sueeeus

What an interesting title. There must be a story behind that one. Hmmmm. Welllll, let me see. Yes, there is, indeed. My mother is visiting for the weekend. She’s a smoker and steps outside frequently to light up. Last night she came back in and asked me if I knew there was something that emitted a sharp point of light, in a crevice among the rocks in the rock wall. In the rocks, I asked Not on the bank I do have a set of solar lanterns that do not spend much time collecting sunlight, and I’ve noticed at night they try to shine, but they only muster up a tiny point of bluish light. They are lined up behind a box of lilies (or what’s left of the lilies, as they have bloomed and wilted). No, she insists the strange light is coming from among the rocks. How odd. I ask the cool cat to go investigate. We’ve had raccoons back there eating the plums. Perhaps a varmint has moved in among the boulders and is peering out and the strange light is the moonlight glinting from his beady little eyes. As it turns out, there is no varmint. It is merely the sparkle of moonlight reflecting off the slimy trail left behind as a slug meandered through or across a spider web.

In retrospect, it’s not a very interesting story, but it was funny at the time. One would have to know my mother. 🙂

I am now officially afraid of pigs. Pigs are of the family Suidae, having short legs, cloven hooves, bristly hair, and a cartilaginous snout used for digging. Maybe that’s why they say here suey suey suey, only it’s really here sui sui sui. But I digress.

Suidaephobia. I made up the word. It sounds plausible, though.

I recently read (yes, I actually sat down to read a book!) a snippet about a man who remembered as a boy that he lost his dog, and deep down inside he knew that the dog went to the hogs. Or, more explicitly, the dog went snooping around as dogs so often do, and snooped his way into the pig pen, and was narry seen again. The horror of the story is that the pigs gobbled him up. This was at the heart of the man’s trust issues, or issues with authority, as his parents and until-then-trusted-adults had all told him the dog had run off. But I digress.

Reading this snippet brought to mind a scene from Hannibal, a very disturbing film, in which two of my favorite actors, Gary Oldman and Anthony Hopkins, discuss the matter of pigs. The matter being that pigs eat everything, bones and all. Of course, the pigs in this thriller were trained to be ragingly carnivorous. Such an awful film. But I digress.

Thinking of Hannibal brought to mind other references about pigs, most likely from The Sopranos and the matter of disposing of evidence, as pigs thoroughly consume every bit of it.

Who would have ever thought that the subject of cute children’s tales and nursery rhymes would be so sinister And here I am, nicknamed phonetically after these horrifying creatures.

I wonder if there is some hidden meaning or menace in my blog name. It is, after all, about a piggie. Ah, but the piggie is squished. I must have known all along that they were no good.

I stink at investing. I’m generally a day late and a dollar short. My 401k has flexible options for allocating funds, depending on how conservative or risky one is. For years I kept my money in the stable fund, being the super conservative person that I am. Along came the dot com boom and my coworkers were revelling in the super growth they’d achieved. I plodded along with my low growth stable fund. Finally, I decided that I should join the masses who were headed towards early retirement with their fast and furious gains. I reallocated my funds. Wouldn’t you know, the dot com balloon went poof. My timing was impeccable. Buy low, sell high. It sounds so simple, but for some reason, I am consistently out of phase. By the time I make a move, it invariably turns out that I’ve bought high or sold low. So, the thing to do is diversify. I tried that. Somehow, I still manage to lose. Well, maybe I’ve gained a little, but looking back over time, I would have done much better to have stayed in my safe stable fund all along, and not listen to anyone’s advice. However, I have recently decided to try being a little more active in my allocations. To keep track of daily trends and make decisions and changes more fluidly than once every two or three years. Having made that decision, two days ago, it would appear that the stars were not aligned for me. The stock price dropped, so it was a good time to buy. I tried to buy, but made my order after the closing time, which means I would get the next day’s price, not that day’s price. Drat, so there’s a time limit involved. That’s why you see scenes from the stock exchange on TV with utter chaos and people yelling, waving their arms, bits of paper fluttering through the air. Okay, I get it. I cancelled my order (nice option available with my plan) and waited to see what the next day would bring. The next day, the price dropped even more. I should have kept my order and not cancelled it. I tried to place the order again and got a proxy error, whatever in the heck that is. I guess my session timed out or something. Hmmm. So, I missed the boat again. Today was the third day of looking at stock prices. Today the price went up a bit. Not much, but a bit. It was still down a bit at 4 minutes to closing, so I decided to place my order. Confirmed. Great, at closing the price ended up being up. So I say to myself not to worry. It’s just a line in the sand. Forget about the gains or losses prior to today. Just make sure that the next time you sell, the price is higher than it is today. Don’t worry about what the price is today. It’s just your reference point. Chill. I am definitely not cut out for this. (But if my coworkers retire as multi-millionaires while I have to work until I’m 90, I’m going to be very angry with myself for not being able to grasp the simplicity of ‘BUY LOW, SELL HIGH’.)

