BEWARE...So Cute Your Eyes May Explode!

Oh fun! Bubbles!

Almost...got...one...

Gah! Not the face!

Bubbles, I am not amused.

And the winning shots are...

Black Day

*Cheating piece of shit.

My Time With Harry

"I think you'd really like this book, Ms. Sangster..."

It was 1998, and I was working at a private elementary school as a teaching assistant. One of my favorite students was a charming little third grader, Allie, whose family had recently relocated to the States from Britain for her father's job. I adored her--of course I did; I'm a raging anglophile--but it wasn't just her citizenship that drew us together; it was also our shared love for reading. One day, she gave a book report on a little novel she had been sent from relatives in England entitled Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. She spoke of it with such enthusiasm that most of the kids in the class were anxious to read it, but Allie informed us that no, we couldn't all borrow her copy; however, we were in luck, the book had just been released in the U.S.

As a grad student, I was always happy for reading that was, shall we say, less challenging than my school reading (or "brain candy," as we scholars say), so I took Allie's recommendation and went to the bookstore to pick it up. I had a heck of a time finding it, though, because there was no such book as Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. One salesperson suggested that perhaps I was referring to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone? They didn't have it in stock, but would I like to order one?

I didn't actually get around to reading the book for a while...but after a couple of months, I heard kids around the school talking about this boy wizard named Harry who had to live under the stairs. I heard teachers at lunch discuss how surprised they were at how much they enjoyed the book. Copies of the book were getting traded around, and the school librarian was working on getting several in. Hmmm...I thought. Maybe I better read this book.

And that is how it began...my time with Harry.

I must admit that the first book didn't rock my world or anything. I thought it was a sweet story but not terribly complex. It was certainly no Hobbit, a comparison I had heard a couple of times. I had no idea that it would just keep getting better and better and better until I was an addicted Potter junkie, hanging outside bookstores at God-awful hours to purchase each book the minute it was released, waiting until my dealers, Barnes and Noble, provided me with my next hit.

The next summer I was hired to teach a summer reading workshop for fifth- and sixth-graders. I was allowed to pick any book I wanted, and when I put Harry Potter down on the book order form, my supervisor eyed it suspiciously. "I've never heard of this book." Neither, it seemed had the educational world. There were no teacher's guides for Harry Potter, so I had to make up my own quizzes, pick out my own vocabulary words from each chapter, and write all of the discussion and essay questions. (Why did I not try to get all this published? Well--hindsight being 20/20 and all...)

The book was a big hit with the kids (duh.), and while we were reading it, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was released. The next day, all six of my students showed up with the sequel. Apparently, we were going to read the second one as well.

And this is why I loved Harry...he got kids reading. There were no whines of, "This book is too long!" or, "Why do we have to read this?!" Kids just read. And read and read. It also made me kind of sad, though...I mean, there are so many good books out there, but many kids acted as though they were making an exception for Harry Potter. Kind of like: reading still sucks, but we will read Harry Potter. Well, at least Harry was better than some of the other crap that kids-who-don't-like-to-read read. Captain Underpants was dead. Long live Harry Potter!

It wasn't until Prisoner of Azkaban that our relationship went to the next level. It wasn't just about the kids anymore. Me and Harry--we had a thang goin' on. By then, there was talk of a movie. I didn't know how to feel about this--on the one hand I was excited to see these beloved characters come to life on the screen, but on the other, I was afraid that the kids would stop reading. Would I start hearing, "But why do we have to read this book...there's a movie!" What I should have realized was that the books would always come out before the movies, and patience is not a virtue that I, nor most children, have. We all just kept on reading.

I remember the day that Goblet of Fire came out...I had the day off, and I was at the bookstore bright and early, where a tired looking salesperson handed me a copy off of a giant pallet behind the cash register. I couldn't even make it home. I went next door to the coffee shop and tore through the first several chapters over a latte and bagel. I saw someone I knew there, and they tried to strike up a friendly conversation. It was all I could do not to shout at them, "Can't you see I'm READING for the LOVE OF GOD!!" This was the first time I tried to make the book last...tried to stop myself from downing the whole book in one gulp. It was a useless effort. The book called to me from the closet where I had hidden it, and I finished it that night.

