Current Name: Ben
Current Status: Available for Adoption from Rescue
Currently: Waiting for us to pick him up!

What do we name him? So far the list has been narrowed down to Cody, Jake, Chance and Rusty. I personally like Cody. Will update shortly.

Excited,
michelle

Shadows paint the sidewalk -
A living picture in a frame.
See the sea of people -
All their faces look the same.

So I sat down for awhile,
Forcing a smile.
In a state of self-denial -
Is it worthwhile?

Sell my pity for a dime -
     Yeah, Just one dime.
Sell my pity for a dime -
     Yeah, Just one dime.

Plain talk can be the easy way.
Signs of losing my faith -
     Losing my faith.

So I sat down for awhile,
Yeah, forcing a smile
In a state of self-denial.
Yeah, is it worthwhile?
Sell my pity for a dime -
     Yeah, just one dime.
Sell my pity for a dime -
     Yeah, just one dime.

Selling, selling my pity for a dime
     And another man take my soul.

So I sat down for awhile
forcing a smile
in a state of self-denial.
Is it worthwhile?

Sell my pity for a dime
     Yeah, just one dime.
Sell my pity for a dime
     Yeah, just one dime.

Scraping,
michelle

My sister-in-law Kelly has been pregnant for what seems like forever with my baby niece or nephew. Her official due date was July 29th. (I try not to stop and think that my baby brother’s going to be a daddy. I mean, he’s ten years younger than me! I changed his diapers!)

My birthday is August 4th. And now - oh yeah - Alyssa’s birthday is August 4th. One more August 4th birthday and I’m going to start celebrating my half-birthday and leave August for the babies. Early in Kelly’s pregnancy I asked her very nicely (I thought) if she’d do everything she could to avoid my birthday. She rolled her eyes and said she’d work on it.

Yesterday at 1:30pm I received a phone call from David, telling me that Kelly went in for her OB appointment and had high blood pressure. They sent her down to the maternity floor, one thing led to another, and now they were going to induce. Wow! Thus started BabyWatch 2008.

By 5pm we hadn’t had an update and I was about ready to hike it to the hospital to see what was going on. (Rush hour traffic and the fact that the hospital is about 40 minutes away from my house cooled those jets.) A little later we heard that David and Kel were in “waiting” mode, so the hounds were released. An hour after that call, myself, Stephen, Alyssa, Ryan, my brother-in-law Scott, my sister Kimberly, Scott’s son Chase, my mother and father, and Kelly’s grandma and aunt were all crammed into one room, ostensibly “visiting.” The nurses put up with that for about an hour before sending the whole lot of us home. The doctor had assured Kelly that she wouldn’t be delivering until mid-morning at the soonest, so we all grudgingly took our leave.

But not before making David swear that he’d call us at the first sign of any action - no matter what the time!

Typically, my phone rang at 4:30am. “The baby’s coming,” Dave told me. “They think it will be an hour or so.” I ran through the house, changing clothes as I went. Stephen was furious, because I take Ambien to sleep and he knew I was still hopped up on it. Luckily for me, Stephen is also a sound sleeper who doesn’t rouse easily, so it was simple to placate him as I ran out the door.

At 5:05am I was sitting in the waiting room. At 5:15am my baby brother walked in and announced it was a GIRL! And of course I shouted and threw my arms around him and jumped up like a dork. A niece! I have a niece! And of course, she’s the most beautiful niece anyone has ever had.

Maddy was born at 5:12am, and was 7lbs even, 19″ long. She looks exactly like her mother.

By 5:30am all the new grandparents, new aunts and new uncles were standing in the new mom’s labor room with the proud new papa. We were all a little bleary-eyed but nothing was going to stop us from passing that beautiful little football around and cooing at her every blink, sneeze, cry and (imagined) smile.

I drove home promising myself I’d hug my own babies a little tighter today and tell them what little miracles they are, too. Reminders like these are priceless.

Happy happy,
michelle

It started innocently - a date marked on the calendar for over two months that somehow snuck up on me in record time. There it was, marked in purple: Orthodontist, 9am.

Justin was better about this than I was. The conversation in the van went something like this:

Me:        Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine.
Justin:   I’m not worried, Mom.
Me:        You’ll have the greatest smile ever after this is over.
Justin:   I’ll be fine, Mom.
Me:        I don’t think it will take too long. If it starts bothering you, just let me know.
Justin:   Mom, you’re driving me crazy.

