadn't. <br /><br />Just before the alarm (also known as my child) started going off this morning, I was trapped in a troubling dream:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">JR and I had gotten The Phone Call. A birthmother had chosen us to parent her newborn daughter and we needed to get to her right away. The baby was in an Inuit village on a tiny island off the coast of Alaska and the only way to reach it because of the ice flows was by plane. We were waiting in an airplane terminal (not unlike the one in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wings_%28TV_series%29">Wings</a>) and a man who lived on the island and was going to be on our flight walked up and asked why were were traveling there. We told him that we were going to meet our new daughter and then bring her home.<br /><br />He walked away with tears in his eyes and pulled out his cell phone. He made a call and I heard him say, "It's today. They're taking her today." Somehow I knew that he was talking to the birthfather.<br /><br />The next thing I knew we were on a tiny plane that could accommodate 6 passengers, and all of the seats were full. No one would meet my eyes. We took off over very rough ice cloaked seas and our tiny aircraft was being buffeted by strong winds and I was trying not to vomit. Fog swirled in and I could no longer see. The turbulence got worse and worse and it felt like we were hurtling towards something horrible when a small voice called,</span> "Daddy? Mommy? Good morning Mommy!"<br /><br />Yeah. Anyone care to take a guess as to what all of that was about?natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-10002398733343883722009-10-16T18:34:00.008-04:002009-10-19T07:25:15.738-04:00More Conversations with Grasshopper (You Can't Make This Stuff Up)"Ben took my patient." Grasshopper announced shortly after clambering out the car after school on Friday.<br /><br />"Ben took your patient?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Solemn nod.</span><br /><br />"I'm not sure that I understand. What is a patient?"<br /><br />"It when you get mad 'cause you don't wanta wait anymore!"<br /><br />"Oh! You mean PATIENCE! Ben took your patience?"<br /><br />"Yes! I wanted to pway wif da blue car an I asked him if it could be my turn next and him said "yes!" but him not GIVE IT TO ME!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Foot stomp. Pouty lip.</span><br /><br />"I'm sorry honey. That's tough, huh?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Stifling laughter.</span><br /><br />"Yeah. Him took my patient and I didn't have it <span style="font-weight:bold;">no more</span>."<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Long-suffering sigh.</span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-73406507053870276892009-10-16T05:07:00.000-04:002009-10-16T05:07:00.762-04:00Conversaions with Grasshopper: the Deep Thoughts SeriesI had one of the most important conversations of my life yesterday.<br /><br />On a busy thoroughfare. In the rain. At 5:00 pm.<br /><br />Because why should anything be unnecessarily easy?<br /><br />Yesterday Grasshopper and I went over to Good Attorney's house for a play date with her son, Little Z. Good Attorney is 7 months pregnant and looks every minute of it.(I hope she doesn't kill me for saying that. I'm hosting her baby shower in a couple of weeks and that could get awkward.)<br /><br />On the way home from their house, Grasshopper had some questions about the baby in Good Attorney's tummy. <br /><br />"Why does her got a baby in her tummy? Did her eat it?"<br /><br />"No! No, honey. Good Attorney did not eat a baby. Babies grow in their mommy's tummy until they..."<br /><br />"Come out!"<br /><br />"That's right, sweetheart, until they are born."<br /><br />"Like I was in your tummy before I was born."<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I did not expect to be doing this in rush hour traffic, on Ponce de Leon Ave. in the rain! <br /><br />Please don't let me screw this up. Please. <br /><br />I'm so not ready for a pop quiz. <br /><br />I haven't had enough rehearsal time. <br /><br />Please.<br /></span><br />"Well. No. You didn't grow in my tummy Grasshopper."<br /><br />"Yes I did. Before I got born."<br /><br />"No, honey. You didn't grow in my tummy."<br /><br />"I grew in your heart!"<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Huh? I know that "grew in my heart, not in my tummy" is a cliched adoption saying, but it's not one that I've ever parroted. I appreciate the sentiment behind it, but JR and I always thought that it would be confusing to children, especially young children. So we've never said it.</span><br /><br />"Well, I've loved you since even before you were born, so you've been IN my heart for a long time, but you didn't grow there. You grew in another lady's tummy. She is your Birthmother."<br /><br />"Why her is my Birthmother? Why I not grow in your tummy?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Because the universe isn't always fair. <br /><br />Because this is how we were meant to be. <br /><br />Because I could <span style="font-weight:bold;">never</span> have created anyone as perfect as you.</span><br /><br />"Because my tummy doesn't work right for growing babies. So your Birthmother grew you for me, and after you were all ready to come out..."<br /><br />"I got bornded!"<br /><br />"Yes. You were born and then your daddy and I adopted you and I became your Forever Mommy, and he became your Forever Daddy. We love you <span style="font-style:italic;">so</span> much."<br /><br />"Little Z has a Birthmother, too?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Why the extra-credit question son? Did you really have to do this? <br /><br />My palms are sweating so much I can hardly turn the wheel. <br /><br />I can't even see your face! <br /><br />Was this really necessary?</span><br /><br />"Yes. Everyone has a Birthmother. For some people, their Birthmother and their Forever Mother are the same person. Like my mother is my Birthmother, because I grew in her tummy, and also she is my Forever Mommy."