March, is it?

So, here it is, the Monday of my 4th week back to work full time, with Gopher in daycare full time.

And you know what? It's going just fine.

Sure, I miss my days of working from home. Mostly the parts when I was baby-snuggling and coffee-getting, though, which meant that I spent a lot of nights working from home to meet my deadlines. And as fantastically snuggly as that Gopher can be, I don't miss working FT with an infant and no childcare.

The month of February was a great opportunity to live the dream, refine the dream. What was once "I want to work from home" is now the more specific "I want to work for myself." Which is good to know. And what was once "sooner than later" is now "when the time is right," which is not now. And what was once "I could totally handle it" is now "I would really, really have to work at time management and give up on perfection."

And for whatever reason (maybe the refined and less urgent dream), I am much more comfortable where I am and I'm realizing that I really like what I do, that I get to do some really interesting things with interesting people, that I am treated with much kindness, and that I am really, really lucky when it comes to my job and many, many other areas in my life. I mean, I knew that before Gopher, but coming back to work was a nice reminder that everything is FINE. GOOD, even. That there is no need to reinvent everything, all the time.

The mornings, though. If I could just fix ONE thing, please. The fucking mornings. The racing around, the unpreparedness, the madness. The limited baby-snuggling, lack of patience-having. The feeling like I've been clawing my way out of a deep, dark pit for hours upon hours before I even hit the office door. That I could do without.

***

Spring must be hiding and giggling and almost peeing its pants somewhere, waiting to jump out and be all "Bloodeedoo!" because I have been feeling CRAFTY and RESTLESS. I've been knitting washcloths like your Granny, I made Birdy 4 little belts to hold her jeans up (bless her heart), and I've been threatening for three weeks to leave this damned house with no children strapped or otherwise attached to my body to go to the fabric store and purchase one of about 8 dress patterns I've had my eye on. That's right, I said it. DRESS PATTERN.

Which is funny, right? Miss jeans and solid-colored t-shirt over here? Well, despite my legendary * ahem * simple fashion sense, I spend a weird amount of time thinking about clothing, partially from a nerdy construction angle and partially from an "I'd like to be in over my head on a project" angle. Plus, dresses. I mean, how much easier does it get? One piece of clothing + shoes. Tights if it's cold. No finding multiple clean pieces. And in my current body shape, no waistband, amen. What may seem like a move toward the fancy is actually a move toward the lazy, and I am totally cool with that.

***

Bird and I ran into one of her former daycare teachers at the hotdog stand a few weekends ago. She's a lovely person, mid-twenties, who has recently become a police officer. She spends her working hours patrolling on foot in the projects. Which is, as you might have guessed, is totally hard core.

I realized as we were talking that becoming a cop is one of the most unsettling things I could imagine. In my life now, with my constantly humming little brain thinking up bizarre scenarios in the background of my actual, valuable thoughts, there are plenty of situations (plausible and implausible) that I am able to dismiss with "I would call the police."

But for Laura, holy shit, she IS the police. Which, for some, might feel empowering. To me, it seems terrifying. To know that this idea of an all-seeing protector is truly just a human, with no superhuman powers and no more magic than anybody else. That since Joe Policeman visited my 4th grade class, I've had this imaginary army of officers who totally had my back and really? There's just ME. I'm IT, and I know just exactly how un-magical I am. And there are a bunch of people out there who think I'm capable of being not only a badass, but a superhero badass.

And really (this is my point), it's kind of the same thing being a parent, isn't it? Those moments when you say to yourself, "Holy shit, I AM the mom. And I don't have a clue what I'm doing."

Makin'

I made this, and I made this.

The first one, simple/ fresh/ delicious and still yum on day 2-- though if you are going to carry over into lunch territory don't mix the roasted cherry tomato mix in with the soup. Keep 'em separate and mix up bowl by bowl, ya dig?

And the second one, HOLY HELL elastic thread, first my enemy and now my friend. Pics and pattern review to come soon, maybe. The dress turned out nice and light and summery, just the right shape for my getting-bigger belly but also the right shape for my non-baby body. Versatile.

