t.g.i.f. [teeth grow, i flounder]

okay, so i don't know what ended up happening to the person that misappropriated a shocking amount of money and then played really dumb about it, but i do know that the situation was made right for me. this is great news today as i am running on a compromised amount of sleep and feel like a mess. otto's top left tooth was doing some late night excavation and he was in agony from 1:30 until 3. the good news is it appears there's some progress -- there's a small hole in the gum and you can see a little tiny bit of white poking out of the swollen flesh. the bad part is there is way more where that came from.

s.y.o.a.

have you ever been in a situation in which the only way to save your own ass is to make someone else look like a total numbskull?

i am in the midst of such a pickle. a resource on which i must rely severely fumbled... at least twice. many, many dollars have cascaded into the toilet of overexpenditure. the powers that be looked angrily my way for an explanation and i had no choice but to bust out the perpetrator.

this will either blow up in my face [not sure how but there always seems to be a way] or i will emerge wounded but victorious. stay tuned...

we are dirty hippies

it finally dawned on us. we're kinda dirty hippies. i wish i took a picture of our house at its crunchiest, but i didn't so i'll just have to describe it room by room, beginning in the back and moving forward.

laundry room:
on the floor is a pile of camping stuff in need of washing. in the washer are about six lunapads and liners that were previously soaking in a pot of water and tea tree oil.

guestroom: full of an odd assortment of camping equipment from casey's latest trip to new mexico, including a giant backpack. click here to see his photos. a tent is set up on the bed. i made some mods to it so it doesn't blow around so much the next time casey camps in 40 mph winds, and the silicone seam sealant is drying.

kitchen: on the table are...

• tent pegs
  
• dirt from new mexico from tent pegs
  
• sewing machine, still set up from making mods to the tent so i can make another few slings
  
• various and sundry energy food bars, gels, and trailmixes

on the counter is...

• blender, surrounded by oatmeal and rice dust from homemade super baby food porridge
  
• yogurt, juice, and soymilk bottles, rinsed out and awaiting the recycling bin
  
• still more bags of granola and soymilk powder
  
• homemade all-surface spray, made with water and a few drops each of tea tree oil and dish soap

on the shelf are about a dozen vegetarian cookbooks [including two on feeding a vegetarian baby] and gnarly, overgrown houseplants. under the highchair is a basket of food-smeared wipecloths and bibs. three smudgy bowls of catfood are in the corner, surrounded by half-chewed nuggets because chippy, my 12 year old himalayan is missing some teeth. in the other corner is a catbed covered in grey hair.

living room: the catbed in the window has a big, chunky hairball in it, which is more like a hairpoo [not really spherical]. on the sidetable are issues of bitch, bust, backpacker, and dwell. there's also a recycled watch tin that holds scratch paper, which is really recycled office paper. all lamps contained compact fluorescent bulbs.

front porch: cf bulb in porchlight, illuminating planter filled with last summer's dead gerbera daisies.

casey: not likely showered since it's the weekend.

otto: barefoot, covered in cat- and momma-hair

me: showered but the seven hairs left on my head are stringy with grease anyway. stubbly stinky pits because my natural deodorant seems to have given me an itchy rash.

i guess it's time for some grooming focus... or an appearance on an episode of wifeswap.

smutjunkie

how much costies? me wanties.

i am an avid reader of perez hilton. i never buy a people or an us -- i'm too busy throwing magazines i really want to read into hospital toilets, evidently. i can't, however, get away from perez. it's lower than low brow with his bawdy scribbles and lexicon of hilarious hybrid words [among my favorite adjectives are "whoreanus" and "shiteous"]. it's really, gosh... i know, but i can't stop. it's cruel and negative and degrading and catty... but i must see pictures of celebutards with hearts drawn on their genitals. it makes the world go 'round.

my postpartum hairloss

the haircut doesn't really amount to a dramatic change. basically, it seems like about 40% of my hair fell out between 3.5 months and 6 months after otto was born. for all the prior warning you get, it's still pretty alarming. the hairloss i experienced seems to be as dramatic as when my mom went through chemo for breast cancer, only being a new mom doesn't give you license to shave it off... unless you're britney spears.

anyway, what i was left with was long, stringy locks under which is growing a downy layer of new hair. my receding hairline rivals casey's and, with 10 lbs of baby fat, i felt like i was channeling aileen wuornos.


after much hemming and hawing and eyeing many sassy short do's, i just had a few inches cut off. bo-ring. the annoying part is that the stylist clipped some "faceframing pieces". these should come with a surgeon general's warning:

caution: side effects may include persistent yanking, greasiness, lingering odor due to constant contact with the hands of infants covered with various edibles, blindness from persistent poking into the eyes and/or the batting of playful cat paws, trichotillomania, postpartum psychosis, and just general orneriness.

the stylist told me, "...and when you're around the house, you can just pin these pieces up like this," pulling the shortest, most egregiously offensive strands straight up and to the top of my head. oh yeah. good idea. that's so hot. really balances out my giant lower mandible there. mm-hm...

does my hair behave now? negative, ghostrider. it needs wrangling. the $35 nioxin snakeoil system i was duped into buying just makes my hair sticky and itchy and even more stubborn.

