The last monday in June

I know it has been a dog's age since I have posted...
Sometimes keeping up with this here Gin-Soaked Olive is all I want to do and when it isn't caught up, I get tense and then I think, if I could only get back to writing I would feel better, but then there are so many things that NEED to get done, that it seems selfish and silly to not do the things you should do and so you avoid spending precious time doing the thing that you WANT to do... and then when you can't do the things you need to OR the things you want to, you start to punish yourself further by imagining some large scale strategy for re-creating the stories that you have failed to post in the time you've been away...

Maybe it's just me that does all this.

Anyway, Since I've written last, these are the things I want to catch you up on:
- Josh (Katy's brother) and Linda's wedding
- Our trip to Seattle and Portland (for the wedding)
- Summer fun at the Ta-BAR pool
- Status update on the new day care
- JB's first trip to the ER and stitches
- My birthday

All in good time.

It has been an interesting few weeks (if you can't tell from that list). It has also been a HOT summer so far. We are without central air for the first time in 5 years and trust me when I tell you, we have gotten weak. I swear that JB was sweating himself awake and then hallucinating because of the weather. ML gets really red when he is hot and it looks like he has a sunburn on his face, but when you bring his body temperature down, he color returns to normal.

So just because my eyes are burning too much (fatigue and I think from all the sweat that has run into them in the last few days) I am just going to give you the highlights from today:

2010 - the last monday in june:

8:01 AM - on my way to work, it is already 85 degrees F. Katy and I have agreed that she needs to spend part of her day off bringing the boys to their doctor b/c JB needs his last stitch that hasn't disolved out of his face yet to be removed (it's been 12 days); and ML seems like he has another ear infection: slight temp, tugging at ear, tell-tale cough.

8:03 - i realize I forgot my sunglasses and go home to retrieve them

8:10 - I've made it to the highway; I look at the dash, the temp is up to 87

8:36 - at work, check voicemail: that girl we need to fire if she calls out one more time, she's called out. Check email: very angry and obnoxious email from clinician/employee

9am - text from katy: the boys have an appointment at 10 am

10 am - Meeting

11 am - call from Katy: ML does have an ear infection- his second in 6 weeks

11:30 - another email from disgruntled clinician

1:30 - meeting

2:30 - another meeting

3:30 - 3rd email from (this time) an IRATE clinician who has apparently "nothing to lose." [The bitches I work with have no problem spewing out emotional emails to the very people that sign their checks -it never ceases to amaze me... Oh, and also, being a manager in this economy is fun. Everyone assumes you are stupid and out to get them before imagining there might have been a worse option on the table that you rejected to protect them... and keep the company doors open.]

3:40- insanely awesome 15 minute downpour

4:49 - abandonment of attempted email responses to irate/disgruntled/obnoxious clinicians

5:01 - in car; temp 92 degrees

5:40pm - arrive home. ML hasn't really slept all day. Has had 2 doses of antibiotics and looks like a kid that someone left in the sun all day without sunscreen; JB tells me he "laid on the table and let Dr K take my stiches out with no fuss or moving." excellent job, baby!

6:10 I give ML a bath

6:17 I dress ML in the cutest short-pants PJs

6:20 Katy and I give ML some motrin

6:22 I give ML a bottle

6:26 ML gives me a dubious burp

6:27 ML projectile vomits all over my shirt and the family room; into my purse, splatter on the wall and the TV table

6:30 Katy comes to get ML so that I can clean up a little and get him back in the tub; i strip down to my lady skivies

6:33 I go to get ML in time to see him projectile vomit all over Katy and the upstairs bathroom; I undress him and take him in the shower with me... he falls asleep in the shower. I dress him and hold him in the glider for nearly an hour to calm both him and me. He is coughing, twitchy, and looks so tall to me, but so tiny at the same time. I meditate on all the scary times we've had with him- worrying about his health, even though for the most part he is so healthy. I do some reiki on him. I do this "forgiveness" meditation that I learned in grad school that is mostly about forgiving yourself for not being perfect. I take time taking him in and feeling the heat rise off of his body- it is 86 degrees in the room, and he has cool cheeks and forehead, but a very warm torso and noggin'. He is the sweetest kid and I can't imagine how I would handle it if something were ever seriously wrong with him, this little illness almost seems too much to bare. I like just sitting there with him, alone together while JB gets to watch another episode of Handy Manny with his mama.