<br /><br />"And my Grandmommy!"<br /><br />"Yes, exactly!"<br /><br />*silence*<br /><br />"Why da winsheild wipers go swish, Mommy?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-style:italic;">I don't know baby. I'm just glad that I can tell you, "I don't know." and let the tears roll right on down my face. <br /><br />I'm so glad that you're watching the wipers and can't see me.<br /><br />I've practiced for this day since before I ever laid eyes on you. <br /><br />Since those first nights after we decided to adopt. <br /><br />Laying there in the darkness I would imagine this conversation with some faceless child (a girl, by the way) and picture us sitting on the beach, or in her bed at night enjoying snuggles before we tucked her in. <br /><br />She was always at least 4 and a half.<br /><br />I never once pictured having this conversation with a 3 year old. <br /><br />But then, I never pictured you. <br /><br />You are everything that a Forever Mother (or a Birthmother) could hope for. <br /><br />I love you, baby boy. <br /><br />I really hope I didn't screw this up.<br /></span><br /></span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-90966343149668354932009-10-14T08:19:00.003-04:002009-10-14T08:28:19.698-04:00(Almost) Wordless Wednesday<span style="font-style:italic;">Don't you hate those days where you get yourself all dressed to go cut the grass, and the lawnmower won't start and then your cell phone won't pick up a signal?</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzJXrjlK5BHdBRYF9FWzhEkoTJHH9FCmbmCOEMPFhXeBcXEY_iUl45MoxjE4b9uwdXqeeCwcxVUT89Qr3EqeP7WACiq4ehWuoyZ1L9WvAznDTz4QnFSQDHOy5wX9KSPdXxCF27zRcvB5q/s1600-h/P9270017.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzJXrjlK5BHdBRYF9FWzhEkoTJHH9FCmbmCOEMPFhXeBcXEY_iUl45MoxjE4b9uwdXqeeCwcxVUT89Qr3EqeP7WACiq4ehWuoyZ1L9WvAznDTz4QnFSQDHOy5wX9KSPdXxCF27zRcvB5q/s400/P9270017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392431139455577554" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Yeah. Me too.</span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-81301356533510715152009-10-09T13:12:00.008-04:002009-10-09T14:26:42.716-04:00Friday FAILFriday is rightly regarded by most people as one of the finest days of the week. It marks the end of the work week and segues us nicely into the weekend. It's arrival is heralded by cries of "Thank God!" and simply "TGIF!"<br /><br />Today, however, has not lived up to expectations.<br /><br />I woke up groggier than usual this morning because JR had a nagging cough last night that repeatedly startled me awake just as I was drifting off to sleep. "Cough, cough, cough" followed by precisely the right amount of silence to have me snuggling back under the covers and floating away to dreamland only to be jolted back to full consciousness by "cough, cough, cough." Oh, the joys of marriage.<br /><br />Upon waking I was comforted by the realization that Friday was finally here and that although I had a lot on my schedule today, I would be doing it sans Grasshopper. He attends preschool on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings this year, and it's been lovely. Particularly since his school provides the option of Chik-fil-a lunches on Friday meaning that I don't have to figure out what to pack for lunch that day or worry about how I'm going to keep his milk cold since I seem hell-bent on forgetting to put his wee chill-pack back in the freezer after he brings it home.<br /><br />I allowed myself extra time to read blogs and sip my coffee after my shower since, you know, I didn't have to pack his lunch or anything. And as so often happens I got <span style="font-style:italic;">sucked in</span>. Before I knew what hit me the little clock on the corner of the screen said 8:10 and not only was <span style="font-weight:bold;">I</span> not dressed or fed, neither was Grasshopper. I can skip breakfast. A three year old cannot.<br /><br />So I proceeded to race around screeching at the poor kid to "Hurry, hurry!" and "Find your shoes! We're laaaate!" (always so effective when dealing with toddlers) I threw on clothes, and put some on him. I located the missing sneaker (under the entertainment center) and threw some Cinnamon Puffins cereal into a baggie for him to eat in the car. I even remembered to comb my (wet) hair.<br /><br />We raced out the door and I was quickly confronted with having the wrong car keys because my car is at the dealership and I'm driving JR's Saab while he tools around in the loaner vehicle. Crap. Crappity crap CRAP! I made Grasshopper sit on the front step while I rushed back into the house praying that JR had actually hung his keys on the set of hooks in the kitchen that we use for key-wrangling. He had. Hallelujah!<br /><br />We finally got underway about 5 minutes behind schedule. Which isn't too bad because traffic is often lighter on Friday mornings. Oh Friday, how I love thee.<br /><br />On the drive to school I mentally rehearsed my schedule: Drop Grasshopper off and head to Sam's Club. Then go home to put away refrigerated foodstuffs and organize the paperwork I need to fax to the homestudy agency. Head to Target to return a shirt and buy a gift for a friend's daughter who is turning one. Go to the chiropractor for an adjustment and then drive up to JR's office to have him sign some of the forms and make a copy of his driver's license. Then use his fax machine to send it all to the homestudy agency and maybe squeeze in lunch with him before racing back to school to pick Grasshopper up for his three day weekend (yes, our school thinks Columbus Day is an ACTUAL holiday). Alot to manage, but doable, definitely doable. <br /><br />Until, that is, I pulled into the school parking lot and saw....no one. That's right. Not one car in the lot, not one light on in the building, nothing. It was Not Good.<br /><br />"Where my buddies?" Grasshopper asks.<br /><br />"Um. Well, I think that they must be at home Sweetheart. I don't think you have school today."