If you've been waiting with bated breath

So (I can't stop starting this way) before I started writing my post, and after I had decided on the title, I had to decide on "bated breath" or "baited breath." I Googled and it came down to two choices...In "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, " J.K. Rowling uses "baited breath." However, in 1596 Shakespeare used "bated breath" in "Merchant of Venice." Bated is supposed to come from "abated" meaning to bring down lower or depress, so I'm going to go with Shakespeare.

Do you feel like you've gotten smarter?

Anyway, I'm sure that you've all been waiting with bated breath to hear about Sweet Pea's second violin lesson*. Her teacher was very pleased with her progress, especially with her ability to support her violin "hands free." Her bow hold is also improving and he took a picture of just her fingers on the bow when they were perfect so we could compare everything at home. I'll post the picture when he emails it. There was something about the fact that he took that picture that made me like him more. Sweet Pea also seems to like him and has started telling him really long, and kind of rambling** stories about school or TV. Unfortunately, a half hour goes by really fast, so she may have to limit her number of stories. She was really happy today and I'm hoping that we are going to have a fresh start with the violin this week. She was singing the Twinkle Variations that anyone whose ever done Suzuki will have imprinted on their brain forever, in the car on the way over today which also made me really happy. Sometimes I'm easy to please.

Moving on to news from my triangle--yesterday I thought that there was going to be a throwdown at work between R and K. I am excusing R's behavior 100% because her husband is doing worse and I can't imagine the amount of strain that she is under. K is just annoying. At BCFG we have about a million different kinds of paper and stationary, each with a specific and separate use. Stationary usage was one of the first things that I learned when I started there. I also learned what could be put directly into the drawers of the printer/copier and what had to be fed (one sheet at a time) through the document feeder. Mr. X has another big workshop coming up, so on Tuesday afternoon I was going over all of the special supplies that I needed to order with Mama X when R came into the workroom, examined the copier and started screaming at K (who was at lunch, as usual)*** for putting the heavy slick letterhead in the drawer. The slick sheets must be form fed. K was trying to cut corners and save time because she had a lot of printing. This was scary screaming. I've never been particular comfortable with confrontation and I was wondering how to sneak back to my desk unnoticed. Mama X, who has been there for a lot longer than me, looked really uncomfortable as well. R said that she was going to "talk" to K when she got back, which I took to mean that she was going to punch her in the mouth. It seemed like we were in for a serious cat fight show down. Mama X even went to Mr. X's office to fill him in, in case he was needed as the referee. But this was the throwdown that wasn't. R must have calmed down in the time that it took for K to come back because they just ended up having a slightly strained conversation.

I overhear a lot of strange phone conversations at work too. People either forget that I am there or they don't care. Mr. X got a phone call from his wife yesterday afternoon where they talked about scabs. The whole conversation was about scabs.

Weird.


*Or, more likely, you haven't thought about it at all because you have a life--it doesn't matter, I'm going to tell you about it anyway.

**I wonder where that comes from

***K, her excessive lunches, and my hall-monitor-like tendencies will be another post another day.

Why I am a terrible mother OR Why I should not teach the violin

Today we (and by "we" I mean "me") learned that violin teacher is not a good second career choice for me. Sweet Pea is learning Suzuki violin, which is how I was taught both piano and viola, and in the beginning of the Suzuki process the parent has to be able to demonstrate everything because there is no music book for the child to look at. Wow, is this frustrating. I know that I'm overreacting since today was the first day of practicing, but I'm really good at overreacting. Given that it is the first day, Sweet Pea is actually really good at the playing part. She can isolate one string at a time, which I remember being difficult and I was two years older than her when I started playing. However, it's the "easy" stuff that she can't do and it's driving me crazy. She is supposed to practice moving her feet from rest position (shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent) to playing position (taking a slight step out with the left foot and turning the foot out--kind of like third position in ballet). This is really hard for her. She also has a hard time with bringing the violin up and setting it on her shoulder and then holding it there with just her face. She's supposed to work up to being able to hold it for 30 seconds.

I am a terrible mother for two reasons:

1. I yelled (many times) during her first practice. I wasn't upset that she couldn't do things, it was that she kept getting so distracted by stuff like the cat sitting on the dining room table. I am going to make her hate playing, which is the opposite of what I want to do. I want her to grow up loving music as much as I do. Now she doesn't want to go to her group class on Sunday so I need to do some major fixing of things before I ruin everything.