7:45 I head to the store to buy air conditioners. Katy and I have toyed with the idea of installing central air, but don't know if we can really afford it this year. We haven't purchased any AC units b/c i hate window units (they block the windows ALL summer, and can ruin the windows); and b/c we think, "summers in New England" are not all that hot... just a few weeks total all summer long... and b/c we are each still holding on to the dream that one of us will produce a compelling enough argument to "bite the bullet" and hire the HVAC guy to fill our house with ducts carrying magic/cool air. June is not over and this is at least our 7th night of >80 temps at night. I speed off to keep my sweet wife and my baby boys protected from the crankiness that comes with narrowly avoiding heat stroke on a daily basis.

10pm I finish installing an AC in the boys room and an AC in our room.

10:30 I toy with my iphone for a while- the new itunes upgrade is cool and allows for me to have a little fun grouping apps into "folders"

10:48 I skip a rational bedtime and ignore the burning in my eyes to write this down for all of you.

Soon: I go to bed.

Rain, rain, moldy brain

It has been raining, forecast rain, off and on raining, no end in sight soggy for weeks now. April showers brought May flowers and May monsoons and June deluges. I'm afraid I'm not weathering it very well. Pun intended.

Today was a day that I spent the better part of trying not to burst into tears.

My body is showing signs of break down. I've got some bad tendinitis. They call it tennis elbow, though I haven't had any tennis anywhere near my elbow in a few years at least. Bottom line, I'm in a lot of pain. I'm wincing every time I pick up my son, every time I forget and use my left hand to lift a glass of milk to my lips, every time I roll over in bed. It's pathetic, but it's impossible to rest or avoid and it hurts like a mo-fo.

My car is in the shop. It needs new brake pads and a break flush, and several belts and caps that will supposedly make the AC run again. Oh that's right, my AC shot it's wad in the middle of June. I'm one of those cheapskates who might drive around for a while on the highways with the windows down. But if it's going to RAIN EVERY SINGLE DAY!?!?! I can't expect people to understand if my kid is arriving at day care soak and wet...

Today started with JB taking a tumble on the stairs.

On my watch.

He likes to "walk" down now the stairs now, facing forward, holding on to the railing that is just barely within his reach. If he pays attention, he does really well; though he does look (in his quest for the banister) like a kid who's arm is being pulled straight up into the air by a parent who is trying to lift him our of a puddle with one hand. He did 5 stairs tolerating my constant pestering, "Pay attention, look at your feet..."

Then, as if he was sick of hearing all my advice, he turned around and crawled down backwards (he never does this). We were 3 stairs from the bottom, I took my eye off the ball, thinking we were home free, and he flipped around, trying to take the last few like the two-legged creature he is. I knew it was coming but could not react in time. I was in front of him and as he fell toward me, I locked my knees effectively bouncing him into the wall but preventing him from rolling past me. Before I could swing him up onto my impaired left forearm, he was wailing and the bruise and bump had already formed. Katy swears what she meant to say was, "What happened, is everyone alright?" But what came out of her mouth as she sprinted to the stairs was, "How did this happen???" I felt like shit about it the rest of the day. I know this child will have many more falls and bruises in his lifetime, but this one could have and should have been avoided. Mommy should'a been on point.

A few minutes after that drama, when JB's tears were dry but I wasn't sure if I might still need to cry about it, our doorbell rang. We scheduled an early AM appointment to price out refinishing our floors. The old dude arrived and clearly could not figure out what 2 women were doing in a home with one baby and no man in sight at 7:55 in the morning. He measured the rooms and took stock of the hard wood and just before he wrote out the quote, he tipped his head to JB, smiled, and nodded toward me, "Is that your grandma?"

blink.blink.blink.

I looked down at my breasts (saggier than they once were for sure but not too shabby in this high priced bra) and tried not to scream, "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, OLD MAN?" It might not have been so bad if my birthday wasn't coming up, but I couldn't help thinking all day that the older you are, the younger other people usually look. This guy could have fathered Noah. I should have looked like Miley Cirus to him... But I guess where he comes from, if 2 ladies are living together, there must be a shared bloodline and generation separating them.

