Weighty issues

A snow day from school on a day where it doesn't actually snow until almost 3 o'clock is the best day ever.

In case you were wondering, I am still not dialated or effaced or any of those things they use use to measure if you are "progressing". However, Dr. Just Graduated From My Residency also assured me that this is not any indication of when I will have my Beaner. Then on the phone I told my husband that I feel a little bit like he wants to stay in there forever. But then I regained reality and assured my husband, The Father To Be, that this is just not possible. He will come out eventually. To which he said, "Get outta my belly!" And we both laughed. I love my husband.

We were talking recently about how I never really had any cravings during my pregnancy. No "I need pizza now or I'm going to kill you" or anything like that. I was into ice tea for a while, and hot chocolate, but those where just passing fads, really. My only aversion has been to my former BFF coffee. Amazing really, I never would have thought I could get through the day without it. I have, however started eating apples and drinking orange juice, two things I never used to eat. I think I've had a Granny Smith apple just about every day for the last 8 months. I love them and it makes the Beaner do a kick boxing routine, and that makes me happy. The orange juice I started to drink because Dee told me it would make The Bean move. At first it worked, but then I think he got tired and said enough already. But I like the taste and oddly it doesn't give me crazy heartburn like it did pre-pregnancy.

Lately though I have been so into sugar. Wednesday night I said to L, I would love some ice cream. To which he replied, no I don't really want any. To which I replied, I didn't ask if you wanted any. And a half hour later he was on his way to the store to buy ice cream (and whip cream and chocolate syrup). Thursday for breakfast I had a hot chocolate and a Boston cream donut. And ice cream after dinner. This morning I made cinnabons, and ate, I think, 4 of them (but not all in one sitting). I also felt compelled to buy a 2 liter bottle of Sprite (we don't ever buy soda for the house, but I've been buying a lot of it lately), I think as of now I have drank half of it. And the night's still young.

But miraculacly I haven't gained any weight in the last three weeks!!

Waiting

Clearly, I would never make it as a *real* blogger.

I try really hard to stay on task. I try really hard to update regularly. I do. Really I do. But sometimes, and I know this will be shocking, I just don't have interesting things to say. At least they aren't interesting to me. And if it isn't interesting to me, how could it possibly be interesting to you?

I am 17 days away from my due date, and as of my last doctor's appointment one week ago, I was not dialated or effaced or any of those things they use to measure if you are "progressing". However Dr. Talks Way Too Softly assured me that this is not any indication of when labor might come on. Which makes no sense to me whatsoever, but she talked way too softly and I couldn't bear to say "What was that?" or "Huh?" one more time.

Our house is full of baby things. A beautiful crib, with beautiful ABC bedding that has been all washed and ready to be slept in. A beautiful dresser full of the cutest little outfits and socks and hats and blankets, all ready to be worn. A beautiful bassinett, with a fitted sheet with little cars on it, all ready to be rolled right next to our bed. A wonderful Pack n' Play, all set up with its changing station and bassinett, all ready for snoozing. A cutie green swing that looks like a little space ship, all ready for swinging. A hospital bag, packed with my pj's, undies and socks, baby clothes and a blanket. And diapers and diapers and diapers, all ready to be pooped in.

And now we have nothing left to do but wait.

This impatient, anxious part of me is very jealous of my dear Dee. She and her husband knew for months, "This is the day we are having our baby." L and I can countdown to my due until the cows come home, but the bottom line really is that the chances of The Beaner actually arriving on that day are slim.

To be honest, I'm really not that worried about actual labor and pain and all of that. I'm not worried about not getting the epidural in time. Really, I'm not. I'm worried about then *when*. When will it happen? What if I don't know that its happening? What if we wait too long and I don't get to the hospital in time? What if it happens next week and I'm at school? I go to bed at night thinking "Will it be tonight?" and then I wake up thinking "Will it be today?" All that not knowing and waiting is maddening.

I go back to the doctor tomorrow. And a doctor I've never met before will check on my *progress*.

And in the meantime, we wait.

Green with...

Things I am jealous of today~

*Anyone who has snow on the ground or falling from the sky. Three days til Christmas and we haven't even had the ground covered with snow? My heart aches for snow.