<br /><br />"But it a <span style="font-style:italic;">School Day</span> Mommy. It <span style="font-style:italic;">Chik-fil-a Day</span>. I want to go to schoooooool!"<br /><br />"Well, I don't think that's gonna happen today Grasshopper. I'm sorry."<br /><br />"Wahhhhhh!"<br /><br />I turn into a parking space and call JR at work and ask him to pull up the school calendar on the website for me. He does. It runs through September 14. Helpful, <span style="font-style:italic;">very</span> helpful. He asks if I want him to call the school, but I tell him that there's no point, that school should have started by now and that obviously that's not happening today. He listens to me rant. He listens to Grasshopper scream about schoooool. And then he LAUGHS and congratulates himself on working outside the home. The man enjoys living dangerously.<br /><br />So we headed back home. And I proceeded to check nearly nothing off of my to-do list while Grasshopper dogged my heels asking WHY he didn't have school today. Why Mommy? Why? Why? Why? <br /><br />And I couldn't tell him.<br /><br />Do you want to know why I couldn't tell him? Of course you do! This story is riveting!<br /><br />Because when I switched the September school calendar on the fridge for the October one that was sent home on the 2nd (which was, incidentally, a FRIDAY) I apparently threw away October and stuck September back up. Oh yes, yes I did.<br /><br />So Friday, I am officially putting you On Notice. Next week you had better live up to expectations or I am going to have to demand a do-over. And margaritas. It's really the least you can do.natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-83186402364128341582009-10-06T13:37:00.007-04:002009-10-06T14:39:20.898-04:00DissonanceGrasshopper is three. Grasshopper is very, very, VERY three.<br /><br />Three, as it turns out, is a really challenging age. (All stages of child-development are challenging in different ways, I get it. This happens to be the one I'm wrestling with at the moment.)<br /><br />This is the first time that I'm really confronting the natural dissonance in parenting that quite frankly <span style="font-style:italic;">sucks</span>. I want to raise a smart, independent, free-thinking person who questions authority wisely, makes goals for himself and sets about achieving them with determination and focus.<br /><br />I just don't want him to do that until he's in college.<br /><br />Right now, I want a child who does what I say (the FIRST time) who asks me what would be the correct action to take when faced with a decision and who can be easily distracted from activities such as UNSCREWING THE BABY GATE FROM THE WALL.* <br /><br />I know that the qualities he is exhibiting now, even the 'tude that my friends <a href="http://www.dyarfamily.com/DyarGirls/">Kelly</a> and <a href="http://oneatlantamommy.blogspot.com/">Angela</a> witnessed this morning (and agreed was impressive for a child his age) will serve him well later in life. I know that I am laying the groundwork for this boy to someday be a man that I imagine I will both like and respect. One who doesn't have to call his mommy every time he needs to make a choice and who doesn't believe everything he's told.<br /><br />I'm just really not ready for him to be there now.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">*Grasshopper's room is downstairs. There is nothing he needs upstairs. Therefore we have (had) a gate at the bottom of the stairs. <br /><br />Yes, I am kinda proud of him for figuring it out. <br /><br />No, that doesn't make it any less annoying that he can get into my room now.</span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-47828625199414638342009-09-30T11:59:00.007-04:002009-09-30T12:12:00.277-04:00(Almost) Wordless Wednesday<span style="font-style:italic;">Sorry for the poor quality on the first two shots. Grasshopper was so absorbed that he didn't know JR was even there and so JR didn't want to use the flash.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0r26wWns3HvS4Y3oTLjmtpeJjlFVzqyTqHkjfDajws0fT0D56mS25lIxucGgt78vP0LWkx9xxldth0Lkh4DAV-paj4WfgGhuHeS_2ZcAau_f9ZApkvoZ5G-tgx-vPrkYmMC6mV-6EXr0/s1600-h/P9120008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0r26wWns3HvS4Y3oTLjmtpeJjlFVzqyTqHkjfDajws0fT0D56mS25lIxucGgt78vP0LWkx9xxldth0Lkh4DAV-paj4WfgGhuHeS_2ZcAau_f9ZApkvoZ5G-tgx-vPrkYmMC6mV-6EXr0/s400/P9120008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387292217931472226" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ukhXT0yaSPyMxTcmmoDXKg4UQldnWhAIroPwBERlSJD5DricSTtRvPBr_rLBY6borBLr1qUpE_JFrEtpwMIrhwjpplCkWYJ1k8zO-tQgbTMrlXf0b5dqEBJNR2w_ZK17NcDnec0XKoYF/s1600-h/P9120006.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ukhXT0yaSPyMxTcmmoDXKg4UQldnWhAIroPwBERlSJD5DricSTtRvPBr_rLBY6borBLr1qUpE_JFrEtpwMIrhwjpplCkWYJ1k8zO-tQgbTMrlXf0b5dqEBJNR2w_ZK17NcDnec0XKoYF/s400/P9120006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387291780058427954" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOvvAG_jnuVy_giNrKMmkHYIQMQ0llYAolU6hLV3vMzpmr9kYi7jITJVD44K1oJ8kpJVx3bsEoPaD1-Tf9sdfKmN3XuoOoa9o4gEncXh1tq6b2qyHq0m_7gln0JIb6-X17Uupg71VbEsB/s1600-h/P9120004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOvvAG_jnuVy_giNrKMmkHYIQMQ0llYAolU6hLV3vMzpmr9kYi7jITJVD44K1oJ8kpJVx3bsEoPaD1-Tf9sdfKmN3XuoOoa9o4gEncXh1tq6b2qyHq0m_7gln0JIb6-X17Uupg71VbEsB/s400/P9120004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387292579322864210" /></a><br /><br />"Are your cars riding the bus to school?"<br /><br />"Mommy. Dat is NOT a school bus. Dat is a car carrier. Dem is going to the New Car Store."<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">*Insert sigh and eye roll here*</span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-62949681865051400662009-09-23T13:01:00.011-04:002009-09-23T13:38:59.493-04:00(Almost) Wordless WednesdayIn all of the hubbub of the <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/09/almost-wordless-wednesday.html">start of school</a>, meeting <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/08/riding-dinosaur-train.html">television</a> and <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/09/skippyjon-grasshopper.html">book characters</a> and <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/09/anyone-have-spare-ark.html">floods of near-Biblical proportions</a>, I forgot to mention that Grasshopper has crossed another "first" off of his life-list: First Trip to the Dentist.