The Order of the Phoenix came out the day I was out of town for a bridal shower. I figured I would have to hold off until Monday to buy the book, but Saturday morning my best friend handed me the copy she had ordered to be delivered for me. "I knew you wouldn't be able to focus without it," she said. She is a very good friend. Foolish, perhaps, because they had to tear the book out of my hands to get me to start preparing for the shower. I should probably also mention that this shower was my own.

I attended my first bookstore release party for The Half-Blood Prince. It was pretty cool, what with all the costumes and stuff, but really, I was only there for the book. I had it read by the following morning and then had to keep my damn mouth shut for days until my friends caught up, even though I wanted to scream at them, "Dumbledore is DEAD! NOOOOOoooooooo!" But even more horrible than Dumbledore's death was the fact that Snape killed him. Because I love Snape. He is my favorite Harry Potter character. And I never believed he was truly evil. But how could this be when he had killed Dumbledore? I immediately started analyzing the situation (because, you know, that's why I have an advanced degree in literature...), trying to work out every scenario where Snape was redeemable. Because he had to be HAD TO BE good; otherwise, my love of the Harry Potter universe would crumble and fade.

And how the hell was I expected to wait two years to find out?


******************************************************

SPOILERS BEGIN HERE





I'll leave you some space.





Go ahead, stop now if you are still reading the book...I'll wait.


Here is a funny picture of my baby sleeping....




Dum, dee-dum.....




OKAY, here I go!

********************************************

Friday night we went to the Grand Hallows ball at Borders. I'd like to say I dressed in a cool costume, or that I took part in the Harry Potter spelling bee, but no, once again I was only there because I was desperate to get my hands on the next book, and I didn't trust the post office to deliver it to me at the crack of dawn on Saturday. Because if I had to wait for the postman...well, things might have gotten ugly. At the "ball" there was also a debate about whether Snape was loyal or not...I started to sit in on that, but then I realized that my powers of rhetoric were probably too magnificent for a group of children and tweens, and I didn't want to make anybody cry, so Matilda and I showed our support for Snape through the use of visuals...


I was really nervous about this because if Snape turned out to be evil, well...the book might have ended up in the fireplace just like when I was 13 and Little Women ended up ablaze when Jo turned down Laurie and Laurie ended up marrying that stupid bitch Amy and I just couldn't handle it, couldn't stand to look at the book anymore, and threw it into the fireplace in a fit of rage. Not that I advocate the burning of books--it's just that, well, I get angry sometimes, OKAY?!

And I love Severus Snape. I loved him before the first movie came out, and then they went and cast Alan Rickman in the part and I was officially smitten...I also love Alan Rickman. That deep voice, those intense eyes...(shudder). They can try and ug him up all they want...that man is still a sexy beast!

From book one I knew, deep in my heart, that Snape was just misunderstood. Sure he treated Harry like crap, but c'mon! does everyone have to adore Harry? And then when we find out that Snape was tormented by that mean bully James Potter, I wanted to bundle Snape up into my arms and tell him, "It's okay...you'll end up a powerful wizard and a teacher someday, and that ass-hat will end up DEAD!"

Ian asked me recently if I would do Snape, and my immediate response was "Hell, yes, I would!" I would sneak down to his dungeon and clear everything off his desk with a sweep of my arm and crawl up and ask him for the "special" potion. Rrowr! But sadly, he wouldn't have me because he was so in love with Lily Potter that he could never love another woman.

I cried like a damn baby when we found out why Snape really was loyal, why he protected Harry even though he hated him, why he was such a sad and angry man. Twoo wove! He loved Lily since he was nine years old! It just tears at my heart! And his final words..."Look..at..me..." So that he could see Lily in Harry's eyes before he died. Okay, shit, I'm crying again.

I just want to give J.K. Rowling a big fat smooch for ending the series the way she did. It was so intensely satisfying...not just because I was RIGHT about Snape but because things seemed to work out just as they should have. Not too happy, not too sad. In the end, she proved that despite being wizards and witches, all of the characters were very much human, with their human flaws and their human hearts.

I'm sad now that my time with Harry has ended. There are a lot of people saying the same thing--what will we do with no Harry? I console myself, though, with the thought that in a few years, Matilda will be old enough for Harry, and I will get to start all over again with The Sorcerer's Stone...I will lie next to my daughter and open to the first page--"Chapter One..."

Thinking Blue

Sweep, sweep, sweepity sweep! Thanks to my sister's incredibly thoughtful birthday present, I got to see the Dodgers play the Giants on Friday night. Hmmm...not sure if "play" is the verb I'm looking for here...maybe "OBLITERATE" is more appropriate?