*Anyone who is already on vacation. Being a school teacher, I know that I am blessed with what everyone sees as a plethora of vacation time, but good grief this month is dragging...

*Anyone who was able to sleep past 6am this morning. Getting out of bed is tough! I can't wait to sleep and sleep and sleep on Friday.

*Deb. Because she has her baby in her arms.

Weird

I really wanted to write a post about how John Lennon died 30 years ago today. This morning I even started to map out in my mind what I thought music would be like if he were still alive. Not to mention any number of music greats that died too young; Mozart, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison. But now its just about 8pm, and I just can't put a lot of thought into anything.

I've had a weird day. Sleeping has been hard. Peeing is constant and because the internet has made me afraid to sleep on my back, comfort is little. Let's also not forget the 30 pound dog who takes up so much space on our bed that you'd think she was a Great Dane.

I forgot to set my alarm clock and Gordo waking me up at 6:10 just didn't do it for me. I was exhausted from band last night, concert this past Sunday and the prospect of another concert tomorrow. I put the Christmas playlist on my iPod for the ride to work and when Glee's "Oh Holy Night" came on I started to cry. And I couldn't stop. And I have no idea why. And it was only 7:30am.

School is weird these days. I'm in this weird limbo of being excited that in just a few weeks that awful place will be behind me, and feeling a little bit sad (or is it scared?) at the thought of not being there anymore. People tell me throughout the day that I look cute, or rounder, or starting to waddle, and some people don't say anything at all, and I don't know how to take any of it. Sometimes I'm so busy planning a concert and a talent show that I momentarily forget that I've got another human being inside me. But then I try to bend over or I feel that butt in my ribs, and I quickly remember.

Tomorrow I go back to the doctor for another ultrasound. Both my mother and Gordo will be there. I'm nervous about my mom being there. I can't fault my mother on this one though, everything seems to make me a wreck these days. All that time waiting and wanting and trying. And now, in just about 6 weeks we will have a baby. It is still really hard for me to believe.

Oh yeah, I also cried at the end of Glee tonight. Like really cried, not just teared up.

And that's where I'm at.

Tuesdays I'm a dork (yes, just Tuesdays)

Did I ever tell you about how I play the clarinet?

We moved to Waterford when I was in the third grade. I had like one friend, wasn't good at academics and subsequently hated going to school. But then I started playing the clarinet.

I started playing the clarinet in the fourth grade. Mrs. McIvor came into our classroom and asked if anyone wanted to play an instrument. I raised my hand and when she asked me what I wanted to play I said clarinet. To this day, I have no idea why.

The girl who took lessons with me was in my class and we clicked right away. My clarinet was called "Claire" and hers was called "Annette". (We were really witty in the fourth grade) She introduced me to her friends and she protected me from the kids who said I looked like a boy or made fun of me for any other slew of reasons. She was awesome and I wanted to be just like her.

All because of that clarinet!! I had friends! I was happy! I was good at something!!!

Middle school and high school that clarinet was my life. It was my reason for being. My reason for getting up in the morning. I sat in that middle school band with over a hundred other kids and stared at the conductor and just wanted to be him. (Minus the bad haircut and really long, hard to spell, very Italian last name) And just when I thought I couldn't love band anymore than I already did, I went to high school and *OMG* marching band. If you've never been in a marching band, I don't even know how to explain it. It made me feel whole. My friends were there. My music was there. My clarinet was there. And I was good at it. And people looked up to me. And that band director? I wanted to be him too. We all did. He was *that* teacher. He had a better haircut, but an equally ridiculous Italian last name, but he was young and energetic and inspiring. We loved him and we wanted to be just like him.

I got to college and I played and played and played. Played in the band, played in the orchestra, played for the musicials, played for the operas, I even played in the jazz band. Played recitals by myself that my friends and family all come for and took pictures and brought flowers. I was in love.

When junior year came and we started taking music education classes I was so excited. But then we did this thing where we went into a school once a week that didn't have a music program and taught some classes. And something didn't feel right. I was worried, so I went to talk to my advisor. Its different for everyone, she said. Everyone adjusts differently, everyone teaches differently, she said. Give it time, she said. I remember walking out of her office with a pit in my stomach. But she was the advisor. She must know best.

