Monday, March 28, 2005
What we have here is a failure to communicate
I work at a tourist attraction, and we often have people in from out of town asking what to do, where to stay, where to eat, etc...
Me: So my favorite place downtown is The Bees Knees, and -
Man: The what?
Me: The Bees Knees. Anyway, it -
Man: The Bees Knees?
Me: Yes, sir. It's -
Man: Do you know what that means?
(stop. interruping. me.)
Me: I'm sorry, what?
Man: Do you know what that means?
Me: What what means?
Man: I'll take that as a no.
(why don't you take this up your...)
Me: Sorry?
Man: You're too young to know what the bees knees means.
Me: I thought it meant "the best." Like, that cheesecake was "the Bee's Knees!"
Man: Ohh, you DO know!
Me: Yeah, I've watched a few movies.
Man: The ones from my day, well, they don't make it like them anymore.
(You mean silent?)
Me: Right. So, anyway, the restaurant is a tapas bar -
Man: A what?!
Me: A tapas bar, and -
Man: No, it's not.
Me (confused): Yes, it is. Have you been there?
Man: NO! We just got into town!
Me: Okay...
Man: Is it really a tapas bar?
Me: Yes, sir.
Man: Well, how do you get to it?
(we walk outside so that I can show them which street to turn down. His wife comes out of the bathroom and follows us as I recommend the goat cheese bruschetta and the calamari)
Wife: What kind of restaurant is this?
Me: A tapas bar with a kind of world fusion cuisine served in the Spanish style.
Man (looking at me suspiciously: Are you serious?
(I'm getting really frustrated with this man.)
Me: Yes, sir.
(I hand the wife a coupon for 1/2 off a tapas with the purchase of any tapas)
Wife: WHAT kind of restaurant is it?
Me: A tapas bar.
Man: Are you messing with us?
Me: Why would you think that?
Man: This is a topless bar?!
(I stare for a moment and then start laughing)
Me: Tapas! Tah-pahs!
(The couple looks at the coupon in confusion, and then both burst into laughter)
Wife: We thought you were saying "topless!"
Um, no. We don't generally consider them to be one of the city's finest tourist attrations.
Me: So my favorite place downtown is The Bees Knees, and -
Man: The what?
Me: The Bees Knees. Anyway, it -
Man: The Bees Knees?
Me: Yes, sir. It's -
Man: Do you know what that means?
(stop. interruping. me.)
Me: I'm sorry, what?
Man: Do you know what that means?
Me: What what means?
Man: I'll take that as a no.
(why don't you take this up your...)
Me: Sorry?
Man: You're too young to know what the bees knees means.
Me: I thought it meant "the best." Like, that cheesecake was "the Bee's Knees!"
Man: Ohh, you DO know!
Me: Yeah, I've watched a few movies.
Man: The ones from my day, well, they don't make it like them anymore.
(You mean silent?)
Me: Right. So, anyway, the restaurant is a tapas bar -
Man: A what?!
Me: A tapas bar, and -
Man: No, it's not.
Me (confused): Yes, it is. Have you been there?
Man: NO! We just got into town!
Me: Okay...
Man: Is it really a tapas bar?
Me: Yes, sir.
Man: Well, how do you get to it?
(we walk outside so that I can show them which street to turn down. His wife comes out of the bathroom and follows us as I recommend the goat cheese bruschetta and the calamari)
Wife: What kind of restaurant is this?
Me: A tapas bar with a kind of world fusion cuisine served in the Spanish style.
Man (looking at me suspiciously: Are you serious?
(I'm getting really frustrated with this man.)
Me: Yes, sir.
(I hand the wife a coupon for 1/2 off a tapas with the purchase of any tapas)
Wife: WHAT kind of restaurant is it?
Me: A tapas bar.
Man: Are you messing with us?
Me: Why would you think that?
Man: This is a topless bar?!
(I stare for a moment and then start laughing)
Me: Tapas! Tah-pahs!
(The couple looks at the coupon in confusion, and then both burst into laughter)
Wife: We thought you were saying "topless!"