2. This stuff is going to be harder for her and I know that. We have known for awhile that Sweet Pea has a delay with both gross and fine motor skills. She's had occupational therapy in the past, which has helped, but we probably need to look into doing again. Her hands and her body just don't work like other kids her age and I know that. I know it so much that I'm working with the school on a regular basis trying to get as many public school benefits as we can get in the private school. On top of the motor skills, she's been diagnosed with mild ADD and is probably dyslexic. I advocate for advantages for her all the time, yet I can't be accommodating during her first practice. I am like the Tiger Mom on crack and soon I will start freaking out about wire hangers (although I think I use more wire hangers than anyone else in the house).

You might be saying "Have The Husband practice with her." This will not work because I am a control freak and he has never played a stringed instrument. If Nice Mommy comes to practice, she will progress faster, since I can actually play.*

This is another one of those times when I take stock and think that I never realized that parenting was so hard. I have so many hopes for her and they go much further than the violin. I don't want to get in the way of the lovely little person that she is, but so many times I don't know how to do that. I want to make things perfect for her, not because I value perfect more than imperfect, but because I think life will be so much easier. I was going to write "there should be a book or something," but then I realized that there are millions of books, blogs, websites and relatives that tell you exactly what you should and shouldn't do with your child.

At the end of the day you just love them as much ass you can. And you don't yell at them the next time they practice their violin.

Also, no meat to report today--Big Cheese and Mr. X were both out golfing all day.

*I've been playing her tiny violin and it's kind of amazing how it's all coming back to me. I am toying with the idea of getting myself a violin so I can really play with her. Maybe then I won't be so critical. Maybe it would go easier because I could really show her what I mean.

No Meat to Report

Today was Sweet Pea's first violin lessons and it carried with it all my musical hopes for my child. It's so weird how we put things on our kids. I never thought I'd do that, but I admit I was sitting there listening and daydreaming about her as a future musician. She did well, with the exception of not being able to tell her right hand from her left hand, which is kind of a big thing when it comes to playing an instrument of any kind. Her teacher is so patient, much more than I would be, which is why he is teacher and not me. She's actually able to produce a pretty good sound, provided she remembers what hand to hold the bow in--who knows what will happen. Her teacher, who is currently the Concert Master of the local philharmonic orchestra (so he's really good) plays for his students at the end of each lesson and he is making me remember how much I really like the violin.

To totally change the subject, one of my very good friends from Germany* has got me started reading The Bloggess again, which is a wonderful blog that everyone should read. Right now there is a great post** which reflects a lot of what I'm feeling right now. The post comes with this great song, which you must watch. It's a departure from my usual music, to give you a little variety... In the interest of full disclosure, this song includes the f-word, if you're listening at work or around small children. Also, no matter how much I like this song, I will continue to shave my armpits.



So, that's it for today. Oh, there was no mid-morning meat, as you probably gathered from the title of this post.



*who is actually Chinese-American, but spent much of her childhood in Hanover and I met her when I was studying in Berlin, so she's my friend from Germany even though right now she lives in Washington DC

**See how I made the link without putting the actual web address. Aren't I getting fancy?

Mid-morning Meat Time

I'm thinking of making this a regular feature on my blog--I'll tell you the cold, mid-morning meat that the Big Cheese walks around eating. Today it was cold meatballs out of a tupperware (with a fork). Less disgusting than the giant pork chop, but still weird. Does he have some unknown protein deficiency?

Sadness

The Husband has crushed my dreams of teaching the Brownies "Once In Royal David's City." I even played him the much simpler version from the hymnal and he still said no. He is no fun as a troupe leader.

In the spirit of Girl Scouts, I found this (posted on one of my friend's Facebook walls, so it wasn't like I had to look very hard.)



This little girl looks exactly like one of Sweet Pea's friends (who will be a Brownie), so this picture is funnier if you are me.

Chuck Testa does not taxidermise pets.

Call Chuck Testa for the most lifelike dead animals around. Period.

Have I lost my mind?

Yes, yes I have...in so many ways, but this is about a different kind of losing my mind.