Long story short, I should have listened to my gut. My student teaching started off strong. I loved my elementary placement. Loved the teacher I was with and loved those little darlings. The high school placement on the other hand was a disaster. The teacher hated me and thought that I was incompetent. She wouldn't let me do anything and when she did she embarrassed me in front of the students. I hated her. I hated those kids. I hated being there.

But it was what I went to school for. It was all I knew. So I trucked on and few years later I got a job.

At first I loved it. I got there early. I left late. I loved the little darlings and I loved my job.

But now? I get there on time. I leave on time. I do like most of the darlings, but I don't love my job.

Tuesday nights I have band and I get to play my clarinet. I now have two clarinets, one that I call Claire and one that's Annette. I love band. I love the cheesey music and I love having that feeling that I am good at something. I love knowing that I am important to the group and that people take me seriously. I love the comrodery and the friends and the familiarness of it all.

I was born to play the clarinet, but I'm not sure that I was born to be a teacher.

I love Tuesdays and I love to play the clarinet. I just wanted you to know.

Things you didn't want to know but I'm going to tell you anyway

A few days ago my friend and fellow blogger, VAM, gave me an award called:

Now I'm suppose to link back to her, but I don't know how, I'm suppose to ask other people to do the same, but I don't really have any other blogger friends, and I'm suppose to write seven things about myself. So I'll tell you to visit VAM at www.seethepositive.blogspot.com ,and here are seven things about me that you probably didn't want to know, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

1. I am a music teacher, but I'm not really feeling it lately. I spent six and a half years of higher learning playing clarinet and learning to be one of the teachers I had in school. I wanted to be a high school band director and after student teaching decided that wasn't for me. I loved my elementary student teaching placement and felt that was my calling. And now, eight years later I don't know what happened. Is it the lousy teaching conditions and lack of support? Is it the poorly behaved students that give me heart palpations? Is it that everyone told me in high school that I would be a music teacher so I just ran with it because I didn't know what else to do anyway? I just don't know. I'll get back to you.

2. I love that I finally have friends I can count on. There's friends that are just there and there are friends you can count on. I love that I have friends I can count on.

3. I love, love, love our dogs. I want people to stop telling me that they will get shafted when the baby comes. I'm not a moron, I certainly know things will change. However that doesn't mean we will forget about them, or not love them. The more people tell me that they will be kicked to the curb, the angerier I get and the more anxiety I get. I have better things to lose sleep over.

4. I love Christmas music. Every year around this time I wonder to myself if its too early to start listening. I always try for Thanksgiving as the cut off, but it doesn't always happen. I won't lie, I've listened to a few already.

5. I am loving being pregnant. As of this weekend, I have nine weeks until my due date and everything has been great. A few vomits early on, little bit of heartburn, but seriously nothing awful. I feel bad for people like my sister in law who was sick as a dog everyday for forty weeks. I love the kicks, I love the hiccups, I love the belly, I love hearing his heartbeat and I love seeing his blurry picture on the ultrasound.

6. I don't understand why dental hygentists insist on talking to you and asking you questions while they are cleaning your teeth. Your hands are in my mouth, lady!

7. I love this blog. I know it goes unattended sometimes, but I love having it as a place to go and write about stuff and show pictures of things that I love. I love that people really do read it.

Beware: I have a mind of my own.