I was a bit nervous about visiting AT&T Park for the first time; it is, after all, ENEMY TERRITORY, but we live closer to San Francisco than Los Angeles, so bravely we marched into the den of evil to cheer on our team. In the spirit of good sportswomanship, let me point out the positives...

The Park is really beautiful and very clean...


and has amazing views...


and really excellent food. I was particularly fond of the Gilroy Garlic Fries...



So it's really too bad that THE TEAM SUCKS! (Okay, good sportswomanship over.)

I had SUCH a good time and even managed to adopt a zen-like attitude towards the many nasty comments being flung our way throughout the park. Of course, it's easy to be zen-like when your team is winning. There were many other True Blue fans there that night, which made things a bit easier--power in numbers and all that--and, as the game went on and the Giants fans started skulking out, we got a little braver, a bit more bold--that is to say, a wee bit LOUDER. Which is probably why the nice Dodgers fans below us were getting peanuts thrown at them, and why what I initially thought to be the random patters of rain turned out to be spit.

Oh you nasty Giants fans...no amount of your bitter saliva can wash out the sweet smell of victory!

Here is what victory looks like from the nosebleed section:


I didn't bring Matilda with me. Although it is important to nurture her love for baseball, and I CANNOT WAIT to take her to her first game, I want that game to be in the hallowed hollows of Dodger Stadium, where she can yell "CHARGE!" and "Let's go Dodgers" and sing "We will rock you," none of which you get to do when your team is the visiting one. It made me sad to see all of those tiny little Giants fans, their innocent minds being warped, their tiny little bodies sporting number twenty-five because their parents aren't responsible enough to tell them that CHEATING IS WRONG. I will bring my daughter up in the light of goodness; I will teach her to Think Blue.

Because some things are, y'know, IMPORTANT.

POST 100

This is my one-hundreth post. Hmmm...

I feel like I should have some super-amazing post to mark the occasion, but it's too damned hot for me to be that creative. So. Hot. I've been lying on my couch under a ceiling fan, with another rotary fan blowing in whatever ounce of cool breeze happens to pass by the front door, and a portable swamp cooler chugging away, filling the room more with humidity instead of cold air. And the computer, it just emits too much heat. Okay, well, maybe not, but it's certainly not making me any cooler.

So how about some random bullets?

• We saw Harry Potter late last night. I loved it; Ian complained the whole way home about all the things that were changed from the book. He and I have this argument all the time. No matter how much I love a book, I realize that elements that work in one genre may not work in another, and therefore adaptations require changes in order for the story to work. He is a purist who doesn't want any detail of the book tampered with, even if that means that a movie would end up being sixteen hours long.
• M. is still not crawling. She is SO close! She'll sit in "go" position rocking back and forth as though she's trying to work up the momentum to propel forward, and then she just quits, sits back on her bottom, and hollers. I think she's trying to fly instead of crawl. What a disappointment life must be sometimes.
• I ran my first ever D&D campaign Sunday. (For you non-dorks out there, that means that I was the "Dun-geon Mas-ter".) Ian was really tired of DMing and wanted to play, so I gave it a shot using a very easy first-level module, and I think I did pretty well! Hey! I have managed to succeed at something this year...I'm not just a SAHM, I'm a BIG DORK DM SAHM! I'm adding initials to my title all the time.
  
• It's hot.
  
• I'm going to see the Dodgers play the Giants on Friday in San Francisco--a late birthday present from my sister. I hope I don't get my ass kicked by some rabid Giants fan, but anything's possible. Especially if that cheating asshole Barry Bonds manages to hit homerun Number 755 during that game in which case I might have to boo. Loudly. It's a dangerous time for a Dodger's fan in Giant's territory. I could go on about how that junkie doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as Hank Aaron, but I realize that this argument, like so many others these days, is pointless because everyone has already made up their mind and not much is going to change it. Let me just say that if you think Barry Bonds deserves this record, you're WRONG!

Okay, that's it. I'm going to go stick my head in the freezer, now. Hope things are cooler wherever you are!

Independence Day

Though we've lived in Reno for nearly six years now, we had never bothered to attend the fabulous Fourth of July fireworks at Lake Tahoe. So this year, I insisted that we make the trip, even though it meant that I would have to be seen in a bathing suit for the first time since I was pregnant. Horrors! But I did it, and I even managed to strike a pose when my mother called out for a snapshot. And here I am, for all the blogosphere to see...