The Husband is starting up a Brownie Girl Scouts troupe at Sweet Pea's school*. I'm helping with several aspects of the troupe, including music. They want to go to a nursing home in December perform and I have gotten it in my head to write them a little mini series of Lessons and Carols. (If you aren't familiar with the Nine Lessons and Carols, you can read about it here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nine_Lessons_and_Carols on Wikipedia, because they know everything.) I'm thinking of doing 3-4 short readings with each girl taking a verse or two and 3-4 well know hymns.

Well known with the possible exception of this one...

The first piece in the series is always "Once in Royal David's City," which has always been a favorite hymn of mine. Who thinks that I'm crazy for thinking of attempting it with a bunch of second graders?



I promise that I won't make them wear ruffs or do the part where the choir splits, starting at about the 2:20 mark. There is a much simpler version of this song in almost every hymnal. There is one little girl, Sweet Pea's best friend, who has a lovely voice and with some coaching could do the first verse. I like a challenge--I think I'm going to try.

Yes, I plan to start working on this song before Halloween.


*clearly my crazy must be rubbing off on him

Still Stings

I will continue the tale of how I ended up in my triangle at some point, but here's a few thoughts from today...

Those of you who read my Facebook posts will know this already, but my office only has icky powdered Coffee Mate for the coffee. The Husband always asks me if I'd like some coffee with my milk, so this really isn't working for me. Now that the coffee pot is right by my desk I can smell it all day and I'd like to drink some, but I can't take the powdered stuff. I'm thinking of buying the office some milk, but then I'd want my milk frother, which The Husband gave me two birthdays ago. I love my milk frother--frothy milk is just so much better. I'm like the Moose in "If You Give a Moose a Muffin." If you give the girl who works in a triangle some coffee, she'll want some frothy milk to go with it. If I could draw, I'd draw you an illustration of that. Maybe I'll work on something anyway.

To change the subject...The Godfather hurts my nose. My sense of smell has improved about 1,000% since I had my sinus surgery last February. I don't know if I now have super smelling sense, or if I smell like everyone smells now and my nose is finally working properly. Regardless, The Godfather hurts my nose. He wears SO MUCH cologne or aftershave or something. It leaves a trail behind him and lingers in his office*. Whenever he walks past my desk and stirs up the air it leaves this burning trail of scent. I remind myself of the werewolves in Twilight whenever they smell a vampire. Maybe The Godfather IS a vampire...

And finally...Mr. X referred to me as his administrative assistant in an email today. It was actually done in a really complimentary way: something like "my administrative assistant caught an error that I made so I'm emailing you to fix it." Still, the term "administrative assistant" stings. I can't reconcile myself to that role. I'm doing much better with "assistant," but can't I just be me?

Other than that, I think I found a violin teacher for Sweet Pea. We are going to meet him on Saturday and see if we like him. I think that I have musical hopes like other parents have sports hopes. We'll see how this goes.

Oh, one other thing (I remember this while making dinner, so I had to edit my post). Today the Big Cheese was walking around the office eating a really large cold boneless pork chop like another person might eat a piece of toast or a cracker. He was just walking around taking giant bites of meat. Even though I am a confirmed meat eater, this kind of grossed me out.

*I can't decide if that is worse or better than Mole's office smelling like old man and skin--see I told you I had a super nose.

Yeah...So...I lied

Remember yesterday when I said that I wasn't really going to write about September 11th?

I lied.

Ever since I wrote that sentence I have been replaying the day over and over in my head and I'm hoping it will do some good to get it out. I don't have a unique perspective on things, this was just my day. I'm sure that this will be like Pearl Harbor or the day Kennedy got shot for our generation--you'll always know where you were and what you were doing and our children and grandchildren will ask us about it.

One of the things that is prompting me to write is that Sweet Pea asked me about it yesterday. In music class they were singing "America the Beautiful" and the music teacher took it upon herself to tell the class about the planes hitting the towers.* Then, The Husband left the TV on Fox News and when Sweet Pea happened to turn on the TV yesterday they were showing footage of that day, so there were lots of questions.

But, back to that Tuesday...

I'm sure that everyone will remember that it was a beautiful day--so pretty for September. I was driving to Cincinnati for some enrollment meetings and I remember feeling really happy. I had meetings in the morning, then plans to go for a nice lunch with one of my favorite advisors, then a trip to the mall (because I didn't have any client visits) and finally another client meeting. I was excited for lunch and the mall. It was also getting really close to my wedding, so I was doing what, I think, most girls do and daydreaming/obsessing about it all the time.