Two Tuesdays ago… Wow, that must be an old picture of you. You’re skinny!
No, darling, I took that picture today. It’s Self Portrait Tuesday. It’s current.

Yesterday… Wow, you look so skinny! And so young. You look twenty years younger than you are. That picture doesn’t look anything like you.

Ahh, true love.

(Of course I’m going to post flattering photos. And I may have to take two hundred before I get one, but by golly, there’s bound to be something that I can work with. It’s digital…)

Too Much Information
This goes with the previous two posts; ref great gizmo.
psp glass block rendering

status quo
A Life Out of Balance

Eponine

fresh color and a new youthful do, purposefully messy,
no brushing desired or required
psp colored chalk rendering

Or Tuesday. Or any day that I go in to the office. Coworkers are all male.
Conversation in a hallway. I’m briskly walking towards the ladies room.
Coworker: Hey, you’re not pregnant and your hair is short!
Me: Nope, not pregnant. Yep, short hair.
Coworker: Are you back, then
Me, not wanting to get into it: Um humm.
Coworker: How long has it been, a year
Me: My baby is 7 months old now.
Coworker: Wow. Time flies. Next thing you know you’ll be a grandma.
Me: Next thing you know…
Coworker: Well, welcome back.
Me: Thanks.
Conversation in an elevator.
Coworker 1: Oh. Are you back
Coworker 2: Hey. You’re back.
Coworker 3: Welcome back.
Me: I’ve been back. Since March. I come in to the office for half days sometimes.
Coworker 1: Half days with full pay
Me: I’m mostly working from home, but I’ve been working full time since March.
Coworker 2: You get to work from home
Me: It’s a temporary arrangement. (awkward silence) A lactation thing.
Coworker 1: Oh. Way too much information.
Coworkers 2 and 3: Muttered agreement, averted eyes.
Me, flushed face, head hanging: I know, I know. Sorry. I don’t know how to explain it without it being too much information.
Coworker 2: I didn’t much like working from home, when I used to do that. Missed the people, and didn’t like to hear the screaming baby all day long.
Me: He’s in daycare, but yes, I miss seeing the people. That’s why I’m here.
Coworker 1: Welcome back.
Stepping out of the elevator.
Coworker 4: Hey, it’s you! Are you back Welcome back!
Me, smiling, not pausing my stride: Thanks!

I am a multitasker extraordinaire, I marvelled at myself, as I walked on the treadmill with my babe strapped to my back, the breast pump strapped to my front, a bottle of filtered water in one hand, and a book in the other. I am the queen of multitasking, I revelled. Calculations fluttered through my mind. How profitable this venture can be, I thought with much excitement. Thirty minutes on the breast pump four times a day, coupled with the treadmill. That’s two hours of exercise a day, when before there was none. Two hours of exercise a day! Imagine how svelte I soon shall be! Not to mention the books I will finally get to read. Oh, the excitement.

Twenty two minutes and forty four seconds into this revelry I had to pause, put down the book and the bottle, flip the stop switch on the breast pump, unstrap the tubes, and hasten to the nearest mirror where I could check my babe who had slipped further and further down my back as the minutes passed. I couldn’t make it the entire thirty minutes. What if his face was buried in my back and he couldn’t breathe What if the carrier was cutting his circulation and his legs were turning blue Thankfully, his face was fully exposed so he could breathe freely. He was fast asleep, and no harm had befallen him. I adjusted him a little and stepped back on the treadmill, plugged in the tubes, switched on the pump, switched on the treadmill, and proceeded to walk the remaining seven minutes and fourteen seconds.