A few days ago, one of my Facebook friends had a status that went something like "The hardest thing in life is being the parent of adult children."
I have no idea what she was referencing, but when I first read it, I thought about her grown youngest son who had moved to California and who she missed dearly. I feel sad for her because I know how much she misses him, but I know and understand his need to get away and be his own person.
Then it got me to thinking about my own life as an "adult child" and the things that are transpiring within it now.
In two weeks, Gordo and I will have been married for three years. I think back to when we were planning our wedding and debating with my parents about what *we* wanted apposed to what *they* wanted. Such anxiety.
See, Gordo's been his own person, independent from his parents for many years now. Part of me was very envious of that. I, on the other hand, wanted to please my parents. Make them happy; keep them happy. I understood that my parents were right, and I needed to do what I was told, regardless of whether of not I agreed.
So three years ago when we were planning our wedding and Gordo and I wanted one thing and they wanted another, I didn't know what to do. Go against my parents? Tell them that I didn't agree? Tell them its my life and even though you're paying for the wedding that doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do with one of the most important days of our life?
I was 29 years old and Gordo taught me to stand up for myself. Your an adult and you have a mind of your own. Just because they are putting out money doesn't mean that they own you. You tell me when you don't agree with me, he said, why can't you tell them?
It was like a light went off in my head. I am an adult! I do have a mind of my own! I am allowed to disagree with them and we will still love each other tomorrow!
And you know what, we did get our way for the wedding. Because it was our wedding, they already had theirs.
Now we are three months away from having a baby and it starts all over again. You would think that the fact that a 34 year old and a 32 year old are having a baby after three years of marriage would be a red flag that we are adults. Guess not.
The first major milestone in a Jewish baby boy's life is his Bris. His circumcision. At eight days old, just home from the hospital, we will have our family and close friends at our house for bagels and lox, brownies, coffee and to watch my boy's foreskin get taken off without so much as a shot of novocaine. What will he wear for such an event? The yamaka his Grammie Gordon bought for him in Israel, or the one his Uncle Jason wore for his Bris? For days I mulled it over in my seven months pregnant, anxiety-ridden brain. I had to have out with it. I had to confront or the anxiety would eat me alive. Baby boy is already going to sleep in the bassinet that I did and wear home from the hospital the beautiful sweater his Great Grandmother made for him and the outfit she bought for him. Wouldn't it be nice for him to have something from Gordo's family, I said to my mother. But wouldn't it be nice for it to stay in the family and carry on a tradition, she said. That is nice, why don't you save it for when Jason has children? Maybe the tradition of this yamaka will start with our baby, I said. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings on this, I said, but we would like him to have things that are from Gordo's family too. Is that okay, I said? If that is what you want, then it is okay, she said. She wasn't happy, but she said it.

And everyone lived and everyone is still a family and everyone still loves each other.


My name is Stacey. I am 32 years old and I have a mind of my own. Thank you Gordo (and a few years of therapy) for teaching me how to stand up for myself.

There's no food in this post!!

Last night I had a dream that I was "with" Bret Michaels. You know, with him. I have no idea what brought it on, except maybe for those crazy pregnancy dreams I've heard so much about. It was... different and not something I'd want to re-live again. Bret Michaels? Really?

I also had a dream that when my mom came to visit and go shopping yesterday she was so nice and understanding about the house Gordo and I live in, the size of said house and the size of the nursery. In this dream, she was very understanding of that fact that we are not rolling in dough and cannot afford a new house right now. In this dream, she was very excited about the new carpet we just had installed and about the prospect of helping me pick out furniture for the baby's room. In this dream she did not harp on how small the baby's room is and how she isn't sure how we are going to fit all the necessary furniture in there. In this dream, she didn't make me feel like we live in filth and that we are some sort of family embarrassment. In this dream, she also didn't make a face and laugh when I said that I thought I felt the baby move the other day. In this dream she smiled and said "that's wonderful". In this dream I didn't actually have to say to her "Are you even excited about this?"

*****

Did I tell you that I haven't had coffee in over 4 months? Coffee, my bestest friend in the world who's been there for me through thick and thin?? I just can't do it. Just the thought of it and I make a face that says "Eh". I just don't like the taste anymore. I feel as though I have turned on a dear old friend. I'm sorry coffee, someday we will be reunited and we will be BFFs again, I'm sure.

By the way, if my dear Penny Lane doesn't stop chewing everything in our house that isn't bolted down (and some things that are) we aren't going to last too much longer. I woke up this morning to Gordo's slipper in a million pieces in the living room. Really, Penny? Really? What about all those toys we've bought you? She's so damn lucky she's so damn cute.

Lots of love

I love hibiscus. Why is it the most beautiful flowers only last a day or two?

We had Gordo's whole family over for a cookout yesterday. I don't think we could have fit any more people in our house. As I sat there with them all, and after spending the day with my family on Friday, I realized a few things.