I used to drive a lot and I would go back and forth with what I would do while driving. There were times when I was really into NPR, sometimes I'd listen to books on CD and other times I'd listen to the pop music radio station. That day was one of those days that I was listening to the pop station and singing along. My appointment in Cincinnati was for 10:00, so I was shooting to get there around 9:30 or 9:45. I was around Wilmington (exit 50, for those who drive 71 frequently) when there started to be snatches of something on the radio that a plane had hit a building in New York. Since this was a pop station, they didn't really know how to do the news, so my first image was that it was a private plane and that it was an accident. I think that's what most of us thought. When I heard that a second plane had crashed I switched over to Morning Edition on NPR. It was really weird because it was like NPR didn't know what was going on, because they were continuing with their regularly scheduled programs. I figured that if it wasn't on NPR than it couldn't be that bad. I was looking for news and scanning the radio. The Husband (then The Fiance) was a TV news producer for the local ABC affiliate and I knew that ABC almost always broadcasts their stuff on the radio too, so I found that, but know one really knew what was going on. This was the total chaos between 9:00 and 9:30, if you remember. One detail that has always stuck with me is that the people on the upper floors were climbing up the stairs, hoping that helicopters would be able to rescue them off the roof, which is what happened the first time that Osama Bin Laden bombed the parking garage basement of the towers. I arrived at my appointment around 9:45 and the last thing that I had heard was that something had happened in Washington DC, but I didn't what--no one else that I met at that time seemed to have any more information that me.

My appointment that morning was with the Cincinnati Association for the Blind, which is a nonprofit organization that employes blind people to make stuff**. Many of the employees seemed to have some mental handicaps as well as being blind. I did two enrollment meetings, one at 10:00 and one at 11:00. I was finished with my meetings at about noon and had received no additional information. Jeff, the advisor that I was working with, and I had no idea how bad things were and we were deciding where we were going to go for lunch. As we were getting ready to go, we started talking about those planes and were wondering what had happened. I told Jeff that I would call The Husband, since he worked in news. I remember calling and asking about the people on the roofs--I was wondering if the helicopters had been able to rescue them yet. The Husband answered me with total disbelief and said something like "Don't you know it's over? The Towers have collapsed. No one got out."

To this day, I still wonder why no one told us what was going on that morning. Higher ups at the Cincinnati Association for the Blind were in and out of the meetings all morning and they HAD to know what was going on, yet chose not to tell. My best guess is that they thought their employees were going to freak out and didn't want to give them any upsetting information.

Even though I had talked to The Husband, I still really had no idea what was going on. Jeff and I gave up on our lunch plans and I got back into my car and continued listening to ABC on the radio. I will always associate Peter Jennings with that day and that's the day I fell a little bit in love with him. You have to realize that all this stuff has happened and I haven't seen ANY pictures. This is pre-WiFi and pre-CrackBerry and pre-everything. I didn't understand how bad it was. I decided to still go to the mall, because I had two shirts to exchange. When I got to the mall, it was closed. I'm ashamed to admit, but that was when it sunk in and I realized that this was REALLY BAD.

I called both my office and my parents to check in. Although I knew where everyone was located, it was still good to know that they were safe. At this point I wanted to go back home--I wanted to cancel my afternoon appointment. I called, but they still wanted to have it. Had I been older than 24, I would have insisted that we reschedule, but I didn't know what to do, so I stuck it out. Almost everything was closed--I finally found a Chipolte that was open and I had tacos for lunch. Looking back it seems like I shouldn't have been able to eat, but I did. I ate my Chipolte in the car (very messy and not something I recommend) because I wanted to keep listening to Peter Jennings. After that I found a bookstore that was also open and was playing ABC radio over their sound system. There were a few other business-type people in there killing time, like me.

My afternoon appointment was with a furniture store and they were a little client that wanted to talk about making some plan changes. It was such a useless appointment and I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Throughout the rest of my time at The Big P, I remained extremely resentful of them for making me keep that appointment. I used to take an extra long time to answer their questions because they had made me so angry.

