Oprah and Bon-Bons (or, why I suck at being a WAHM) 4/2/2007

Parenting

Anyone else feel like you’re treading under water? Grey’s Anatomy aside here, we’re all drowning in snot and a megga slow server. I swear I’ve tried to update only to get a “page loading” message for, oh, more than the .2 nanoseconds that I have patience to wait so I close my browser and decide my site hates me. No, it’s not you, it’s me. It’s the snot. It’s the fever. It’s the holy-hell-sinus-pressure-that-I-can-only-take-farking-saline-spray-for (!?) and the other things the Internet was telling me you don’t need to hear about.

Being sick is boring as hell, y’all.

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Herding Buffalo 2/3/2007

ADHD

I have this disease Mr. Flinger calls “Herding Buffalo.” It usually occurs when life is in complete chaos and there is little time for anything.  It usually happens when an idea enters my busy brain and suddenly it can’t get out. The single idea turns in to fifty things that need to be done RIGHT! NOW! and suddenly there is the sound of herding buffalo in my head.

Right now, I have Herding Buffalo.

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A letter of resignation 1/8/2007

Parenting

Look, I’ve had some hard jobs. I’ve worked technical support for a school district with over 100,000 users and only TWELVE support specialist. I’ve answered, “I don’t know my email password” and “How do I change my desktop picture?” more times than I care to confess. It took patience. Not as much patience as the time I worked in a daycare with a class of eight two year olds and only ONE of me all stuffed in a twelve-by-twelve room for nine hours a day. I thought that was really hard at the time. But this job? This parenting gig? It’s so. much. harder.

I don’t want to be the mom with the crazy hair and the furrowed brow and the flames shooting out her nose. I don’t want to be the women with the premature gray hairs, the lines etching on her eyes, the drool and glazed over wistful look during the four minutes of quiet each day. I want to be happy. I want to enjoy my children’s youth. I want to be able to honestly say “It’s hard, sure, but…” Right now? All I can say is “it’s hard.” There is no but.

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It’s like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a variable declared knife 1/3/2007

Women in Technology

I started blogging in graduate school, back in August 2003. (My lands! It’s been a while!) I remember blogging in the midst of a major programming-related meltdown (I had many of these). I had to sift through some .csv backups of my old, old, old blog to find this entry but here it is, in between various boring posts about school and technical resources I was using at the time.

And so, as she walked among the fields of heather and velvet blue violets, she came upon the goddess “Tuliah”, which means “to know the earth” or “the road less traveled” if translated through the ancient Latin. At any rate, she fell to her knees in her weakened state unable to hold her head up and speak intelligently. “Child,” the goddess spoke, “you are weary from your walk. Come… drink from the bottle and rest upon the mossy grass. I will tell you the secret that you seek.”  She did as she was instructed. She drank the rich wine and as she lay down on the mossy grass, so warm from the morning sun and slightly moist with dew, she slept. In her dreams she saw the answer…Unless the method has been declared with void as its return type, the method returns some kind of value when it is completed.  It was at this moment she understood. All good things for you are painful at first. But it is through triumph that we grow. The easy road takes you to hell. The higher road gets you the job you want.

And now, ironically, I’m teaching programming next term. See? You, too, can face your worst nightmares. And end up teaching about them.

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Conversations from the backseat 12/2/2006

Parenting

Today, as we were driving home from playing at the park with Paige, I decided to go through town so LB could go on a bridge over water and see the big buildings. We drove by Mr. Flinger’s Alumni and I pointed out that is where Daddy went to school. LB was quiet, and I repeated, “See? That is Daddy’s college. Daddy went to school there.”

We drove a bit more and she could see it better so I told her again, “That’s where daddy went to school.” And again after we rounded a corner and could see a different view.

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I will never be your Great Aunt Marcy 11/5/2006

ADHD Parenting

My Grandfather’s sister, Marcella, lives in San Antonio. I grew up in Houston so we’d go there every so often and Uncle Charles would tell us about the pecan trees in his backyard and Aunt Marcy would make us pecan pie and we’d eat brisket and mash potatoes. It was always cooler in San Antonio than when we left Houston and the adults would talk about humidity while my sister and I did cartwheel and handstands in the yard. I have this memory etched in my brain from a variety of visits spanning years and years. It was always the same.

After we moved to the North West, Aunt Marcy still sent us birthday cards, promptly, starting in 1989. There are a few things you can count on in life. Death, Taxes, and your birthday card from Aunt Marcy. She is timely, she never ever forgets, and there is never any money or a gift card in it. It’s a card. That’s it. Every year. And I love it.

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It’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I wanna 10/7/2006

Stories

I silently prayed that I would not spend my 31st birthday this weekend sitting in a dark corner bawling over a baby I lost. I prayed every day since I found out I’d be seen this week, that I did not want to hear bad news days before my birthday. Not that 31 means anything. Actually, it means pretty much nothing. Just another year in the bag, another day in the pot, an excuse for a pregnant lady to eat cheesecake, maybe, but over all just not much more than 24 hours and 31 years of life marked “finished.”

As fate would have it, I’ll be bawling any way.

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