Welcome, 2007! So far, so Barf.

Here's our New Year's story:
Visited my family and grandparents in Southern Indiana, had a lovely time, Bird picked a dilly of a day to practice her "cry it out" techniques at bedtime in a hotel room, went to a bridal shower for my almost-sister in law. Everything lovely. Flying by at rapid pace, but lovely. Got a tour of all of the cheeses in my grandmother's refrigerator. There were many.

On our last Hoosier night, A. became very, violently, run-to-the-bathroom, column-of-barf sick. The barfing portion of the illness was relatively swift, but the lingering soreness and overall puniness lasted a few days, and we spent New Year's eve like this: Stopped in briefly to a gathering, back home and A. in bed by 9:30, me falling asleep on the couch at about 10 watching a taped episode of NOVA. Yep, you read that right.

I'm hoping this week isn't a preview of our new year, because if it is, we're going to be doing a lot of barfing and a lot of wallowing around and showing up to places disheveled and unprepared. Also a lot of nerdy activities, like watching taped episodes of NOVA.

Doing
It really is amazing how quickly I slip here at work, as I started out this morning like gangbusters and then checked bloglines and it has been a quick tumble downhill on the productivity scale this afternoon.

The Infirmed
Went out! on Tuesday! to see an old friend/ roommate play her super-great songs at a nice little club near downtown. And I am not kidding you, right as she took the stage, my phone rang, and it was A., and apparently Bird was barfing her guts up all over the place. So I went home, after one song. Poor Birdy. So scared of the barfing. It was heart-wrenching.

Also, it passed quite quickly, much like A's mystery illness, for which I am thankful.

Two Wishes
Another pretending to be a SAHM day yesterday, as school has not started and working part time means I have some time away from work, until it is filled up with school. Met S. and her boys at the park, a party planned due to its limited physical contact due to the recent barfing. I can't stop thinking about how that's what I'm supposed to be doing. (SAHMing, not barfing.) You should've (and would've, if I'd remembered the camera) seen my little Bird running around out there.

Speaking of cameras, I have an aging digital snapshot camera that is a decent machine except for the four-minute delay between the time you push the button and the time the photo is taken, and its tough stance on not taking clear photos of anything that is not lit by bright, clear daylight, save for the flash that makes every subject look like the cops have just busted down the front door and are shining a spotlight in their face and yelling at them to GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR! I know, I bitch a lot. At least I have a camera. But I would really like a nice fancy camera to take some keepers of my Bird. **sigh**

Frontbutt
My husband watches a little football, but not in a "hold on don't talk to me I have to see this play" kind of way. And I am fortunate that he is the kind of guy who is not so into his sports that he can't tolerate my babbling and question-asking, like "Why do they do that?" "Did the referee just say that was to legit to quit?" and, from last night, "Did that guy just eat a Cheeto?"
Above all, though, my favorite thing to spot in a football game is the frontbutt. It's an occupational hazard of being a sideline coach guy. Every time I see it, I throw my arms up in the air like it's a touchdown, and I say "Yesssssss! Frontbutt!" And my husband still thinks that's funny. I am a lucky, lucky girl, folks.

Blogoshere
So, the fabulous k is a kindhearted lady, and said some nice things about this blog over at hers. Really, that was so kind of her. Go visit. The night I started this blog up, I set all of my settings and controlled all of my controls, and then started hitting the "next blog" button at the top of the page. I landed at Out, Out Damn Spot and I've been a reader ever since, including the two months before I discovered bloglines and literally checked her blog about 59 times every day.

Also go visit the Kim Family Auction. I have added several new crafty blogs to my blogroll after finding the beautiful wares and their creators there. Beautiful little things, really.

With Sections like a Women's Magazine

You all should be so proud of me. I've completed so much work-related work in the past few days and have only read a few blogs. Um, except for today. You know, just not right NOW.