As I sat in the chair next to him at the orthodontist’s, I noticed how big his hands and feet are. Like a German Shepherd puppy whose paws are enormous. Then I noticed his cheeks don’t really have that cute baby fat on them anymore. And he’s getting long and lanky. And, holy shit, he’s almost 13.

I never authorized that.

Justin’s at an age where he can’t quite decide if he’s an all-grown-up teenager or if he’s still a kid. He has his moments where he wants to be tucked into bed, but he also has that classic teen-aged eye roll down pat. I try to remember what life was like when I was his age, and all I remember is being nuts over the Steamers indoor soccer team and desperately anticipating my 13th birthday. That frustrates me, too, because I always swore I’d remember what it was like to be [fill in the age] because my parents didn’t seem to have been kids at any point. [Imagine my surprise when I found their O'Fallon Tech High School yearbooks one day. Huh.]

This evening his teeth hurt like the devil and I tried to provide suggestions to help, but they pretty much fell on deaf (near-teenaged) ears. It was at that time that I saw that this person standing in front of me, who I labored with for 22 1/2 hours, who took his first steps with me and whose scrapes I’ve kissed, is taking steps towards independence that I didn’t realize I’m not ready for.

All this from braces. ‘Twas a big day indeed. I’m just not sure for whom.

Growing up again again again,
-michelle

Fingers crossed,
mich

Running with the elves,
michelle

9:30a - Groggily climb out of bed.

9:40a - Sit down on the sofa behind Ryan, who is “typing letters” on Daddy’s laptop with abandon. Look at screen, notice an upside down “V.” Get curious. Tell Ryan to stop hitting “delete” so Mommy can see.

9:41a - As Ryan yells, “No, Ry-yan type LETTERS!” I lean forward to grab his right hand to get him to stop. His left hand goes up towards the sky, as if to ward off the Mommy Monster.

9:42a - Ryan scrapes a chunk off my cornea.

9:42.01a - Mommy howls and rolls off the sofa onto the floor. Howling continues.

I called my mother, who said it would be fine and, despite the fact I couldn’t open my left eye without continued howling, I should take a nap. I’d feel all better after that, apparently.

At 1p, when I woke up howling because I tried to open my left eye again, I told Stephen it was time to go to the hospital. And I. hate. hospitals.

Blah blah, emergency room. Blah blah, wait wait wait. Blah blah, doctor puts all sorts of drops into my eye, one of which turned my injury green. (Dr to Stephen: “Come look at this.” Stephen: “Coooooool.” Michelle: “#@$$%@@#%!”)

Back home, blind as a bat. The “corneal abrasion” is a chunk off my cornea through my pupil and upward into my iris. The ER doc was blase and said it would be healed by Monday night. He gave me antibiotics and pain drops. I thought he was nuts. If I even moved my eyeball, it was like having gritty sand in my eye that I couldn’t rub out. If you’ve ever had an eyelash full of mascara hit your eye, and run to the nearest mirror, you’re getting close. Try having all of your mascara’ed eyelashes fall into it once.

Sunday and Monday pass with me praying for sleep, as there’re not a lot of things you can do in a dark room when you can not only not see, but it hurts like hell to open your good eye as well. I learned a lot of things about my eyes during this time. I learned that when you try to keep one eye closed and just use the other one, both eyes will track together. OW! I also learned that not having depth perception leads to walking into walls and nearly missing the bed when you sit down.

On Tuesday, I saw a fabulous eye doctor (yes, sarcasm) who seemed to be about 112 years old. He had worked me in, and had the greatest bedside manner ever. He’d push my head back, pull down my lower eyelid, fling a drop into it, and say, “Here, this will dilate your eye for a few days.” New container of drops, push my head back, fling a drop in my eye, “Here, this will show the scratch.” (Dr to my mom: “Come look at this.” Mom: “Ooooooooh.” Michelle: “#@$$%@@#%!”) Sits down abruptly, writes a script, hands it to me over his shoulder. “Here, this is for pain.” Another. “Here, this is an antibiotic.” Another. “Here, this is Tylenol 3. Now see me in two days.”

As if.

Another irritating thing about this whole situation is that my firm, widely regarded in the industry as having the worst benefit package on the planet, only allows 8 sick days during the year. Tick, tick, tick, I burned off 4 this week without even trying. Going forward, I have 2.5 days left with four months left in the year and three kids - one in school and two in daycare. Yeah, right.