Once my work day was finally over I had my two hour drive home. The sky was still that brilliant blue and cloudless. I continued to listen to Peter Jennings and all the crazy speculation that was going on. I was scared and felt so alone. One of the things that they were starting to report was that people had jumped from 100+ stories up. They news was reporting how people would hold hands and then jump. I couldn't imagine conditions were jumping seemed like your best option. I guess it would be faster than fire, though. You don't realize how many airplanes fly until one day when there are none. I had the unique experience of seeing Air Force One*** streak across the sky, accompanied by a squadron of fighter jets. They flew so fast that it hurt my ears. Somewhere on that very long drive home I made the decision not to turn on the TV that night. I decided that I wanted to go to sleep without seeing what I guessed were horrible images.

On the way home I stopped at the grocery store because I had no food in my apartment. The grocery store had been ransacked, sort of like what people do before a snow storm, but so much more. I remember that my Kroger was totally out of both bread and peanut butter. I exchanged some small talk with the clerk, who couldn't believe that I hadn't seen any pictures and that I wasn't going to turn on the TV as soon as I got home. I don't really remember what I did when I got home that night.

Wednesday was still a scary day. The Husband was basically living at the TV station, since there was no regular programing. I brought food to him and his co-workers a few times that day. Towards the end of the day I got an email from my advisor at Drake, informing me that two of my friends, employees of Cantor Fitzgerald, were dead.

My friends were twin brothers who did everything together. I don't think that they would have ever taken a job if they couldn't have worked together. It would have been weird, if they weren't so nice. For those that may not remember, Cantor Fitzgerald was the largest bond brokerage firm in the US and they occupied floors 101-105 in the North Tower. All 658 employees who were in the office that morning died. My biggest comfort has always been that they never saw it coming and didn't have time for any fear or pain. One moment they were alive and the next they were home in heaven.

I have never really felt anger about the attacks, just sadness. When the war in Afghanistan started I just thought how much I missed my friends. I still get very angry when people invoke those who died that day in the name of some government thing. Their memories should be consecrated, not used as some kind of a political football.

So, that's my story. Nothing unique, just my day... You can tell me about yours if it will help you.

There are so many different kinds of memorials and TV specials and articles this weekend. I have no idea if I'll watch anything. I will probably reflect in my own way. One thing I want to share is the homily from the funeral mass for Father Mychal Judge. He was the Chaplin for the New York City Fire Department and the first body removed from the towers. It was replayed this morning on NPR. I wish that I was this eloquent: "He passed through the other side of life, and now he can continue doing what he wanted to do with all his heart. And the next few weeks, we’re going to have names added, name after name of people, who are being brought out of that rubble. And Mychal Judge is going to be on the other side of death … to greet them instead of sending them there. And he’s going to greet them with that big Irish smile … he’s going to take them by the arm and the hand and say, “Welcome, I want to take you to my Father.” … And so, he can continue doing in death what he couldn’t do in life...may the Lord bless you. May the angels lead you to your Savior. You are a sign of his presence to us. May the Lord now embrace you. And hold you in his love forever. Rest in peace. Amen."

You can read the full homily here: http://www.hnp.org/publications/articles_view.cfm?id=16&yr=2001

That's it for sad--I'll go back to being snarky and telling you about how I ended up in my triangle next time. I just needed to get this out.



*I'm actually really angry at the music teacher and thinking about saying something to the Principal about it because I think it was a really inappropriate thing to tell second graders, especially without their parents permission. I would have preferred that Sweet Pea live in a world where airplanes are not weapons for at least another year.
**I'm sure if you Googled them you could get a much better idea of their mission.
***I was able to confirm for sure that it was Air Force One a few years later when they released the whole flight plan of that day.

Happy Anniversary?

Lots of big anniversaries are coming up for me. First, the 10 year anniversary of 9/11 is on Sunday. I don't really feel like I have anything unique to say about that, except that I still miss my friends and I wonder how their parents are doing. The Husband and I also have our 10th anniversary coming up on 10/6. Getting married so close to 9/11 was kind of surreal. I did feel like we were allowed to be happy--I actually felt that for the first time at the surprise birthday party that a friend had for her husband a few weeks prior, but traveling was surreal and I know that it was really hard for a lot of people to get on a plane and come to our wedding.

The anniversary that is hanging over my head right now is the third one in line--October 8th--the day I lost my job at the Place with Three Letters and stopped working for The Man. One of my friends has been recounting the story of her daughter's birth in her blog, which gave me the idea to write about how I ended up working in a triangle.