That's me in the one-piece...I don't think I'll ever be comfortable enough to expose my stretch marks to the world.

Tah-dah! I was so happy to be relaxing on the beach for the whole day that I managed to strike my own blow for independence...independence from my body anxiety. (At least for the day.)

Micaela and I got up at 4:30--AM that is--to be at the beach by six so that we would be assured a good spot when the beach opened at eight. Even at 6:00 we were sixth in line to be let in. After about half an hour, there were twenty or so cars waiting, and people were getting out of the cars behind us and sneaking out to the beach before it opened to claim prime spots. Because, you know, they're special and shouldn't have to wait in line behind the people that got there earlier. Sometimes I just hate people. Like this time at the Cake concert when several people shoved in front of us because "We're really big fans." Or the guys during the fireworks display who refused to sit down--even though they were blocking the view of dozens of people and even though their own girlfriends were tugging on their arms trying to get them to sit. (I don't know about you, but wouldn't that be a deal-breaker?) When people started calling out for them to sit down, one of them shouted out, "I can stand taller if you want!" I mean, WHY? Why do people have to be like that? Why do people think that on a beach or concert full of thousands of people, they should receive special treatment?

After the assholes refused to sit down, I think I might have commented--possibly in a loud voice--that I hoped their dicks shriveled up and fell off, and hopefully soon, before they were allowed to breed.

That wasn't right, either, but I do have a temper.

But the fireworks were spectacular--well worth the wait and the crowds and the assholes. I didn't know they made fireworks quite that big...I suspect that Gandalf was on a barge on the lake, orchestrating the whole thing. I tried to take pictures, but they were all puny in comparison, and many of them were tainted with asshole head.

Oh, and here is a free parenting tip for the day. If going to the beach with a young'un, invest in a good raft. It can serve as a raft, a kiddie pool, and, later in the evening, a bed.

This...Is...So...AWESOME!

This could quite possibly be the greatest thing the internet has ever produced...

I...am a SIMPSON!



And because I wanna be gettin' some during my time in Springfield...


Himself.

Thank you, Whit, for pointing me to this fantastic website. My life is complete.

What the...?!

So I'm sitting here at my desk, typing away at today's blog entry, when suddenly it strikes me...a sudden silence. M., who was seated not 5 feet behind me at her toy baskets, is not banging something against something else, or squealing, or shaking something noisy. I whip my head around and find this:
Holy crap! She's like a tiny, backward-crawling ninja! Clearly, I'm going to have to become more diligent. Because that worthless dog in the foreground, who should have been barking at me, "Mom! The puppy's getting away! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" is lying there as if he didn't realize that there are cords and little pieces and open outlets all over the house where M. is backward crawling. Now I'm going to have to babyproof and shit. Dumb dog.

Yet Another Gender Post

In the spirit of getting myself writing again, I figured that whipping myself into a frenzy would be the best motivation, so here is yet another rant on gender issues:

First of all, it should be known that I am a scrapbooker. I loves me the scrapbooking. But one thing that I do not like about my hobby is its gender politics. For some reason, scrapbooking is considered "women's work"--that keeping the family history is the job of the woman-folk. That, however, does not keep me from doing it, nor is it the main theme of this post. It does mean, though, that I read a lot of scrapbooking magazines and that while reading such magazines I see a lot of layouts that glorify the "proper" gender identity of children. I am not going to post images of such pages here, though, because it is against the scrapbooking code to snark on other people's pages--let's just say that there are a lot of pages and products out there that announce "100% GIRL" or "All Boy" or "Girlie Girl." These titles are inevitably accompanied by photos of young boys and girls performing activities appropriate to their stereotypical gender roles: girls having tea parties in princess outfits or boys pushing toy trucks through mud...you get the idea.

This really pushes my buttons.

Especially the ones that read "100% girl" or "100% boy." What does this mean? Thank goodness my child is not a hermaphrodite? I'm so glad that Sally never grew a testicle--she's 100% GIRL! No breasts on little Billy--he's 100% BOY! And I know what these pages are supposed to mean, but really, the underlying implication is, I'm so glad my kid isn't queer.