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnFEPrhT6imXK4lDdoU5_XG-mRbTJQO9qjXQOo1Tu_LheOpH_LltoRYOVKWDVRocbaScHUTdrP84bhL2x28kIT-o0UPovCgJAbmd1JJZRp4t-0aVplJMy1CSqmzb-_J7cDHdySEESvRcP/s1600-h/P9010043.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnFEPrhT6imXK4lDdoU5_XG-mRbTJQO9qjXQOo1Tu_LheOpH_LltoRYOVKWDVRocbaScHUTdrP84bhL2x28kIT-o0UPovCgJAbmd1JJZRp4t-0aVplJMy1CSqmzb-_J7cDHdySEESvRcP/s400/P9010043.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384713452180236114" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlnqo7Zk5Dhv8fgTSGGRFBlQoy_sgNfYUq-KlvQQtums4JKGgMGUv20Yb3tYuyfnyduwLdyTikztyS8SCoB-_IbZev3zhVUYJl1zHwUT-LxGKNCotyA4m-jkRinwFVvFtGdZSu9jmICcK/s1600-h/P9010044.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 341px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlnqo7Zk5Dhv8fgTSGGRFBlQoy_sgNfYUq-KlvQQtums4JKGgMGUv20Yb3tYuyfnyduwLdyTikztyS8SCoB-_IbZev3zhVUYJl1zHwUT-LxGKNCotyA4m-jkRinwFVvFtGdZSu9jmICcK/s400/P9010044.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384713129746558738" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_1dZq2-QXwGzlspdg-Fub5e0FzdJ2JuTi3azvXozZLszPL0uImzF8GM7KqkcGAI4K6xvwfvOd5H47qZRsEv9B4P_xfz6WkIGevnX3Re9q6dpQ-DSfFxeN2Uwz1KqffgcrFbhvMedihAU/s1600-h/P9010045.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 353px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_1dZq2-QXwGzlspdg-Fub5e0FzdJ2JuTi3azvXozZLszPL0uImzF8GM7KqkcGAI4K6xvwfvOd5H47qZRsEv9B4P_xfz6WkIGevnX3Re9q6dpQ-DSfFxeN2Uwz1KqffgcrFbhvMedihAU/s400/P9010045.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384712879002498226" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNTQHrsp0tavFkaZ4JPB2CuWkuiL_giKbEZXkj_3VK4Q1QiRvyOqeMmiATjSvfs_RvFGX7rqlXgYL_5YDm0czJi9JsDAZpGTvpZZmMmYbxXwFusRsArGGbKNB-GhYoMJwOIEgKwBmn7ei/s1600-h/P9010046.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNTQHrsp0tavFkaZ4JPB2CuWkuiL_giKbEZXkj_3VK4Q1QiRvyOqeMmiATjSvfs_RvFGX7rqlXgYL_5YDm0czJi9JsDAZpGTvpZZmMmYbxXwFusRsArGGbKNB-GhYoMJwOIEgKwBmn7ei/s400/P9010046.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384712712020688530" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Lq29njlAO0c5v2n03ZzNSgRYtktQj6VlF5L87qHlXiKa8JFHba5dxh_drTButQSYctoZK0Dsw9OivmZ0RG7WyJEJyvDugE1EmSxd0XgpX2zZ1tkHvV5R5JSoBx7FIGQCFJsZrK8G9DJ1/s1600-h/P9010049.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 333px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Lq29njlAO0c5v2n03ZzNSgRYtktQj6VlF5L87qHlXiKa8JFHba5dxh_drTButQSYctoZK0Dsw9OivmZ0RG7WyJEJyvDugE1EmSxd0XgpX2zZ1tkHvV5R5JSoBx7FIGQCFJsZrK8G9DJ1/s400/P9010049.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384712358447885026" /></a><br /><br /><br />He did great. He was nervous at first, but the staff did a fabulous job of putting him at ease and by the time he got ready for x-rays, he was having an adventure. Since it's a pediatric practice, they know what they're doing with little ones. Also, the dentist provided a card for the front of the refrigerator with his <span style="font-style:italic;">home phone number</span> on it in case we ever have an after-hours dental emergency. How amazing is that?<br /><br />I can report that there were no cavities, and my son prefers the Banana Split fluoride foam to the Strawberry Shortcake variety. Oh, and a new Lightning McQueen toothbrush makes even sitting still for x-rays worthwhile.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">This is totally not even an *almost* Wordless Wednesday post. Oh well.</span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-12946341992685921632009-09-21T10:08:00.028-04:002009-09-21T11:14:36.433-04:00Anyone have a spare ark?<span style="font-style:italic;">Warning: photo-heavy post ahead</span><br /><br />We have been having a record-breaking monsoon season in Atlanta this month.I have had a hard time finding accurate information on the web as to how much rain we've gotten over the month [edited: over <span style="font-weight:bold;">15 inches</span> this week according to a new weather.com update], but I do know for sure that on Saturday between Midnight and 1:00 pm a measuring station recorded over <span style="font-weight:bold;">5 inches</span> of rainfall. And it's been raining non-stop for days and days people. <br /><br />We see heavy rain and flooding from time to time when a hurricane or tropical storm moves through, but this is different. This is sustained rainfall for no apparent "reason" and with no end in sight.<br /><br />I have lived in Atlanta for over 14 years. I have lived in my current house for over 6 years. I have never seen anything like this. <br /><br />As I drove through my neighborhood this morning with my camera, I saw a husband and wife wading through crotch-deep water clutching their dog and a few possessions tightly to their chests. I almost asked if I could take their picture, but I did not want to intrude on their obvious grief. <br /><br />Our house is on high ground. We are lucky. Many are not.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">All of these photos were taken in my neighborhood, many from the front steps of my house. As always, you may click to "embiggen".</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBeMaNBjvSHSjzbDDA4KR693qzR5sNzh33y5dVD_MFSP8xmpyQibnPryw4WPbfvsyBeKDoR_-P8Jt8IjeITb9dddHiqADV5Hr5tI-CNxC8zrZxHXWfNJg2Syk9CK-FqFIWqrpwKcMPUSzx/s1600-h/P9160045.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBeMaNBjvSHSjzbDDA4KR693qzR5sNzh33y5dVD_MFSP8xmpyQibnPryw4WPbfvsyBeKDoR_-P8Jt8IjeITb9dddHiqADV5Hr5tI-CNxC8zrZxHXWfNJg2Syk9CK-FqFIWqrpwKcMPUSzx/s400/P9160045.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383930014294562802" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />This shot is from my front porch. People are stupid. Two people have DIED in Atlanta after having their cars overcome by the water.