For some background...The Husband has not had the most stable employment for the past couple of years. Anyone whose been through that knows how much of a strain that can be (and those of you who haven't can probably imagine). Last September The Husband landed his "dream job" and was making more money than we had ever thought to hope for. Our goal at that time was to pay off some bills, then sock a bunch of money in savings, and then we'd be in a good position for me to quit my job, which is what I'd wanted ever since Sweet Pea was born.

The quitting my job thing was accelerated on October 8. It was a Friday and I'd been working for The Man for four and a half years. Sweet Pea was at school and I'd gone to get my hair cut that morning. I was enjoying one of my non-working days--I always like getting my hair cut because they rub your head. After my hair cut I checked my phone and saw that I had a missed call and voice mail. The voice mail was from The Man asking me to call as soon as possible. I could tell from his voice, which was very strained, that something big was up and that it wasn't good. I walked to my car, which was parked in a parking garage and dialed the phone.

I guess I'm glad that The Man is such as open book, because I know from the second he picked up his phone that I was getting laid off. The Man was really bad at telling me that I'd lost my job--in fact, when I look back on the conversation, he never actually said those words. I ended up comforting him, which was kind of the perfect (or imperfect) capstone to my relationship with The Man. Here we were with something really bad happening to me, and I was making him feel better about it.

My initial reaction to being fired* was kind of a weird, and sort of manic, high. The Man was a hard guy to work for and working for him was getting harder and harder. I can say without embellishment that I was in a really toxic workplace, so in a lot of ways getting out of there was a really positive thing. Even in the beginning, I wished that it had been my choice, though.

I went home, made some calls, and immediately filed for unemployment. I don't remember how many days it took, but we got my unemployment amount pretty quickly, and with The Husband's fabulous new salary and my unemployment, we were going to be just fine. I was going to get to be a stay at home mom sooner, rather than later. I had big plans for my life and they were all good.

Then came the night that The Husband came home from work and told me about the REALLY stupid thing that he had done. That was the night that my world started to fall apart.

I'll think that I'll make this a "to be continued" here... To copy from my friend--you all know that I end up in a triangle, so it isn't too suspenseful, but I'll pick up the story here in a day or so.

*I know I was laid off and that it was no fault of my own, but I've never been able to get past it in my head--to me I will always have been fired.

Broken Record

My posts have gotten kind of whiny about my drugs lately--I promise to stop--just indulge me one last time.

I'm pretty excited about my curly hair--I'm thinking that this may cut down on bad hair days. Yesterday it was really humid and my hair just got more curly. I am still freaking out about my other organs curling, but I'm trying not to focus on that.

When researching curly hair and drugs, I found this website http://crazymeds.us/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/MedClass/AEDSideEffects. First this is awesome because it is called "CrazyMeds." I like to wear the label of crazy like the red badge of courage. When I am feeling well (as I am right now--thank you correct dosage of scary drugs) I sometimes think "I survived four* nights in a locked mental ward--I bet that you couldn't do that." Seriously, no sane person could manage in that ward.

Anyway, I really wish that someone would have told me about CrazyMeds in the beginning. I would have spent much less time worrying about being crazy. It tells you all sorts of helpful things about your drugs, like "Typical Side Effects: The usual for anticonvulsants plus a special set for valproates: instant old age. You’ll get fat, bald, tired, confused, uninterested in sex, unable to hold your liquor and everything will give you heartburn and/or the runs." It also has "talk forums for the mentally interesting" like "BiPolar Disorder--I'm So Happy I Could Kill Myself."** or "Antipsychotics--I'm Not That Crazy, Am I?" I have a whole fun night planned with http://www.crazymeds.us/pmwiki/pmwiki.php.

You wish you were me--curly hair and CrazyMeds...

*or was it five--I can't remember and no one will tell me
**That title alone my have been able to pull me out of some funks

Mystery Science Theater

Yesterday I got my hair cut. In the pre-baby olden days, I went to a really nice Aveda salon. Post Sweet Pea I have been going to the Aveda school here in town because I figure that my hair isn't that complicated and I like getting my head rubbed when they wash my hair. Yesterday I went to We Hart Hair.

I have needed a hair cut for at least a month and stuff just kept coming up. I was going to try and go to Aveda on Friday, but I was sick on Thursday and didn't call for an appointment. The Aveda place is really close to campus and there was a game on Saturday and it just isn't worth to try to go to campus on a game day. So it looked like another weekend that I wasn't going to get a hair cut. I decided that I couldn't stand that, so I decided to brave We Heart Hair. I figured that it's just hair and mine is pretty simple.