Three minutes and twenty three seconds later I found myself unable to stop worrying about my little babe, sleeping soundly with his face against my sweaty back. Had he slipped even further down I must make sure to practice the back carry more often, so I can get the hang of how to tie him in just right. Four minutes twelve seconds. Why are these seven minutes dragging on so Five minutes fifty nine seconds. At last. The minute digit will change to six, I can count down the last fifty nine seconds and then it will be seven and then the final fourteen seconds will be over in no time and finally, we will be through. Finally. Shut down the treadmill. Turn off the breast pump. Unplug the tubes. Turn off the fan. Make sure I’ve got my balance, hurry downstairs to the kitchen sink. Take off the bottles, set them on the counter, remove the collection funnels and the hands free strap (great gizmo, by the way), hurry to the sofa to ever so gently take down my sleeping babe. Ignore the frowning husband who is shaking his head with that what-in-the-hell-hairbrained-idea-is-she-up-to-now expression on his face. The babe stirs and squirms, looks for his pacifier, finds it, stuffs it in his mouth like a pro, sucks contentedly, and drifts back to sleep. I return to the kitchen to tend to my bottles. With much dismay I realize the revelry and self-bestowed congratulations were premature as I measure the yield; a paltry four ounces. Four ounces. Why only four ounces I ran to my computer, topless, and did a quick Google search. Does excercise diminish milk supply I didn’t find an article about exercise while expressing. Only that babies might not like the taste of milk expressed or nursed immediately after excercising, but that exercising in general has not been found to diminish milk supply. Of course there wouldn’t be an article about exercising while expressing breast milk. What kind of a hair brained idea is that Suddenly I can’t help but recall the hours of research I had spent in the early days trying to find out what impedes breastfeeding. There was that magical and mystical phenomenon that I had yet to experience –letdown. The conclusion of the matter was that stress interferes with letdown. One must be relaxed. I should have known better. Exercise is a form of stress.

Crushed, defeated, I returned to the living room and put on my shirt. What is good for milk supply Calories and fluids. I guess I won’t be spending two hours a day on the treadmill after all, and I am not quite as extraordinary as I thought. I think I’ll have some ice cream. And maybe some potato chips after that.

After a long day of daycare and work, Boo and CC often catch a few winks. Boo likes the swing and tries to get it going by pumping his legs. I wonder if he wonders why it doesn’t do much when the same motion makes his kick-n-play bouncer bounce like mad. He kicks and kicks and kicks those yummy legs, but nothing happens in the big swing. Good thing Daddy is there to help.

That’s what the Cool Cat said as he looked over my shoulder at my blog. “Oh, so you post pictures of Clayton and flowers and household items, but none of me. IIIII see how it is.” So here are some pictures of CC, and of course Bugaboo.
Boo likes high altitudes and is learning to fly. CC will have to live his dream of flying vicariously through Boo.
Pops is showing Boo how to get up on his knees, in the hopes that he will dazzle us with his crawling ability. (I’m not in such a hurry for Boo’s mobility for a variety of reasons. First, I haven’t baby proofed the house. Second, I’m already exhausted without actually chasing him. Third, when he’s mobile he won’t want to snuggle as much, as he will be far too interested in exploration.)
This is entirely staged. Boo is holding himself up, but there is no forward mobility, and the happy expression is soon replaced with red-faced angry and passionate crying as he gets high-centered with his belly on the floor and his legs kicked up in the air behind him.

For the first time in my life I’ve managed to coax an African violet to bloom. Until now, I’ve not even been able to keep one alive. I attribute the success to a few things.
Most importantly, the violets are in a special two-piece pot that is intended specifically for violets (helps prevent root rot, I think).
The pot is critical in allowing the violets to survive under my care, however, blooms did not occur until I added vitamins to the water. To perk up the watering experience, I purchased this colorful pitcher on clearance for only $3.

While I was at it, I found these delightful stained glass bird suncatchers, so I bought three of them and strung them with floral wire to make a mobile. My kitchen window is happy to have them there.