oh, britney. i'm right there with ya, sister.

colonescapee

today, in loving support of my husband who is undergoing a rather unfun procedure, i am about to have an anxiety attack. i am sitting in a very small, crowded waiting room at the hospital with a television. what's on? frigging "home improvement". it doesn't really matter what is on; since when do tvs belong in these oases of peace? what happened to reading? i brought two dwells and an angie's list, eager for quietude. the phone keeps ringing, only ten feet away, every time the receptionist gets up. the temperature is rising. if i hear that hot effing pockets commercial one more time, i'm gonna crack. i feel like i'm having a nic fit only it's not a square that'll soothe me. i just can't focus. it is so polluted in here. hospital sterility is overrated.

after leaving casey's coat with the receptionist, i broke out. i have no idea where i am going. i locked myself in a single bathroom, propped my lovely reads on the slick metal shelf over the toilet and ran my hands under ice cold water. ahhhh... cool quiet. i take a second to wrangle my new bad haircut. my scalp is sore from my constant yanking on it. i feel like i can finally breathe until... schllllip, my fucking magazines fall into the crapper. goddamn it.

with paper towels in hand, i head for another large lino-floored waiting room. the omnipresent tv is suspended overhead but, relief, it's off. only two little old people share the space, so i sit, sure i will find peace. not. the woman is an unstoppable small-talker. the man she is sharing her life story with seems to keep finding a good endpoint to then turn away and enjoy the silence, but she keeps talking and talking. out comes her brash, flashily dressed daughter in grapeskin-tight pink jeans and a black lace shrug. "i got my tips and some sangwiches, ma. i either don't eat nothin' or i eat all day." sigh. i check my watch; he's been in for an hour now. i think i'll go take another stroll.

with moist mags in hand, i go find the soda machine, ensconced in a little glass room like the smoking lounge at lambert airport. makes sense to allot such an activity to a small, mocking fishbowl since signs hang everywhere reminding all that no food or drink is permitted. the room is also equipped with four chairs, placed there for those indulging in illicit pepsi drinking.

i am phototropically driven to the one area of cleansing natural light: the bright skybridge over wood street. i park ass on the cold metal white metal railing and watch a man riding a runaway wheelchair, jackass-style, below toward taylor street. it's been an hour and a half. time to head back to the dreaded waiting room.

i gobble down a lemon lunabar, grab the piss magazines and tuck my contraband diet cola in my purse. i return to the room, which smells more like stale cigarettes and dirty hair than ever. please be done violating my hungry honey. i wanna go to golden nugget and feed him maple-soaked pancake mush until he lapses into a food coma.

it's 2:30. what is going on? it's been three hours. rachael ray's constant yelling is like a cheese grater on my nerves. my mind begins to traverse into the dark zone. what's the rate of complication for this procedure again? why isn't anyone coming out to give me the scoop? people have come and gone, and here i am, still listening to personal injury attorney commercials in the no-pepsi zone.

casey comes out at 3. he's groggy, holding pictures of his colon. good god. still no verdict. ugh. off to get some greasy breakfast.

out of hibernation

wow. so it's been a long time, and i did it: i got through an entire dance team competition season with a baby and actually survived. some corners were, well, rounded... okay, scalloped, but only where they tucked hospital-style underneath those matters that required my utmost precision. fortunately, i work with some very wonderful young women, many of whom were eager to help shoulder the load of putting on the best possible event weekend after weekend. i definitely have a new-found respect and appreciation for my staff and i'm humbled to discover that they are abundantly capable with out my persistent hovering.

i crammed in some time to work with dancers from various very talented teams and got a lot of joy out of that [not to mention a nice little extra cash]. it's thrilling to get a little taste again of the rush i felt teaching hundreds and hundreds of dancers for twelve summers in a row. despite the fact that just standing for three hours straight in a high school gym leaves my postpartum body sore, it sure is rejuvenating.

i am most proud of my mighty little team from southern illinois -- in the face of major personnel change [five old dancers and five new], they managed to advance into the semifinals [and were a hair away from the finals] at nationals. didn't get to see them but that's neither here nor there. they're now a name to know, a team to look out for. it's exciting to be a part of something that is growing, gaining speed and momentum, all the while taking you with it, like a warm and fuzzy snowball.

similarly, otto has been such fun. it's cool to see him growing as well, to see clothes shrink before our very eyes. i almost screamed when i stuck my weather-beaten finger in his mouth and found those tiny, serrated teeth. he knows us now and vibrates with glee when his kitty-cats rub against him as they pass by.

what do i plan to do with this newfound mental freedom? i owe some people some slings, a nephew a cow-spotted blanket and matching personalized pillow for his fifth birthday, and myself a short vacay. while casey is hiking with some buddies in new mexico, otto and i will be heading down to sarasota for a long weekend to visit nana and gamper tom.

i'm looking forward to blackened fingernails from making ukrainian easter eggs, to camping again at kettle moraine south, to seeing my sister's twins on their first birthday [cinco de mayo themed -- olé!], to the annual hess outing to sanibel with otto avocado in tow, and to reentering the blogosphere more frequently.

thanks for passing this way again!