I spent much of the rest of the day running late and feeling anxious and wanting to run away and sleep (in the impersonal rental car that has temporarily taken the place of my crap-filled-forester).

I spent some of the day thinking about our house and what it means that we have not sold it yet. Why are we meant not to move before this baby will be born? Why has the amazing energy that we have experienced in this home not drawn some other family to it?

I spent some of the day thinking of racism and power and "otherness".

When I got to work at 1pm, i felt like I had been crying all day, even though I hadn't shed a tear.

Katy and I went to Ikea tonight to buy some furniture to set up a big boy bed for JB so that he won't feel misplaced by the bean v2.0. Twelve weeks and counting...

A few minutes ago, I went in and stroked the sweaty, bruised head of our son and for about the million and first time today, felt tears choking up inside of me. They were sort of love-drenched, sappy tears, but also sort of disparate, fear-filled, sad tears. How are we going to take our baby out of that crib?!?!? How am I going to keep him safe from all of the ways he can get wounded in this world?!? I know I can't, but how am I going to be able to stand there while it all happens to him? Doesn't adding another little boy to the mix just mean there will be more chances to cause inadvertent bruising??? Or not make the catch when they need me to???

My tears never fell. So they are just kind of stuck inside of me. Just kind of heavy and dank, and freaking me out. But it's okay I guess, there's enough water saturating the land right now to cause a tiny puddle in our basement... what we don't need right now, is more ground water...

My morning view

23 weeks, and 4 days

Freaks on display

I don't usually pretend that what i like to read is what any or all of you will appreciate, but this but this guy joe has something here I wish to classify as a "must read".

Happy Pride 2008!

Eye Infection

I am a sufferer of chronic sties. At first I blamed myself- it seemed an obvious indication of poor hygiene and too much sticking of dirty fingers in my eyes. But then I paid more attention and kept my hands away from my eyes and started "washing" my eyes with baby shampoo, and while the frequency decreased, I continued to get them- in both eyes, on both lids, randomly.

I work in a facility that has a huge percentage of Puerto Rican (mainly) women, and since starting there 4 years ago I've learned a lot about food: I've learned the way(s) I like my Yucca cooked, the flan recipes that I prefer, and that there are many varieties of beans and many ways to prepare beans that my family never exposed me to. (That make beans D-lish-ous!) I've also learned a little about PR culture and one fact has been pointed out to me again and again: A sty means that you have "with held something from a pregnant woman." I've been accused of harming or with holding from people so often, that I have started embracing the reputation: "Look, I cannot give a pregnant woman everything she wants from me," I tease. "Some things just cross a line." wink, wink, nudge, know-what-i-mean?

All kidding aside, last year when I was pregnant I had the worst of my sties surgically excised in an un-covered by insurance opthomological teaching-moment (for the new resident) that I paid the cost of a new 22" flat screen TV for. Since then though- during the worst of my pregnancy and 5 months at home with the baby... really no sties to speak of.

When I returned to work, I got 3 in five weeks, and this week, I got a really nasty conjunctivitis. Katy and I've decided that this is (for some reason) how my stress manifests itself:

Kt: Maybe this is symbolic about your eyes, how you take in the world, what you see or are forced to see, how you keep or protect yourself...

T: Um... when are you going to be finished with that Eat.Pray.Love book?

Kt: Yeah, play dumb if you want, I know you buy into this stuff a little...

T: I think when I was dipped into the dangerous but protective river Styx, they were holding me by my eyeballs like a bowling ball.

Kt: You're not right.

The L Word - season five

We don't talk about it much because it is not our favorite show on TV, but we are dedicated to supporting The L Word. Every year, we order Sho.wtime the day the season starts and cancel the pay channel the day after the season ends. (We hope that helps send the message that lesbians are willing to pay for it... err, um, you know what I mean.) Some lesbians I know have nothing but contempt for the show. But as I have debated with Dr BB and others, even bad candy is better than no candy at all.