I'm never going to have the cleanest house. There will always be dog hair, there will always be a crumb or two, there will always be a little bit of dust. I will never be the skinniest. Food will always be a part of my life. I will never have the best behaved dogs. Rex is an excited barker, Penny is afraid, and that's just how it is.

But I love my family. And when I say 'my' family, I mean Gordo's and mine. They aren't perfect and neither are we, but we love each other. We are there for each other. We embrace the good times and bad. I love my husband. I just love my husband. And I love my friends. Never in my 32 years have I been blessed with such wonderful friends. My house may not be the cleanest, the newest or the nicest, but there is so much love within it. We surround ourselves with things we love. And I love my doggies. Rex howls and I know he loves me. I walk into a dark room and hear his tail smack the floor and it is one of the best sounds in the world. Penny is afraid, but runs to me to comfort her and I know she loves me, trusts me. I sleep at night and she rests her head on my leg, and I love to look at her beautiful face. And while I may not be the skinniest, I will always make the best desserts.

I am loving life.

I should try to spend my time thinking about more important things

Does anyone else find it odd when you go into a woman's bathroom stall, after someone has just walked out, and the seat is up? What is that about? There's an aide here at school who is notorious for this and if it weren't for her two sons that attend our school, I'd seriously think she's a man in sheep's clothing. Humm.. Something to think about.

Does it bother anyone else when strands of their long hair fall out and get stuck to their shirt, tickling their arms in this now short sleeve weather. Many minutes of my day lately are spent looking for the rogue piece of hair that it taunting me, probably stuck to my back so I can't see it. I don't even want to think about how ridiculous I must look trying to locate said piece of hair. I picture it in my mind now and it reminds me of when Penny chases her tail, never quite able to catch it. I may need to evaluate why my hair is falling out in the first place.

Sorry for the lack of picture in this post. I am writing~ GASP~ from school!

I never thought I'd relate my life to the theme song from "Friends"

"And it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year..."

On March 17th I got my period.

On March 22nd I was told I was no long able to use my classroom and would need to begin "music on a cart" asap.

On March 24th we started shock collars with our dogs for training.

On March 25th we learned that my health insurance covers zero dollars of IVF and even though Gordo's insurance covers 100%, I can't get on his plan until November.

And this, my friends, is why I haven't been blogging. And this is why if you've seen me, talked to me, spent time with me, I might seem a bit out of sorts. Its not about you, its entirely about me. Nineteen months is a really long time to be trying to do the thing that should be the most natural and easy thing in the world to do. And it sucks.

But its not just about that anymore.

Its about loathing getting out of bed because I dread my job that much. Its about a thirty minute drive feeling like hours and hours because that destination is just the last place I want to be.

Its about this beautiful little rescue dog that we brought into our home, who is just the cuddliest, cutest thing with us and Rex, but is so scared and frightened of everything in the world. It is about the fear in the pit of my stomach that even though Penny has improved so, so much that when we do bring a baby into this house she will revert and freak and we will need to get rid of our dog.

It is about how much all of this is weighing on my marriage. Really weighing on my marriage.

And its about so many other things as well.

I am going to try to post more regularly again. It feels good to get what is going on in my mind "out there". It is actually sitting down to do it that is hard. But I am going to try. Because I think it will help me be better.

Tuesday

I will be eternally jealous of people who are not affected by what others think of them. Are there even such a people? People who aren't bothered by what their mother, friends, co-workers think of them. Does such a person exist? If they do exist, I know that I will never be one of those people. You can say whatever you'd like to try to convince me otherwise, but I know that it will just never be.

***

The days are long and exhausting when you are constantly wondering if that thing you said was said to the wrong person, and will then be repeated to another wrong person, resulting in everyone thinking you are a not a good person.

The days are long and exhausting when you are upset about thing A, which then makes you upset about thing B. And then thing C becomes you getting frustrated and yelling at kids for which it is certainly not their fault. Then that of course turns into thing D, E and F.

But then I get in my car for the 30 minute trek home and Dave Mathews tells me "Sometimes its easy to be myself. Sometimes, I find it better to be somebody else." And I think he's the smartest man alive, and I start to feel better. Then Sheryl Crow say "I wanna soak up the sun. I wanna tell everyone to lighten up." Yea, Sheryl, yea.