So, the past few months there is this one clump of hair on the side of my head that has been getting kind of curly, in an irritating way. It has made it harder to straighten my hair. I have been blaming this on hormones, since my hair has also been getting darker. Yesterday at We Heart Hair, they cut cut off about three inches, so it's on the shorter side. We Heart Hair is also low frills, so she basically let my hair air dry and all of the sudden all of my hair was curly, in a very nice and uniform way.

I have had stick straight hair for my whole life--where the heck did these curls come from? I was in the process of blaming my hormones again when I was sitting in the basement. I was doing laundry and our house was really hot, so I had taken my book down to the couch in the basement where it was nice and cool. While I was sitting there, I was thinking about my hair and how it kind of looked like my niece's hair. My niece has Crohn's disease and her hair has become curly over the years because of the Crohn's medication that she takes. You've probably figured out where this is going by now...

I pulled out my iPhone and Googled my two main medications and their side effects*--both list curly hair**. So, mystery solved. Thankfully, I don't have the other hair related side effect--hair loss. I've always wanted curly hair and I think that if I keep my hair short I won't really have to fix it any more (and I don't even have to dry it all the way).

Of course, me being me, this has given me something else to worry about. If this stuff is strong enough to change the entire structure of all my hair, what else is it doing to my body?

*I do try and read all the stuff that comes with my drugs, but usually quit when it gets too scary. The husband doesn't like to be around me when I start to read up on the drug stuff.
**When things aren't scaring the sh*t out of me, I find it kind of funny that curly hair is a "side effect."

Some things I just don't get...

Yesterday, while perusing the Internet (I was so grateful to have a slow day), I came across these fabulous photos of Barbie and Ken on their wedding day. You can view the full set of photos, which amused the heck out of me, at http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/44362409/ns/today-weddings/displaymode/1247/?beginSlide=1. I liked these so much that I'm going to go look at them again right now--back in a moment.

This week, the coffee maker dominated discussion in my triangle. We started off the week with the traditional Monday Morning Meeting. I was mortified at the Monday Morning Meeting* because there were a few times that I was fighting a losing battle to stay awake and I think people noticed, although no one said anything to me. Honestly, it wasn't me, it was getting adjusted to the drugs again. They make me really sleepy until my body gets used to them. As the meeting was wrapping up, K brought up an important topic--unwashed coffee cups in the sink of the kitchenette. At this point Will spoke up and said that everyone needed to listen to this (so I tried really hard to not fall asleep). Our office has two kitchenette/bathroom areas. One that is in the front office where visitors enter and one that is back by my triangle. It took my a while to figure this out, but everyone is supposed to use my bathroom, to keep the front bathroom looking nice for clients when they come in. Unfortunately, there have been issues lately with dirty coffee cups. People have been leaving their dirty cups in the sink and on the counter and we just can't have clients seeing that. Here's where things at BCFG are kind of a parallel universe for me. In a world that makes sense to me, someone would have said "stop leaving your dirty cups out--wash them and put them away." In BCFG world, the solution was to move the coffee pot to my kitchenette so people could continue to leave their dirty cups out, but that no clients would see them. This is what happens when you work with all men--no one is capable of washing their own cups. If you are wondering, office cup washing is done by K on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays and by Mama X on Tuesdays and Fridays.

The move of the coffee machine prompted other changes to the office kitchenette. My kitchenette housed the office microwave, toaster and blender**. Once the coffee pot was installed in its new location, K decided that things were too crowded and that we needed a new (and smaller) microwave, as well as a little shelf/cart thing for the toaster and blender. Mama X and R are really opposed to spending money, especially on stupid things that aren't needed***, so throughout the week there was lots of conflict over the new appliances. This all felt very foreign--you forget about all this office pettiness after working from home for almost five years.

And that's the news from my triangle. (Imagine that said in a Garrison Keillor "A Prairie Home Companion" kind of voice.)

*Do you like my alliteration?
**I'm not sure why we have a blender. In my 5 months, I've never seen anyone use it. There's a bunch of protein powder in the cabinet, so I'm guessing that someone used to make protein shakes. I do occasionally make toast, as Mama X always supplies us with bread and toast fixins
***Can you tell which side I came down on?