The basic complaints I've heard about The L word can generally be summarized:
1) It is soft core porn
2) The sex is unrealistic. Perhaps choreographed more for men than for womyn who love women
3) It's not a realistic representation (ie- Lesbians aren't that rich, don't look that good, or dress that nice)
4) The dialog is so "educational" at times it seems like a giant, gay public service announcement
5) Jenny Schecter: crazy-annoying and crazy; how the eff is this character getting this much airtime?
6) Max: the only butch lesbian wants to be a man

Briefly, here are my counter arguments:
1) And???
2) Like this isn't also true of all sex on every soap opera since the beginning of time
3) Similarly, this is true of most TV shows. Ex: Gray's Anatomy- the richest, hottest, trendiest interns ever!
4) Some candy is better than no candy
5) No counter argument, I hate her
6) Max's pathetic attempt to use bogus "tech" terminology is way more problematic for me than the fact that he wants to be a man

Kt and I are pretty low key, and don't take our TV too seriously, so for the most part we really enjoy The L word. (Except that season I tried to block out when it was all about Jenny's suppressed carnival memories...)

Anyway, this season so far has been my favorite. It seems much more well-written. The characters seem to have settled into themselves. The tempo is right. The music is so much better. The dialog is funny. Max has fewer lines. And though Jenny is a huge part of the storyline, she is now viewed as crazy and annoying in the eyes of the other characters which makes watching her more enjoyable.

Another funny thing about this season, is that Katy has started to watch the show as if it is a horror film. We have been watching a lot of Weeds and Lost on DVD, and I guess this has affected her expectations. She is ready all all times to believe that the characters are about to be arrested, "caught," found out, and/or killed anytime they are having fun or generally experiencing life. No matter what is going on on screen, Kt warns me, "This isn't going to end well." So far, she's said this during party scenes, make-out scenes, the opening of a new club scene. Like what's the worst that can happen, someone gets a drink thrown on them?!?

Characters are swimming, talking on phones, ordering lunch and my wife whispers nervously, 'This isn't going to end well." To be fair, she's accurately warned me 3 times on 3 separate shows, recently, that a character was about to be hit by a bus. But so far on The L Word, nothing close to tragedy has occurred this season, and it's made my wife seem like a paranoid Debbie Downer off her meds. Kt's even started laughing and adding, "or it might be okay..." when the scene ends without a car explosion, etc.

So tonight,

DON'T TRY TO READ THE COLORED PRINT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR WHO HOOKED UP

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Bette and Tina hooked up!!!
I didn't realize that I was rooting so hard for them to get back together but yeah, um... I was.

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IF YOU CAN'T READ THE ABOVE AND YOU WANT TO, JUST HIGHLIGHT THE WORDS WITH YOUR CURSOR

So they start romping in bed together and Katy's (all-like) covering her eyes with her hands, fingers slightly spread so she can see some of the action, "This isn't going to end well."

And well, it seemed to end well to me.
(Nudge-nudge, know whut I mean, aye.)

Here's hoping that things don't get all weird and the minute Kt lets her guard down, there's some kind of terrorist event on the show!

Wow.

This might be the most interesting and informative site I have ever visited.

For all of you out there that might think this information is boring or superfluous, I don't even know what to say... except um... YOU HAVE NO BALLS BOOBS!

The internet is truly miraculous!
One time, I fixed our AC by googling "puddle of water on floor in basement" and "central air conditioning," literally saving us HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS in equipment and the butt-crack fees of a visiting repair-person.

Today i googled, "bra straps falling down" and learned more about bra sizing and support than I have been able to glean in my 16 plus years of big-bustedness.

Thanks, God.

There might be an essay idea brewing about how the internet is everything we've come to believe about God: Invisible, Omnipresent, Seemingly all-knowing, You can't see him/her/it but you know s/he/it's there, Sometimes you ask a question or start out looking to find one thing and are surprised at the answers you get or come upon something completely new or unexpected... I could go on and on with this analogy.

Laundry update

Things are getting out of hand...

Today, JB shit through 3 separate outfits. This is not poor diapering, people... This is just unlucky and forceful spraying of excrement. Also, he required 4 bibs and a 4th costume change due to excessive drool and spit up.