Just once I'd like to see a page that says "Girlie Boy" or "Not-All Girl" or maybe even "75% Girl, 25% ?" I guess what I'm pointing out is that if Hillary Clinton represents one aspect of our society's deeply-rooted sexism, then parental expectations represent another. Most people want their children to follow strictly maintained gender roles, and when they do, it's a cause for celebration. When they don't, it's a cause for silence. Sons should never want to cruise the "pink aisle" at Target, and daughters should not enjoy the, er, "black aisle?" (I'm not sure what to call the aisle dedicated to Legos, Hot Wheels, and action figures--the "Action Aisle?")

And I know that there are those of you out there (Mom) who will say, "What's the big deal? A kid's gonna like what a kid's gonna like...you can't control that." But my point is this: by setting up these standards of what constitutes "All Boy" or "100% Girl," we also set up a framework for deviancy. A boy who wants a pink fairy Barbie is deviant, as is a girl who'd rather have a Millenium Falcon Lego set (Mmmmm...Millenium Falcon Lego set...drool!) We don't tell the children they are deviant, but we show them they are by celebrating those children who are not. So kids are not just "liking what they are going to like"; they are struggling with what they should like.

Of course, I'm the big hypocrite here because if M. decided to like Barbies, I would say, "Too bad...no Barbies in my house." So I guess I am encouraging her to reject her stereotypical gender role as much as another mother might be encouraging her daughter to accept it. I feel I have to do this, though, not only as a mother, but as a woman. Because it's only a short step from this "Girlie Girl"...


To this one...

click on picture for larger view

Matilda-Mania

I've been a lazy writer lately, so please accept more adorable pictures of M. in place of my ramblings. She is changing so fast that I need to take lots of pictures to remember what she was like the day before.

Where did she get all that hair? She's already got enough for ponytails!

A present from Aunt Megan...M.'s first mouse ears from Disneyland.

M. is working on crawling, but she currently can only push herself backwards, which means she usually ends up under the furniture.

Hanging out with Auntie Crystal and Lucy--M.'s swimming buddy.

At the movie theater--M. loved Homer! She laughed and laughed!
(Click on picture to get a better view of the laughing.)

Matilda in the LBC

Mama and I are currently in Long Beach visiting Auntie Erin and Uncle Brian so that Mama can be their professional organizer. I am so excited about this because it means I get to spend lots of time with my friend Claire. Mama has been very busy, so she asked me to post some pictures for everyone to see.

I was very good for my second airplane ride. Mama let me sit in my own seat and I even got this bag of peanuts! Mama told me that I wasn't old enough to eat peanuts, but I sure liked the shiny bag!

On Wednesay, Auntie Erin took us to meet friends of hers at the park. I was too little to play with all the other kids, but I liked swinging on the swings and riding this froggie.

On Friday we went to Claire's playgroup and I had fun playing with other babies. I had never been around so many babies before! I didn't mind, though...I was very interested in meeting them all.

On Saturday we went to a restaurant called Lucille's. They have food called barbeque. I know that this is Mama and Daddy's favorite food, so I thought I'd try some. Auntie Erin gave me something called a rib, and I LOVED it! I also ate macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes, and biscuits. Yum! Mama says that this is one of her very favorite restaurants...I think so, too!

I liked to chew and suck on my rib...

Claire uses hers to eat her sweet potatoes.

After eating BBQ we were so messy that we had to take a bath. I like splashing Claire and chewing on her rubber duckies. Claire likes combing my hair and splashing me back. We had lots of fun!

That's all! I am having a very good time. Mama says that she will be back to blog in a few days.

Love,
Matilda

Another Good Reason to Walk...

...Lots more chances for good photographs.

I'm not usually a big fan of pink...but these were awfully pretty.

Moving On Up

Yes, I am still alive. I have not been able to post on my own blog or read anyone else's for three weeks now. Because we moved! Yay!!! Moving Day was May 16, but we have been very busy ever since painting and unpacking and organizing and all of that crap that is part of the deal when you move. Plus I didn't have internet for a week...GAH!

Anyways, our new house is SO GREAT! It is in the old part of town--my favorite--in an old brick duplex that is historically protected by the City of Reno. And for an old house, it is BIG! 1100 sq ft and a basement! The inside has some aesthetic challenges, like a previous resident who liked wallpaper A LOT and a kitchen that was remodeled in the '70s, but what can you do? I am willing to overlook all of this for one simple pleasure...I am centrally located and can WALK downtown! No more nasty suburbs for me! I cannot tell you how much this has done to improve my mood. The last year has taught me that I am NOT a suburbs person, even with the perks of new houses with all of their new house smell and their new house wiring and their new house insulation. I like being in the middle of things, and, most of all, I like walking. "Commute" is a word that I would like to eradicate from my vocabulary altogether. From where we now live I can walk to the movies, walk to five different coffee houses, walk to the river, walk, walk, walk. And when I do have to drive, no more than a couple of miles will get me pretty much anywhere I want to go. I LOVE IT!

