Higher Highs, Lower Lows

Mom by day, ninja by night? I have no idea what this is, but somehow it feels appropriate.

Ha.  You didn’t really think I was going to talk about this, DIDJOO?  Nope.  I have far too much propriety for that sort of discussion.  Oh yes, far more, I assure you.

The truth is, I’m swamped.  Up to my ears in work, up to my ears in fussing baby, and up to my ears in just about everything else (dishes, anyone?).  It has been quite a week.  Why do things always hit at once?  Why did I suddenly get so many good jobs (for which I would like to show myself capable) the very same week Seabass decided to become a writhing lump of psychosis?  I don’t know, but it stinks like solid-food-poo.

In the meantime, I’ve been so go-go-go that I haven’t taken the time to exercise, which makes me feel human and relevant to society.  Plus, I’m quite sure that the generic anti-depressants my doc put me on are not working.  At least, not the way the name brand ones did, which I liked.  With these, I feel low again, anxious about being alone with Seabass, and to make matters worse, they give me headaches and a bit of insomnia. 

All that to say: No Controversy Wednesday today.  I’d love some ideas for what to discuss next week, though.  Feel free to send them along.

Oh, and I messed up on the deadline for entries to the necklace giveaway.  The deadline is TONIGHT at midnight.  So if you haven’t made your comment yet, do so here.

Happy surviving!

I grew up an italiaphile.  I don’t know why, but all things Italian have always attracted me.  (Case in point: I get all hubba hubba when Jake slips me a little abbiamo bisogno di carta igenica?, even if he is just asking if we have any toilet paper.)

In college, I had the opportunity to go abroad for my junior year and I didn’t take the chance.  I think I was too busy painting my nails or playing quarters to be bothered.  Despite the fact that I’ve since lived in Italy twice, that missed opportunity still haunts me.

And that’s what I’m thinking will happen to you if you don’t try for this gorgeous necklace.

Three words: Are you nuts?  This is such a beautiful little shadow bow; I get comments on it constantly. 

Listen, you don’t have to have a gut-wrenching tale of mortifying parental woe to participate in the giveaway.  When I asked for the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do as a parent, I was hoping for all sorts of stories: funny, weird, big, small, etc. 

So c’mon!  Take your best shot and comment on this post for your chance at a one-of-a-kind piece.  Closes at midnight tonight….

A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor’s book.  ~Irish Proverb

I’ve been putting Seabass to bed at or around 6pm for the past several months, and we finally quit the old “dreamfeed” routine about five weeks ago.  This means that I’ve had to pump before going to bed at 10pm so that I don’t wake up with rock-hard girls or lying in a puddle…or both. 

I’d wager that pumping is one of the most boring, monotonous, and time-consuming activities in the entire universe, especially with my little one-boob-at-a-time donut of a machine.  (When Seabass and I were going through lactation frustration early in his life, I rented an industrial strength double pump that was so efficient and strong it nearly pulled my nipples clear off.)  But it’s always entertaining to see blue milk filling the receptacle. 

Is it periwinkle or powder blue?

Why is my milk blue?  Being the hypochondriac I am, at first I thought it indicated that I was dying.  Or that I was poisoning Seabass.  Then I read in The Nursing Mother’s Companion that it’s completely normal, perhaps having something to do with eating greens. 

So now I want to know if I can make my breastmilk turn other colors, like orange or neon purple.  I want a fiesta in Seabass’ bottle!  Does it work like that old elementary school experiment where carnations are propped up in water tinted with food coloring?  What do I have to eat to get chartreuse?

What must the neighbors think?

Women know
The way to rear up children (to be just)
They know a simple, merry, tender knack
Of tying sashes, fitting baby shoes,
And stringing pretty words that make no sense,
And kissing full sense into empty words.

~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Like peas and carrots.