</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTb0j6Bn-l1PhAVcNlJKeKKC39-sQY6OZbZ4iL11MEMybptqFk7JTm-yOOQOSjEpCruhi-jvuCaDSxyQST3LXSAZ5f7SZyEh_gnwgS5Qe23aoqM3HCigcHz_F3vzQGH4D_RV0L_NtQwrp/s1600-h/P9160046.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTb0j6Bn-l1PhAVcNlJKeKKC39-sQY6OZbZ4iL11MEMybptqFk7JTm-yOOQOSjEpCruhi-jvuCaDSxyQST3LXSAZ5f7SZyEh_gnwgS5Qe23aoqM3HCigcHz_F3vzQGH4D_RV0L_NtQwrp/s400/P9160046.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383929914910609682" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">This is my across the street neighbor, Lady Di, attempting to keep the flood waters out with a sheet of plywood and grim determination. It wasn't enough.<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDPXg_bg9zccBLSwp9AN8s14TqOhw7vNcTlKqx5sksleB2XasKD1zYW5plDInXXkyllZ7-8_T4_B36z4yqds7jna5pzs4tZp_dEaOvABhKa3_PxGDtDNr02HnKP1tWLrNSsXq0abIaIC2/s1600-h/P9160020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDPXg_bg9zccBLSwp9AN8s14TqOhw7vNcTlKqx5sksleB2XasKD1zYW5plDInXXkyllZ7-8_T4_B36z4yqds7jna5pzs4tZp_dEaOvABhKa3_PxGDtDNr02HnKP1tWLrNSsXq0abIaIC2/s400/P9160020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383929689771581858" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The end of my driveway. The water was over the top of my galoshes. <br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouU_-ENsIvMdnzybkx2E6na1iSMTIKOt499NlvGkQc7yqIbNS91BSOwDKqom-1VuZYls1v9wMnYFSwzt7gB4t7Bw80rJCU7zCxh7_fyhHxfSo4m8fLj-RwCFK7FC_dpxS5T_7skOmwXt3/s1600-h/P9160017.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouU_-ENsIvMdnzybkx2E6na1iSMTIKOt499NlvGkQc7yqIbNS91BSOwDKqom-1VuZYls1v9wMnYFSwzt7gB4t7Bw80rJCU7zCxh7_fyhHxfSo4m8fLj-RwCFK7FC_dpxS5T_7skOmwXt3/s400/P9160017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383929312575181122" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">My mailbox and WAKE from a passing vehicle.<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZLAwOJkwzhRHSnjzYhgkl1vB5lkKpZxSIH0yplmMnPhX5h-z0Qwrmz1cf3c-DU30RJpWwcq57CKZDmb5FRVnz78Rg779L-FWqgQj-NUYoX2xn03ww6CKk0hBfwsCpC6cy9gS_M3RyTIa/s1600-h/P9210001.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZLAwOJkwzhRHSnjzYhgkl1vB5lkKpZxSIH0yplmMnPhX5h-z0Qwrmz1cf3c-DU30RJpWwcq57CKZDmb5FRVnz78Rg779L-FWqgQj-NUYoX2xn03ww6CKk0hBfwsCpC6cy9gS_M3RyTIa/s400/P9210001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383926950409068658" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The bike/nature path that we frequently utilize. The bridge is typically about 6-7 feet above a creek bed that is more often than not DRY.<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxXFpVHri8v2nXIzo0UGJMV_cNN-RuDLRD0oyWdqkdBp4QKScT9rz39xiIsr4rnEhSqvf9AShXo4m9VicqHZnOjotuAngYIOInGlV_gkkdpxYNgQir0-rPnLn6-aEIB9XXJ_aWUefjLxT/s1600-h/P9210004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxXFpVHri8v2nXIzo0UGJMV_cNN-RuDLRD0oyWdqkdBp4QKScT9rz39xiIsr4rnEhSqvf9AShXo4m9VicqHZnOjotuAngYIOInGlV_gkkdpxYNgQir0-rPnLn6-aEIB9XXJ_aWUefjLxT/s400/P9210004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383926183331385394" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">My neighbors.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgYM8uI9PFGs1T65h9nN1YfW63igiuCk3bgHOB6xJTvt_eJhJMOsvpuz_79hJYtjOkm3MJkyIRklM46yasLP0hO431-dqbsL_klV8kGyUk4kTgvm0y5Ng6Vxcp5gmOYIV-SddSYrwuGKB/s1600-h/P9210007.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgYM8uI9PFGs1T65h9nN1YfW63igiuCk3bgHOB6xJTvt_eJhJMOsvpuz_79hJYtjOkm3MJkyIRklM46yasLP0hO431-dqbsL_klV8kGyUk4kTgvm0y5Ng6Vxcp5gmOYIV-SddSYrwuGKB/s400/P9210007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383925842380840386" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Oh. My poor neighbors.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNrBNfNABhOubqmzWkey_77lDvBUBRGBRmyOPOAbcq7AAhXjHKtmOh-q5-ajiM9zOOqfuGhtt0V3t121Tqav5OElEYh59L_OMYskoOS6snorUTNMxoNDX5ItPzFO6vv21hQdJ_Ng8cLbAN/s1600-h/P9210009.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNrBNfNABhOubqmzWkey_77lDvBUBRGBRmyOPOAbcq7AAhXjHKtmOh-q5-ajiM9zOOqfuGhtt0V3t121Tqav5OElEYh59L_OMYskoOS6snorUTNMxoNDX5ItPzFO6vv21hQdJ_Ng8cLbAN/s400/P9210009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383925494535489602" /></a><br /><br />Now I just have to figure out what I can do to help.natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-86373259087779537052009-09-17T06:58:00.000-04:002009-09-17T06:58:00.281-04:003 Going On 13These are verbatim (well, best as I can remember) conversations that I have had with Grasshopper in the past week.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Driving home from preschool on Friday</span><br /><br />Me: "How was school today Buddy? Did you have lots of fun? What did you do today?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: "I don't wanna tell you."<br /><br />Crosses arms over his chest.<br /><br />Me: "Okaaaay. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."<br /><br />We drive in silence for a couple of miles.<br /><br />Me: "Did you have Spanish today?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: "No."<br /><br />Me: "Huh. I read on your sheet that you had Spanish today."<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />Me: "Well, what did you have for snack?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: "I don't wemember."<br /><br />Me: "Did you play on the playground?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: "I don't wemember."<br /><br />Me: "Who did you sit next to at lunch?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: Silence.<br /><br />Me: "Who did you sit next to at lunch Sweetheart?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: "You JUST asked me that, Mommy. I don't wemember!"<br /><br />Sticks out his bottom lip and <span style="font-style:italic;">glares</span> at me in the rear view mirror.<br /><br />Me: "Why are you being rude?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: "Because."<br /><br />Me: "Because why?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: "Because I don't hafta tell you!"