I wore the same soiled shirt all day, but before I was even dressed this am, I had to shrug my soft, soft bathrobe off to protect it from all kinds of accidents. Half-naked this AM, I struggled to keep his shitty diaper contained, and when projectile spit up was added to the recipe, I jumped back and knocked over the bottle of liquid, infant multivitamins (not a good smell, or a good look for a nursery carpet.) Also, at several points today, my shirt was so wet it needed to be changed. Since in each case, I just didn't get to it until after it dried, I'm still wearing the above-mentioned v-neck. I guess I'll shower after we give the boy his bath tonight...

I have found that one of my favorite things is dressing JB up in his cute clothes, but I'd be lying if I said that this many changes due to the fact that he can't keep liquid inside any of his holes wasn't totally frustrating today.

Breaking news! Dr. Brokeback finally shows up.

Yes, this post was a long time coming. I’ve been on vacation for weeks, and I’m finally Broke(back).

Let me first start by saying that if you have never seen an ice luge, you have never lived.

And then let me dedicate this post to my dear friends Katy and Tracy and also to all of the anonymous readers who are so closely following this pregnancy. (I swear that they exist. I hung out with at least one devoted but anonymous fan last week. She confided that although she has never met the amazing women who write this blog, she is very emotionally invested in the future of their family. In think there’s a chance she’ll make a contribution to the boy’s college fund. I’d send a shout out, just in case. I do know that she wants to send a shower present despite the fact that she’s worried that it might be weird. I assured her that no one says no to a hipster onesie.) And now I will move on to my reflections on Kate-a-Palooza.

Katy and Tracy and I started our week of vacation at Katy’s thirtieth birthday party. I viewed the party as a chance to get in some well-wishes and I hoped to see some old friends. I got both of these things, but I also experienced something that I had totally forgotten.

I actually should have remembered “the Weber-Tierney phenomenon” because I still tell everyone I know (or, at least, anyone who will listen) the story of their wedding: I was expecting it to be a giant lesbian party, with hundreds of attractive women throwing themselves at me. Instead, I found myself sitting at the reception with the only other two lesbians in the place. There were no half-naked women looking for solace (well, at least none within 20 years of my age or sharing my sexual orientation); instead, the party was mainly populated by the incredibly supportive extended families of the Weber-Tierneys. Aunts, uncles, and third cousins twice removed all showed up to celebrate Katy and Tracy’s relationship. Their upcoming status as the first civil union in Connecticut (and the resultant Washington Post front page picture) paled in comparison (And I love fame and/or publicity.). As I shook my booty to the Chicken Dance next to a drunk red-headed relative, I had a moment where I nearly forgot my cynicism. Well, not quite. But it felt good for a moment.

I arrived to Katy’s thirtieth birthday party again expecting hoards of single, interested lesbians with nearby hotel rooms, but once again my dream was dashed. Although there was one incredibly hot but taken straightish friend (sigh), the party was again mostly supportive family. It was also amazing homemade and catered delicious grilled and Italian-themed food. And there were tents and kegs and a pile of cakes, brownies, seven layer bars and something I refer to as “peanut butter chocolate bliss,” and then there was the ice luge (I’ll get to that). As I stood by the dessert table, my mouth so stuffed with high sugar, high fat sweets that they spilled onto my lips, I felt a wave of something I don’t feel all that often. It wasn't hyperglycemic-induced nausea, either. The love and support in the house was palpable.

As the party wound down (I had to drive to Provincetown that night, after all), the crowd gathered in front of something called an “ice luge.” It was a three foot tall ice sculpture sitting on a table with grooves running down the slanted front. The basic idea is that if a person was to stand at the bottom of the slant, a drink could be poured from the top right into that person’s waiting mouth. My flashbacks of spring break, Ft. Meyers, 1989 went away after my third shot of cranberry and soda (I couldn’t drive drunk, after all). And as I watched my friend’s three year old daughter shoot apple juice (teach them young, I say), I smiled and hoped that one day I would have a party just like this one.

I hauled ass to Provincetown as the night wound down. Katy and Tracy would arrive the next night after a long day of party clean-up. We had a great time during our vacation week despite chilly weather. I’ve never seen a pregnant woman like Tracy, I don't think. Her level of trooper-dom sets an amazingly high standard for potential pregnant women everywhere. I knew she came from hearty stock, but as I stood, hands empty, watching her 33 week pregnant body lug thirty pound kegs and giant coolers full of gourmet food, I was even more impressed. Yo, Dog, you’re amazing. Rock on.