For my next trick, I will pay the mortgage and monthly bills using an isufficient amount of money. How will I do it? I... um... don't have an answer for that one. Act of God? Holiday Miracle? Mysterious Benefactor? I'm entertaining all of these realistic and viable options. Make with the ladies' mag topics, already!

Beauty !
Having run out of the regular pink-ish eye shadow I've worn every single day for, like, three years, I tried some brown-ish of the same brand and have re-arrived at the conclusion that I should not wear eye shadow of any kind of actual color, because by 10 in the morning it has all collected under my eyes and I look like the walking dead, or a prize fighter, or a prize fighter that has not slept in 6 weeks. Does this happen to normal people and is there some kind of trick I'm missing? I find that it is common in my life to have missed a key piece of ladylike information that was passed around during my high-school years, like the existence of eyelash curlers or non-gigantic underpants, as I was busy hanging out with the speech team and the gay boys, and the hot tips weren't so much circulated my way.

Fashion!
I sat down and turned on the television during Bird's afternoon nap the other day, which is something I try very hard not to do, due to the time suckage. I watched an early episode of Friends, and all I can say is that if the fashion of the nineties ever makes a comeback, I will spend that period of time retching and gagging and shielding my eyes. What did we have against men's shoulders, dressing them in shapeless sport-jackets 3 sizes too big? And what of the hair? THE HAIR?!?! And I can't even talk about THE BODYSUITS! Those are onesies, folks. Onesies. Let's band together and not let them come back, ever.

Hair!
I have a fancy hair appointment tomorrow morning. I will be cashing in a year-old gift certificate I received from dear friends to celebrate Birdy's birth. I am considering a return to the "Short n' Sassy." This growing-out is so boring, and I get the feeling it's a preview of the boring end-result, which will make me, at some point, so bored that I will go for the short n' sassy anyway. Thinking maybe I should skip the in-between and go straight for the fit-of-madness short cut. But, knowing that I am going to a top-notch salon and that I will probably never be back, is it wise to go for the short-short when it can't be maintained by its creator? And remember when I said I should write down all the reasons I don't want to cut my hair short again? I didn't do that. And now I don't remember any of them.

Diet!
Now that I know I shouldn't buy Horizon Organic milk, what are my alternatives? Kroger carries some Naturally Preferred organic, but I'm 99% sure that's code for Kroger Brand and I can't imagine they're doing much better. Any other ideas, or do I have to schlep across town to buy milk at the fancy store? I don't even like having milk in the house, to be honest. But the Bird, she has some myelin sheathing to nourish around her little nervies, and far be it from me to hold her back from that.

Making Stuff!
Yesterday I purchased the new issues of Bust and ReadyMade. And earlier this week found this site and its many links and projects. Can I tell you what happens when I sit down and page through these magazines during naptime at turbo-speed (especially the little ads for hipster-made hipster goods?* FHBH?) I nearly hyperventilate, that's what happens.

I so miss crafting. I even miss failing at crafting, though cigarettes were a fabulous remedy for crushing failure or hair-pulling-out frustration, and they are, sadly, no longer in the picture. I try to memorize and store all of these fantastic ideas and products in my already overflowing brain, I pine and wish and pray for a Gocco, I get nauseous and panicky trying to remember that one thing I saw that I swore I was going to do because it would just be so easy if I could find space for the sewing machine that used to live in what became the nursery. (and, to take it to the next level, the time and thought spent on the crafting is now spent on the parenting, just like the room-and-stuff conversion). I don't resent Bird for replacing my crafting, but when I am reaquainted with it in these hurried and sporadic moments it all reactivates and makes my head spin. Error. Error. Error.

I want to stay home all day and snuggle the Bird and make delicious organic food and listen to NPR and make arty things. But you knew that.

*This is two links, folks. I can't figure out how to separate 'em.

Havin' Babies!
That Bird, though. She is like a fine wine, I tell you. As soon as I think we are at the stage that is the hands-down BEST, and that she should definitely not get any bigger because she could not be any more enjoyable and sweet and hilarious, she ages a little, learns something new (hello, Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes!) and gets even better. She is a silly, silly creature and I still wonder how she found her way to us.