<br /><br />***********************************************<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Driving to preschool on Monday morning<br /></span><br />Me: "Are you excited to go to school today Bud?"<br /><br />Grasshopper: "Yes. I want the teacher to walk me in. <span style="font-weight:bold;">You</span> stay in the car."<br /><br />***********************************************<br /><br />What's next? Dropping him off around the corner so that his friends won't see me? Being told that I can't volunteer for the PRESCHOOL Halloween party because I'm so embarrassing? Buying his jeans too big so that his Sesame Street undies can hang out of the top?natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-31072855276546555232009-09-11T10:32:00.005-04:002009-09-11T10:44:22.484-04:00September 11th, 2009This morning, as I drove Grasshopper to his second day of preschool for the year, I listened to NPR with one ear, and my three year old's prattling with the other.<br /><br />NPR was talking about the September 11th attacks. The three year old was talking about play-doh. <br /><br />I was listening more closely to the three year old than the radio when I suddenly heard a voice I wasn't familiar with reaching through my speakers. A voice that drew me in. A voice that touched a place, deep inside of me, that I don't often allow myself to recognize. A place that didn't exist until I became a mother.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I urge you to listen to this clip, it's only a few minutes long, and so, so worth your time.</span><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.npr.org/v2/?i=112676905&m=112739903&t=audio" height="383" wmode="opaque" width="400" base="http://www.npr.org"></embed><br /><br />As I sat in my car at a red light and wept, I watched my beautiful, fearless little boy in the rear view mirror and wondered what it would take to allow me to sleep at night if I ever lost him.<br /><br />And when I dropped him off at school, I made sure that the last thing I said to him was, "I love you."natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-16668734688654525972009-09-09T15:10:00.005-04:002009-09-09T15:15:44.506-04:00(Almost) Wordless Wednesday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCxarDEIQIRfko_Vk3SZAaYG9yE4otyOFj1I-LhRk5ZF8-aajn0Ow0ph9tpq9JU92WaysRohlGqDtNJ9YNEV8bOg9mIvJtLZhksLHNGCoapj_DxR8DH8ugRCxsedqLKRW15VPqJk4z_wK/s1600-h/P9090004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCxarDEIQIRfko_Vk3SZAaYG9yE4otyOFj1I-LhRk5ZF8-aajn0Ow0ph9tpq9JU92WaysRohlGqDtNJ9YNEV8bOg9mIvJtLZhksLHNGCoapj_DxR8DH8ugRCxsedqLKRW15VPqJk4z_wK/s400/P9090004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379548288266486146" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Something about the first day of school made me want to break out the old-fashioned photo effects. So I did.</span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-46802068689476932982009-09-08T08:27:00.014-04:002009-09-08T09:11:06.870-04:00Skippyjon GrasshopperDo your kids (and, lets be honest, YOU) love Skippyjon Jones? <br /><br />Ours is definitely a Skippyjon-adoring family. That tiny tornado of trouble is a character that every person we know (regardless of age) loves to read about. And this weekend, we got to meet Skippyjon Jones and his "Mama" author and illustrator of the Skippyjon series, Judy Schachner.<br /><br />We are lucky enough to live in a terrific town that hosts an annual <a href="http://www.decaturbookfestival.com/2009/index.php">Book Festival</a> and this year, Judy Schachner came to speak. She also hosted a charity brunch for her smallest fans at a local Mexican joint. I was the FIFTH person to purchase tickets to this brunch as I knew it would sell-out fast and I was not going to miss this incredible opportunity for Grasshopper to meet one of his favorite book characters, the ONLY author he knows by name, and get a copy of the newest Skippyjon Jones book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Skippyjon-Jones-Lost-Spice-Schachner/dp/0525479651/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1252413021&sr=8-2">Lost in Spice</a> before it was released.<br /><br />Judy Schachner was so very, very gracious and charming and she spent a long time at our table chatting with Grasshopper and drawing a wonderful illustration in his copy of the new book. I took one look at it and told JR, "Go buy another copy because Grasshopper is NOT playing with this one. Ever." And he did.<br /><br />Grasshopper was really in awe of having the author sitting RIGHT THERE with him. Most of the Skippyjon books come with a CD of Ms Schachner reading her book and that is our favorite way to hear the stories, so he knows her voice quite well. When he brings me a stack of Skippyjon books (usually with <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Skippyjon-Jones-Bones-Judy-Schachner/dp/0525478841/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1252413021&sr=8-4">Skippyjon Jones and the Big Bones</a> on the top) I always give him the option of having me read them or having Judy Schachner read them, and he always chooses "Mrs Judy read it!" I'm not insulted in the least because she does such an amazing job.<br /><br />For those that don't know, Skippyjon Jones is a Siamese kitten who, because "my ears are too big for my head, and my head is too big for my bed!" thinks he is actually a Chihuahua. There was a person at the brunch dressed as Skippyjon, and he was HUGE! I was a little concerned that Grasshopper might be scared, but he just said, "Mommy, his ears <span style="font-weight:bold;">are </span>too big for his head!"<br /><br />We had an amazing time, and I have to tell you, I'm not being compensated in any way for this post. I bought our ticket, I made my husband take the pictures, and I even paid for a second copy of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Skippyjon-Jones-Lost-Spice-Schachner/dp/0525479651/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1252413021&sr=8-2">Skippyjon Jones Lost in Spice</a> which is a SERIOUSLY adorable Skippyjon story taking place in outer space. I am just a big fan of this author/illustrator, her character, and living in a community that makes events like this possible.