So there’s this fable in the lore of business intelligence stating that the most commonly purchased two items on Friday afternoons are BEER and DIAPERS.  I came by this information via a co-worker of Jake’s who mentioned it at the water cooler one day.  We’ve been giggling about it ever since, because, though unexpected, the combo makes perfect sense. 

Diapers=responsibility=discomfort
Beer=relaxation=salve for said discomfort

I thought I’d go further to see the details on this parable, and I found the full story here.  According to author Mark Whitehorn of the UK’s The Register, the story goes something like this:

Some time ago, Wal-Mart decided to combine the data from its loyalty card system with that from its point of sale systems. The former provided Wal-Mart with demographic data about its customers, the latter told it where, when and what those customers bought. Once combined, the data was mined extensively and many correlations appeared. Some of these were obvious; people who buy gin are also likely to buy tonic. They often also buy lemons. However, one correlation stood out like a sore thumb because it was so unexpected.

On Friday afternoons, young American males who buy diapers (nappies) also have a predisposition to buy beer. No one had predicted that result, so no one would ever have even asked the question in the first place. Hence, this is an excellent example of the difference between data mining and querying.

Okay, so I understand that the context of this story is scientific in nature (data mining, i.e. discovering new meaning through data), but what comes next in Whitehorn’s article is hilarious despite itself.

The story goes on that, once the correlation was uncovered, it was easy to back extrapolate from the effect to the cause.

• Young American males frequently indulge in ritualised carousing behaviour with friends of Friday nights.
• Carousing usually involves the consumption of beer.
• Most young American males only buy diapers after they have fathered offspring.
• Offspring acquisition is a known carousing inhibitor.

That last part is the best: Offspring acquisition is a known carousing inhibitor.  That’s Nerd for “babies keep a brother down.”

Subtlety’s never been his strong suit.

Dates With Self: Sited as often as unicorns.

Nothing fills me up more than a good Date With Self. 

The term “Date With Self” was coined by my mother, who, like me, enjoys the opportunity to get out and about without the stress of having to put on a nice face or keep up small talk with anyone.  That could sound a little lonely, I suppose.  I like to think of it as self-centered.

Because that’s exactly why Dates With Self have become so special to me these past five months.  They are self-centered, not Seabass-centered or Jake-centered or Murph-centered or work-centered or house-keeping centered.  And they are spectacular.

I had been looking forward to this morning’s Date With Self as though it would include meeting Johnny Depp, hearing the Beatles perform live and spying a unicorn.  And while those things didn’t exactly happen, it did not disappoint.

A visit to Big Sky Cafe, with cranberry-orange buckwheat pancakes, and coffee.  A long sit at the bar with the New York Times.  A friendly chat with a couple of friends.  A brisk walk across town, and – glory of glories – a manicure for my ragged fingertips.  This was all I wanted.  Amazing how happy the simple things can make me these days.

Fuss monkey, that chunky monkey. Fuss monkey funky, that chunky monkey.

Most people really enjoy fall.  It’s cozy, the air smells fresh and spicy, and there are trees heavy with apples, the most perfect fruit on the face of the globe.

So why oh why doth the wee Seabass cry? 

Seriously, he’s been überfussy for the past ten days and I can’t figure it out.  We tried to take him to the pumpkin patch for distraction/diversion and the little dude just couldn’t dig it.  This photo was taken while a bunch of Japanese tourists waited patiently to stage their own photo shoot in front of the ginormous pumpkins.  Like I say, they were very polite, but their mouth-gaping stares gave me the impression that babies in Japan don’t cry quite like the Wild American Seabass does.

I don’t think teething is to blame.  If it is, those suckers are not showing themselves anytime soon; Seabass’ gums are as pink (i.e. not white) as ever.  But what do I know?  I’m kinda praying that he wakes up from his nap with two big chompers staring back at me, just so I can finally understand.

In the meantime, how cute am I in this picture?  See that ADORABLE necklace I’m wearing?  I’ll be giving one away next week on the blog.  Stay tuned.