View of our new house, left side. Note that even though it is a duplex, the houses are only joined by the garages.

View of our new house, right side...Did I mention it was a corner lot?

Our neighbor across one street--God.

And across the other street--God.

"Cheap, Cheap!"

How do you know when you're really, really cheap? Not just frugal but C-H-E-A-P? It's when you get as excited as I do about the holiday weekends because it means 50% off day at the thrift stores. Because it's not cheap enough to shop at thrift stores, you have to wait for a thrift store SALE!

So on Memorial Day I hit Savers and went crazy buying myself a whole new summer wardrobe! I literally filled an entire shopping cart up with clothes. And I spent $63. Beat that.

The reason that this is important is because it is the second step in my making-myself-feel-better-about-myself regimen. The first step was moving into a new house (see next post). The second step is giving up the battle and buying myself real, non-maternity clothes that actually fit instead of holding out in my maternity jeans for that magic day when I will be able to fit back into my pre-pregnancy jeans. It's been 8 and a half months, and I'm done. I'm not giving up completely--I have packed my old clothes in a box for that time when my body finally decides to start working properly again--but boy does it feel good to have a waistband again. And even if I shudder every time I think about the size I am wearing, it doesn't make me shudder nearly as much as wearing pregnant lady clothes. There's just something so sad about that. And I'm tired of being sad. I'd rather be fat and happy.

Not-So-Happy Birthday

Thirty. Four.

I really wasn't in the mood to celebrate this year. The months leading up to my birthday have been among the worst of my life...my self-esteem has not been so low since I was a teenager. Celebrating 34 just didn't appeal to me because celebrating 34 meant acknowledging that I was turning 34 as an unemployed woman with very little purpose in life whose goals have been shattered after sending out over 20 job applications and not receiving one single call for an interview. Add onto that the 15 years I have spent becoming educated to do the job I am trained to do and the oppressive mountain of student loans I have accumulated to get that education and you can see where I might become a bit depressed. Not to mention the fact that even if I did get an interview I'd have nothing to wear because my wardrobe consists of three pairs of maternity pants and a handful crappy oversized shirts I keep wearing over and over again because I can't manage to lose a single stinking pound!

Yeah, so.

But, strangely enough, my birthday came anyways. Funny how that happens. And I ended up celebrating after all because in the end, it is MY SPECIAL DAY, and I just had to bask in it, failure or not.

May 18

• My dad is in town, so we go out for an early birthday dinner with him at ZoZo's Italian restaurant.

Husband seems to be just as excited as I am about my birthday!

M. chooses an entree.

May 21 (actual birthday)

• I go shopping at Target and use some of my birthday money to buy a dress to wear so that I don't feel like such a scuz wearing maternity pants to dinner on my birthday.

• Crystal comes over and we walk downtown for coffee and antique shopping.

"I have feet!"

• I don my new dress and gather my posse for dinner.

No, Ian is not feeling me up. The one day of the year I wear a dress, and Reno whips up a giant windstorm to blow my dress up over my head. Ian is only trying to keep me from flashing my goods to the camera.

"Mama's HOW OLD?!"

May 27

• Micaela takes me out for my final birthday present--tickets to see Cake. Great show. The pictures are all on Micaela's camera, so you'll just have to imagine me rocking out.
  

Last year at this time, I was very optimistic about being 33. I thought it would be one of my best years. I was wrong. I hate to say that, given that this year brought the birth of my daughter, but it is true. Last year I said that things would get better once Ian and I were out of the "heinous transitional period" that we were going through. And we are still going through it. I just don't understand how it is possible for a highly educated, hard-working couple not to be able to find decent employment. I don't understand why achieving one goal (having a baby) means that we have to sacrifice every other goal we have. I imagine that there is some old gypsy woman somewhere poking pins into dolls that look an awful lot like us.

But it is a new birthday, a new age, another year for things to improve...so here's to trying to be optimistic. Things will look up this year. They will. Really.