<br /><br />If Skippyjon isn't already on your list of favorites, ask Santa to bring you some for Christmas. You will NOT be disappointed.*<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOQvPcPm0q8TN_xIjQ02qHSv3JL0Ux78zPzA5ZtsojedjjYvJFnyTxxmnk8IH8RkuetQ0yRXAFTJpyYeIHexmdPn8mZ4jCvCNf4IvwScjIw8alJjynMFCbRTnixUtrE2UL4PABTGDguvs/s1600-h/P9060003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOQvPcPm0q8TN_xIjQ02qHSv3JL0Ux78zPzA5ZtsojedjjYvJFnyTxxmnk8IH8RkuetQ0yRXAFTJpyYeIHexmdPn8mZ4jCvCNf4IvwScjIw8alJjynMFCbRTnixUtrE2UL4PABTGDguvs/s400/P9060003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379081536490355362" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LleOufZN20BsoI4TAH2J1wbYN8DhQPB6P-8-uav2XG_cyHXn7gbT3RkFMlbp2YcZDnYvaOoqSLDbJ8sz7A8N0gK7gK8eg9bHdwJXvLIyVawl9Cc-DbduLfWKDgBVkQCouv85_DBxMI0c/s1600-h/P9060007.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LleOufZN20BsoI4TAH2J1wbYN8DhQPB6P-8-uav2XG_cyHXn7gbT3RkFMlbp2YcZDnYvaOoqSLDbJ8sz7A8N0gK7gK8eg9bHdwJXvLIyVawl9Cc-DbduLfWKDgBVkQCouv85_DBxMI0c/s400/P9060007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379081094324212642" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhuSu-CRZjRPQIavElv-G4LA06R_J_QNADVuZDjaVhORmd6qBBJCgvxsBFh7PNEMeqBAksmO3f-xeWJiOx21qWXz818NU_irbnsQSm973aCFjOEIss9M729PTlpEUlfpGegctntCmJWWm/s1600-h/P9060013.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhuSu-CRZjRPQIavElv-G4LA06R_J_QNADVuZDjaVhORmd6qBBJCgvxsBFh7PNEMeqBAksmO3f-xeWJiOx21qWXz818NU_irbnsQSm973aCFjOEIss9M729PTlpEUlfpGegctntCmJWWm/s400/P9060013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379080860630010850" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH_nV1LjilPpjAfrQOkOJ8Ho9E6GGXBxiAJZdXBw2sCf8YCQ5WIOMZmAoqz-zKQDnmDVtcb8-TZmJLs2R9t9Jqnd6qvIxoZGmSVmcPIpceu5wfjjzuUeIi0lwuJcuXLfkYbi6RYPmPBGbV/s1600-h/P9060016.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH_nV1LjilPpjAfrQOkOJ8Ho9E6GGXBxiAJZdXBw2sCf8YCQ5WIOMZmAoqz-zKQDnmDVtcb8-TZmJLs2R9t9Jqnd6qvIxoZGmSVmcPIpceu5wfjjzuUeIi0lwuJcuXLfkYbi6RYPmPBGbV/s400/P9060016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379080567817637122" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwTO5RTGAUTWCqjQxP3mL1ChOF3T3aWc5868iqsLobmH1OWSSC6EGeXmY3Em9EkSgn4Gait7qHo1uwy-JY_vA0LTbzwHcSFbVRl2dKYpJUSciQGYQNrFLf7eDPOiYBPU8vV8xWlbAOJ5Q/s1600-h/P9060021.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwTO5RTGAUTWCqjQxP3mL1ChOF3T3aWc5868iqsLobmH1OWSSC6EGeXmY3Em9EkSgn4Gait7qHo1uwy-JY_vA0LTbzwHcSFbVRl2dKYpJUSciQGYQNrFLf7eDPOiYBPU8vV8xWlbAOJ5Q/s400/P9060021.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379080249930043970" /></a><br /><br />*I don't recommend library copies because they seldom have the CDs intact, and they are wonderful.natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-38905773163717102912009-09-03T13:32:00.012-04:002009-09-03T14:11:56.495-04:00Not A Good DayToday is Not A Good Day.<br /><br />I woke up with an emotional hangover as result of being <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/09/slapped.html">slapped</a> yesterday, and from going back and reading the posts I wrote immediately following B's death when I searched them out to link to.<br /><br />I suppose that I should have reiterated in that post that JR and B had been estranged for a couple of years preceding his death, and I'm guessing that's why Maggie chose to "punish" me by excluding my name from the list of mourners. Sad.<br /><br />Then, after JR left for work, and I was struggling to shake the cobwebs from my head and move on about my day, there was a terrific crash from the backyard. I went outside and this is what I saw:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjig7dhIVWYXE9iQJZuUZ_C6YRN50wl6AEj_SOiJF4JIY8aycxoiRE-vYlvUnBEgX-V8r21k6ze5mhLjo0_4TRf9gzAqVsIO67qQLZ8uvyJxsfSFkYiLwaBPWrU7rYFVyKq9y1bqAIL5jaI/s1600-h/P9030001.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjig7dhIVWYXE9iQJZuUZ_C6YRN50wl6AEj_SOiJF4JIY8aycxoiRE-vYlvUnBEgX-V8r21k6ze5mhLjo0_4TRf9gzAqVsIO67qQLZ8uvyJxsfSFkYiLwaBPWrU7rYFVyKq9y1bqAIL5jaI/s400/P9030001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377302732266588818" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJ_MVpGHozi1V9d9DehMC9yj4ShMr-7F66fVhFCp0baor6SSPNEnBnnrtB9sKup0oJ949zqoQAiHUSNSKvLc8H-VT4g70P1iIj8nUi7PntY4HZEFk4Uzi6aRTiKGdGGqWvSbCur70M6hO/s1600-h/P9030002.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJ_MVpGHozi1V9d9DehMC9yj4ShMr-7F66fVhFCp0baor6SSPNEnBnnrtB9sKup0oJ949zqoQAiHUSNSKvLc8H-VT4g70P1iIj8nUi7PntY4HZEFk4Uzi6aRTiKGdGGqWvSbCur70M6hO/s400/P9030002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377302330524825378" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiObAeG0p42629AT8bBxgoZtfb0vOU5XFbUsDzsEd0xjVBpOeoknGXcrgaLTG5USk9u6mCIjVZbjcr2EixTup6upI6J3bTZEcbcRWtfJjIgswOquZ2pAeVzounQw5Po1i8x1M88vlmHQ9tK/s1600-h/P9030003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiObAeG0p42629AT8bBxgoZtfb0vOU5XFbUsDzsEd0xjVBpOeoknGXcrgaLTG5USk9u6mCIjVZbjcr2EixTup6upI6J3bTZEcbcRWtfJjIgswOquZ2pAeVzounQw5Po1i8x1M88vlmHQ9tK/s400/P9030003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377301912940309298" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFK2p91mPZ5XhWSU1o0FV847SW0QqCg3AIZW0wlWfoUjIbjQOST6GIrZVy_mKSoMSMvRcK1Pjut3Y8uGD4exTZfjiREkfliW7DeSa-20EsG7rzWUGKIPyxCR_F_ognuY9J0QLj4xMB3En/s1600-h/P9030004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFK2p91mPZ5XhWSU1o0FV847SW0QqCg3AIZW0wlWfoUjIbjQOST6GIrZVy_mKSoMSMvRcK1Pjut3Y8uGD4exTZfjiREkfliW7DeSa-20EsG7rzWUGKIPyxCR_F_ognuY9J0QLj4xMB3En/s400/P9030004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377301461393639618" /></a><br /><br />I sat in the wet grass and cried. <br /><br />There were chairs. There were chairs RIGHT THERE, but it didn't even occur to me to go and sit in one of them. I stood in my backyard in the place where I screeched to a shocked halt, laughing like an absolute lunatic until I sat down and I cried.