And then I get home. And at the top of the steps, my big, black, furry baby smiles and wags his tail at me. And my curly tailed little girl wimpers and jumps at my knees. And I feel a little bit better.

Oh, and my crocuses are blooming.

The Lion King, A Review (Also titled, I believe my mother thinks I'm blind)

For Hannukah, my mother bought tickets for she and I to see The Lion King at the Bushnell in Hartford. Here is the play by play.

My mother came to our house at about 5pm. She came barring biscuits and rawhides in an attempt to win over Penny (Rex has been long since won over, but she brought him stuff too.) Penny gets a bit scared in new situations, so when my mom walked in, her tail went between her legs and she went into full defense mode. She came to my mom for treats (thumbs up) and then my mom gave her the rawhide and she chewed away, but whenever my mom looked at her she growled. Yes, just looked at her. So I said to my mom, who was walked over to Penny, "I wouldn't do that". "Seriously mom, leave her alone". "We don't have time for an ER visit". Finally we had to leave and she left Penny to chew in peace.

We decided on Max Burger in West Hartford for dinner. I'd been there before, I knew it was good, I knew it was a safe choice. And then in mom fashion she read the menu to me. "They have sweet potato fries, Stace, you like those." "They have a burger with brie." "They have a beer called Arrogant Bastard". I know mom, I read it too. We ate and she deemed it better than Plan B, previously her favorite burger place in all the land. And then in mom fashion she tried to talk me into a dessert that neither of us needed. "The have whoopie pies". "The have an ice cream with bacon in it." All through dinner never failing to remind me that she hopes our seats are good for the show. She hopes the seats aren't too far to the side. The beginning is really the best part of the show, Stace. Its worth it to see the show just for the beginning.

We left Max Burger and headed to the Bushnell. We got there way too early and stood around for a while because they wouldn't even let us into our seats yet. "I really hope the seats are good." "If they are too far over I'm going to be so pissed".

We finally get to our seats and THANK ALL THAT IS GOOD they weren't too far over. The beginning of the show really was amazing. Very intricate and imaginative and wonderfully done. "Stace, did you see that?" "Look over there" "Isn't it amazing?" The actors were really wonderful. Usually there's a least one that I could do without, but this entire cast was really great. The only thing I didn't like (and Dee, this is the part where you can stop reading cause I know you are seeing it next weekend) aside from the beautiful costumes and scenery, the story was, almost word for word, from the Disney movie. I knew every joke before they said it, and that made them way less funny. (Even less when my mother would elbow me in the side, telling me to get a sense of humor). I guess I was expecting more of an adaptation of the movie and not retelling of the movie by actors.

Be it known also that I am not someone who laughs out loud at theatre or movies or TV. I never have been. I blame something obscure from my childhood. So, when the show was over and my mother turned to me and said "Did you like it?" My response was, "Yes, it was really good." "But you didn't look like you liked it" "I did." "Are you sure". "If you ask me again, the answer is going to change." Keep in mind too that it was now 11pm, about 2 degrees outside, I was tired and a bit annoyed that my husband was leaving for Miami in 5 hours and I wasn't going with him.

To recap, Penny has a bit of food aggression, as well as being greatly scared. Max Burger is excellent and does have both a beer called Arrogant Bastard and some sort of ice cream that had bacon in the title. The Lion King was very good and our seats were not too far over. And I only teared up a little seeing the adorable kids all dressed up, all excited watching the show with their parents.

Infuriating

Yesterday my day started by filling a DCF report, my first ever in seven years. By the end of the day I had gotten my period. Want to take a stab at the wonderfulness that happened in between?

I am so infuriated with people who are parents, but do not *parent*. On the news the other night, we saw a report about a woman who went to the tanning salon and left her two kids, 3 years old and eleven months old, in the car while she tanned. It is seriously about 15 degrees outside. I wouldn't even leave my dogs in the car for that long. People who leave their kids at home to fend for themselves while they go out and do who knows what. We had a family of kids here at school years ago who were living in their apartment, on their own, for who knows how long, living off of ketchup packets.