Thursday’s doctor’s appointment - with an associate of Dr. Dumbass - went nearly as well as the first. This time I had to wait in the waiting room nearly two hours. (That is an absolute pet peeve of mine. Why should I have to cool my heels in the waiting room while a stupid doctor overbooks his time in order to make his tee-time in the afternoon while paying for his kids to go to Notre Dame?) I was irritated and crabby by the time I saw the new doctor. Interestingly, both the doctor and nurse were surprised to the point of shock that Dr. Dumbass had given me the “old school” dilation medicine. This doctor said those drops can dilate an eye up to two weeks. If I hadn’t seen Dr. Dumbass shuffle out of the office during my wait, I’d have choked him then and there.

But oh, the eye looks fine, and oh, I can go back to work Monday, and nice to see you.

Wait. Can I get a detail or two? Is there anything I’m supposed to do? Anything I’m not? See, I’m in pain here, and my vision sucks. Can you spend more than 30 seconds so I can make sure this thing heals fully?

Nope, you’re great, he says. I shouldn’t need to see you back. Good luck and godspeed.

In case you’re wondering, I will not be back to see this bunch of idiots.

So today was my first day out of the house (besides to doctors) in five days or so. The big trip was to Target. Woo. By the time I got home, I was nauseated from trying to read everything and wishing I could just collapse. I can’t wait to see how the weekend goes.

Bleah,
mich

Although my vet disagrees, I know exactly what’s causing them. Bayliss can’t go 15 minutes without a fresh ear infection. I’ve spent over a thousand dollars on the dog in the past year for ear infections alone. It doesn’t matter how well-trimmed his cocker ears are, or how well we clean them. Miss a few days on the flush-clean-and-trim routine, and he’s walking around deaf again.

In June we experienced our first seizure. It was awful. Bayliss dove around the living room like he was scared to death, then flopped on his side, legs out, shaking and drooling. I thought it was the end - and what a terrible way to go. I scooped him up and held onto him and cried. I had no idea what was going on. After a few minutes of this, he relaxed and started coming to. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. The next night, at exactly the same time, he had another one - this one worse than the first.

We took him to the vet the next morning, and she cleaned out his ears and gave him an injection of antibiotics. She wasn’t convinced the two were related, but the only thing we could treat was the ear infection. She gave us phenobarbital for him, but the more I read about it, the less I liked it. Luckily, keeping his ears clean and getting him over the infection seemed to clear up the seizures.

Then yesterday we came home to a mess. Dogs lose control of all their bodily functions during a seizure, and we just knew that’s what had happened. He had another last evening, and then another this morning, Our vet appointment wasn’t til the afternoon, and I was on vacation, so I left him alone for a little while and went out. When I came home, the floor lamp in our den was on its side, broken into pieces. Bay was hiding out under our bed, and I knew we’d had the fourth one in 24 hours.

The vet confirmed that he did, in fact, have another ear infection. He’s on strong antibiotics now, and I’m hopeful that clearing up this infection will stop the seizures. Just in case, though, I started him on the phenobarbital. It’s no fun, but at least he’ll be seizure-free until we can get the ear infection cleared up. I know my puppy is in his golden years (10) but I hope we have several more years with him that don’t include nasty ear infections and grand mal seizures.

Happy birthday to Justin, by the way. There’s nothing a night at Chuck E. Cheese can’t mend.

Distracted,
michelle

I read a book called 45 Things that Drive Your Boss Crazy. One of them included blogging about your job. Ironically, I read that book because my job is driving me crazy. Not necessarily the work, but all the corporate bullshit that I never realized really existed. Yet if I discuss it here, I risk my career. So I sit, stewing, enjoying the firm I work for, despising my work life, and being unable to talk about it without looking over my shoulder every minute out of fear. I have enough to fear at work without adding to it. Mostly myself.

I will say, though, that the corporate world is not a place where personality-”blessed,” opinionated people thrive. I’ve had work experience, don’t get me wrong. During high school I worked for a summer at Dun and Bradstreet - that’s corporate. But my first professional position out of college was with a small computer rental company. The company and I “grew up” together - 17 office people and 10 technical people turned into a company of over 100 employees in seven years. My boss was fabulous, and was a cross between a father and a mentor.

Oh, my boss at that job. He was amazing. If he yelled (and was wrong), he apologized. (He didn’t yell often.) If I screwed up, he forgave me with a stern look and always had bit of praise the next time I did things the right way. He cared and wasn’t afraid to show it. And his employees would have followed him into battle - unprotected.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with my boss. I’m just saying that my boss at the computer company was fabulous - more like a father than a boss - and I got used to him taking me under his wing and mentoring me. It was also nice that I got in a the “ground floor” of the company when it was poised for massive growth. I took my sales area from zero in sales to $2 million in two years with his wisdom and unfailing assistance. My boss now is exactly what the corporate culture demands, which I don’t mean in a derogatory way. I mean, she knows how to do what the corporate culture wants and needs, and she does it well. I don’t work for a small, growing company anymore. My old company was an ice chip compared to the glacier of a firm I work for now. My boss is gifted with the ability to fit into that culture and grow. I just don’t think that I really can do that.