<br /><br />Not about the umbrella, or not JUST about the umbrella. About the umbrella, about B, about how long it is taking us to make any progress on the adoption, about the bill I got in the mail yesterday from a county that thinks that $428 is a reasonable amount to charge for a tag on a Nissan Altima, about our pediatrician's office changing their policy regarding immunization forms without actually, you know, NOTIFYING anyone, about how my parents are coming to stay with us tomorrow, and my in-laws are coming on Saturday so that we can all have brunch under THAT umbrella, at THAT table because the backyard is the only room in my house that can accommodate 7 people and about how Grasshopper is peeing in his pants again, <span style="font-weight:bold;">now </span>a week before school (for which he must be potty-trained) starts, and...yeah. About nothing and everything and just how utterly overwhelmed I feel.<br /><br />Today is Not A Good Day.natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-5814051334458646232009-09-02T14:50:00.014-04:002009-09-02T16:33:56.861-04:00SlappedYesterday when I checked the mail, I was excited to find the Alumni newsletter from the college I attended and later worked for. It only comes out twice a year, and contained therein are little snippets of information about people whom I might once have known well, or only known by name.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Ansley Sutter married her middle school sweetheart in Florida and now resides in New Hampshire where she teaches 12th grade English."<br /><br />"Alexis Greenwald gave birth to her second son, Samuel, on April 11 and she and her husband John and big brother Paul are enjoying the new addition to their family."<br /></span><br />I'm sure that you all know the drill. It's a small college, so when it comes to information about the classes clustered around my own, and those that I helped to recruit, I know almost everyone. The news is generally happy, although it still comes as a shock when an alum that I recruited out of high school has finished law school, gotten married and had a baby. That right there means I am OLD.<br /><br />But today, contained within those school-color saturated pages, was a slap in the face.<br /><br />Long-time readers will surely remember the <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/02/good-bye.html">suicide of my husband's nephew</a>, my peer, B. We were close, <a href="http://exileonmomstreet.blogspot.com/2009/02/fogged-in.html">for a time</a>, and there is a story that I have neglected to share on this blog until now: <br /><br />When JR and I went on our second, or possibly third, date it happened to be Halloween. We were just going out for Thai food and possibly a movie, but on the way to dinner he explained to me that his nephew B always hosted a Halloween party at his place and that he needed to put in an appearance. "We don't have to stay long, I know that you won't know anyone there," he told me, "But my nephew is one of my best friends and I need to at least stop in."<br /><br />Lucky for him I'm a social enough gal and I said, "Sure. No problem."<br /><br />Imagine our surprise when after B opened his door (dressed in a purple pimp-suit complete with a feathered hat) and ushered us inside, a Catholic school girl squealed, "Natasha?" and flew across the room at me.<br /><br />It was a friend of mine from college, Maggie*, who turned out to be B's long-time roommate. Needless to say we spent quite a bit more than a few minutes at the party, and I had a lot of fun discovering the ways in which my life and JR's had overlapped without our being aware of it.<br /><br />We went on to spend a good bit of time with both B and Maggie during our courtship, and they were thrilled when JR and I got engaged, and they both attended our wedding reception (we eloped, so no ceremony).<br /><br />Yesterday afternoon, as I scanned the Alumni newsletter Maggie's name jumped out at me, and my heart stopped when I read the following, "Maggie is sad to announce the death of her long-time roommate B in February. He was a friend to many [alumni of our school] and is sorely missed. His memorial was attended by: Mary Smith, Susan Perkins, Patricia Neals, Joy Lowe, Maggie Negel."<br /><br />I was not listed.<br /><br />I was shocked. I was heartbroken. <br /><br />And now I'm mad.<br /><br />This was not a simple oversight. It's not a matter of her somehow missing the fact that I was there. I was. I was front and center with THE FAMILY. I was in the effing receiving line at the door. She gave me a g-damn tissue when I had soaked all of my own.<br /><br />Yet I WAS NOT LISTED.<br /><br />I'm not sure what she was trying to prove, by excluding my name, by excluding the fact that I was B's AUNT by marriage. But I do know that I am terribly hurt by it. <br /><br />I also know that B deserves better than that. He deserves to have everyone know the names of <span style="font-weight:bold;">every single person</span> who loved him and misses him every single day.<br /><br />I was shocked. I was heartbroken.<br /><br />And now I'm mad.<br /><br /><br /><br />*<span style="font-style:italic;">names have, of course, been changed to protect the guilty.</span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407121007536351162.post-85610519430597447342009-09-02T11:20:00.005-04:002009-09-02T11:28:12.045-04:00This is pretty much how it is on Mom StreetSusan Wagner posted this on her delightful blog <a href="http://fridayplaydate.com/">Friday Playdate</a> and I just had to bring it over here to share with you all. This is my life until next Wednesday at 9:00 am. Which is ONE WEEK. One extra-long week from today.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cNkp4QF3we8&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cNkp4QF3we8&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />I'm not sure I'm going to make it...<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Edited to add: I realized after posting it that this is my 150th post. That's gotta be symbolic, right?</span>natasha the exile on Mom Streethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728674400366028221noreply@blogger.com2