I don't get it. So many people in this world who want to be parents so badly. To love that child, and raise that child, and care for that child, and be there for that child. But can't. And then there are these people, who have children and don't give a rat's ass about them. People who are so self-absorbed that they could never dream of loving someone else and put someone else's priorities in front of their own. It just doesn't make sense to me. None of it makes sense to me.

Resolutions

For 2010, I resolve the following~~

1. To actually do something about the things in our house that I hate, instead of just hating them. (To start, repaint the front and back door, as to hid the fingerprints from Gordo's childhood.)

2. To go back to the gym, instead of just paying the bill. (I'm going back to yoga today!)

3. Try to be a bit less concerned with everyone else, and enjoy myself and my life as it is, and remember that we are healthy and happy. (And so lucky for it!)

4. Try to enjoy my job a bit more, enjoy my students a bit more and care a little bit less about my co-workers. (Starting tomorrow, ack!)

5. Live each day with less worry. (Starting now!)

The one where I air some dirty laundry

Did you ever have one of those days (or weeks, or months even) when you cry at the drop of a hat, for practically no reason at all? I've been having one of those days (weeks, really). I really thought that once the play was over at school and we got Penny (isn't she the cutest?) things would calm down for me. Instead, I feel more irritable than ever.

I'm back to feeling like no one likes me at work, feeling like everyone is talking about me. Feeling like I've done something wrong and I am going to get in trouble. And you know what the worst part is? I absolutely know that it isn't true! I can sit and rationalize that I've done nothing wrong, that its all in my head; and yet I still worry and get all worked up about it. For example, today is our Winter Concert. Long story short, today was the original date, then we had a snow day last week and the instrumental teacher who is only at our school once a week took it upon himself to make a new flier and change the date to tomorrow (Thursday), which is what we would have done in past years. However, Joe Cool instrumental teacher never consulted with the principal about this and therefore the principal was pissed that the date had been changed without his knowledge or consent. Now I emailed the principal the day we were out for snow and said "La la la, this is how we've done it in the past, is that okay, blah blah blah" Did the principal see that email? Of course not. So because Joe Cool instrumental teacher assumed (and we all know what that does) the principal was pissed. No where in there did I do anything wrong, and I know that. But I got all worked up that the principal would think that I had gone behind his back and that I am some good for nothing piece of crap. So I actually went up to the principal and explained this to him; that I would never do something like that without consulting with him, that I was sorry for the confusion, that it was my fault for not putting a snow date on the flier. He just nodded at me and I ended up feeling worse.

My husband loves me very much. I know this. We have a great relationship and hardly ever fight. I know this. He works hard all day and then goes to the gym because it makes him feel good about himself. I know this. And when he gets home from work, he's tired. I know this. But, I'm tired too. I worked all day too. I get home and run around doing errands and make dinner and try to get the puppy to poop outside. This I also know. I know he loves me and I know he appreciates everything that I do, but sometimes I don't *feel* it. Instead I feel worn out, worn down and just plain tired. And then I get cranky, and it gets worse. Maybe he looks at me the wrong way, or says something in a way that triggers something in my head, or maybe he leaves crumbs on the counter (again), or maybe, just maybe, the puppy keeps jumping up on his lap to cuddle with him or snuggles in between his legs in the bed when she was suppose to be *my* lap dog. And I lose it. And I go in the bathroom and I cry. (My eyes are welling up as I reread this, by the way.)

For the last seven years I've been on an anti-depressant call Celexa. How ironic that seven years is how long I've worked here in The Black Hole. Coincidence? I think not. In our feeble attempt to get pregnant, Gordo and I decided that I would slowly come off of the medicine. Its not something I would ever want to be on for the rest of my life anyway and really, what better time than the present. So I slowly weened off. Gordo was never thrilled with my being on it to begin with. Natural remedies, he says. And now here I am, almost two weeks chemical free. And so the other night when I was teary and Gordo couldn't imagine what he could have done wrong, I said, "Don't forget I'm not taking that medicine anymore. There's a good chance I'll be more [and I searched for the right word] irritable and sensitive."

I certainly hope that my body readjusts and figures out that I don't want to be crying all the freakin time. Cause I don't, for the record.