To that end, I made a huge sacrifice when I gave up my office and moved into our headquarters. I knew at the time I was giving up a lot: the ability to set my own hours, get paid for how hard I worked, and be my own boss. I didn’t realize, though, how much I was used to being in charge - being the final word. I’ve never experienced an environment where an idea for change had to be introduced up a departmental ladder. I’ve just decided on a change, discussed it with whomever was closest at hand, and then implemented it. That is definitely not the way things work in the corporate culture.

I’ve had such a difficult time fitting in, as a matter of fact, that I regularly consider leaving and moving to a smaller company where I don’t waste my energy trying to push glaciers. The question is whether I start my own, or just look for a better fit with my personality. I’m straight-forward and opinionated. This is a terrible personality for the corporate life.

I just want to make a difference. I dream about expanding my responsibilities, moving up and being able to effect positive changes and growth. It’s difficult to continue to dream like that when very few people in important places see my contribution to the firm as a positive one. I suppose it’s naivete that keeps me surprised - shocked - when I’m told in round-about ways that my contributions are perceived as not all I thought they might be. Or even less.

So, I sit and struggle silently and smile at everyone around me and try to water myself down and quiet my opinions and just do what I’m told and shut up about it. This powderkeg has led to my gaining weight, an increase in my depression, and an all-around frustration that can only come pouring out at home - all over my family. Ironically, the fatter and more depressed I get, the more frustrated I get, and it’s not fair to my family that any of this is happening.

Should I just find another job? That would seem like the obvious choice. The problem is that I love the firm I work for. I probably shouldn’t have left my office. I should probably have not moved to the department I chose. I should have moved to a department that appreciated the six years I put into the firm out in the field, instead of one where it’s a constant struggle to pretend I have no history with the firm and was never a broker prior to my work at the home office. I don’t know why it is that way, but it is. I have a feeling, actually, that it may be that way through the entire home office. Ironically enough, I lost all respect from my fellow brokers when I left the field and moved into the home office. Either way, though, I can’t do anything about it until I’ve been in my current position for a year. Then maybe I’ll make some definite decisions.

I have also become increasingly frustrated at home, but I can’t really expand on that here either. When family checks in, the last thing they need to see is a diatribe on my familial and marital frustrations. Just how much do you want your extended family and in-laws to know you want to cry because your husband pays no attention anymore? I mean, it’s rather limiting. So I sit in silence. Again.

They fact that the negative things in my life can’t be spread all over these pages as they were in the past may not be that bad of a thing, though. The more I think about it, the more I think I need an outlet for all the positive things as well. My children are my heart, and are the sunshine in my day. There are enjoyable, interesting aspects to my life that I’ve just about forgotten in the muck and mire of my work life and married life. I need to remember the good things, and keep them in the forefront so I don’t get lost in that muck. I miss keeping a record of the beauty of life. Perhaps I’ll try to focus on that again.

Quiet but hopeful,
michelle

I don’t want to be the filler if the void is solely yours
I don’t want to be your glass of single malt whiskey hidden in the bottom drawer
I don’t want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine
Lend me some fresh air

I don’t want to be adored for what I merely represent to you
And I don’t want to be your babysitter
You’re a very big boy now
I don’t want to be your mother
I didn’t carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door

Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6
Well I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in and
oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
You see it’s too much to ask for
And I am not the doctor

I don’t want to be the sweeper of the egg shells that you walk
upon
And I don’t want to be your other half -
I believe that 1 and 1 make 2
I don’t want to be your food or the light from the fridge on
your face at midnight, hey
What are you hungry for?

I don’t want to be the glue that holds your pieces together
I don’t want to be your idol -
See this pedestal is high and I’m afraid of heights
I don’t want to be lived through -
A vicarious occasion
Please - open the window

Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6
Well I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in and
oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
You see it’s too much to ask for
And I am not the doctor

I don’t want to live on someday when my motto is ‘last week’
And I don’t want to be responsible for your fractured heart
And it’s wounded beat
I don’t want to be a substitute for the smoke you’ve been inhaling
What do you thank me…
What do you thank me for?

Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6
Well I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in and
oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
You see it’s too much to ask for
And I am not the doctor

Seeking some fresh air,
michelle