Um, no. We don't generally consider them to be one of the city's finest tourist attrations.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Post-partum
We found out Friday that Scott's best friend, Duane, and his girlfriend, Lori Beth, are 6 weeks pregnant. We went over to congratulate and bring them a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting," and we were sitting around chatting about pregnancy, etc. They mentioned post-partum depression, and Scott asked, "Stacey, did you have any of that?"
I stared at him: "Honey, I'm in the middle of it."
I'm cheered that he had to ask. It means I'm not the horrible, overbearing, bitchy, nasty, man-eating ogre I'd viewed myself as. (Can someone put that sentence in a grammatically correct form? I can't move the preposition.) But, to be honest, there have been a few times I've been tempted to throw myself into traffic. Mostly, the experience of being a new mother is overwhelming. I mean, they REPEATEDLY TELL YOU it's a 24-7 job, and you think, "Okay, already. I get it. But it can't be worse than being pregnant." Then you have the baby, and you realize that they lied to you. It's a 48-hour a day job, 8 days a week. Although I am filled with love, pride, and amazement at our little girl 10 times a day, I am also overwhelmed with how much she needs.
Would I change it, had I the chance to do it all over again?
No. Emerson is the one thing in my life that I know I haven't screwed up (yet).
But the hormone rollercoaster is a rough ride and I don't know how to get off. I try to grin and bear it, maintain a sense of humor about things (like the spit-up on my sweater that I didn't notice before my meeting with a bride this morning), and keep myself in check when I want to scream. I also try to remind myself that Scott has probably had a harder time because he's home with her all day long. And it seems to be fooling people, at least. But I don't know if it's working for me.
I stared at him: "Honey, I'm in the middle of it."
I'm cheered that he had to ask. It means I'm not the horrible, overbearing, bitchy, nasty, man-eating ogre I'd viewed myself as. (Can someone put that sentence in a grammatically correct form? I can't move the preposition.) But, to be honest, there have been a few times I've been tempted to throw myself into traffic. Mostly, the experience of being a new mother is overwhelming. I mean, they REPEATEDLY TELL YOU it's a 24-7 job, and you think, "Okay, already. I get it. But it can't be worse than being pregnant." Then you have the baby, and you realize that they lied to you. It's a 48-hour a day job, 8 days a week. Although I am filled with love, pride, and amazement at our little girl 10 times a day, I am also overwhelmed with how much she needs.
Would I change it, had I the chance to do it all over again?
No. Emerson is the one thing in my life that I know I haven't screwed up (yet).
But the hormone rollercoaster is a rough ride and I don't know how to get off. I try to grin and bear it, maintain a sense of humor about things (like the spit-up on my sweater that I didn't notice before my meeting with a bride this morning), and keep myself in check when I want to scream. I also try to remind myself that Scott has probably had a harder time because he's home with her all day long. And it seems to be fooling people, at least. But I don't know if it's working for me.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Stuffed Brains
We're talking about how the baby responds to the world around her now that she's almost 6 weeks old.
Scott: "She's absolutely fascinated with Scrabble."
Me: "Well, she can see him. He's so high contrast."
The dog is a black and white rat terrier with crazy-big banana leaf ears.
Scott: "Yeah. She loves it when he licks her."
Me: "Plus he's all soft and cuddly. He's like a walking stuffed animal."
Scott: "He is."
(pause)
Me: "Wait. That didn't even make sense. Of course he's like a fucking stuffed animal. He is an animal."
Scott: "She's absolutely fascinated with Scrabble."
Me: "Well, she can see him. He's so high contrast."
The dog is a black and white rat terrier with crazy-big banana leaf ears.
Scott: "Yeah. She loves it when he licks her."
Me: "Plus he's all soft and cuddly. He's like a walking stuffed animal."
Scott: "He is."
(pause)
Me: "Wait. That didn't even make sense. Of course he's like a fucking stuffed animal. He is an animal."
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Diaper Duty
Scott and I are both suffering from severe sleep deprivation. Emerson doesn’t want to sleep at night, but the daytime is just dandy. We’ve both been struggling to function - I poured Scott a glass of lemonade, put it in the fridge, and brought him the pitcher instead, for example - but Scott wins (so far).
“I was changing her diaper on the bed, right? So I take off the diaper, clean her up, put the diaper back on her.... and then I thought, ‘Shit!’ And had to do it all over again.”
I haven’t put a dirty diaper back on the child yet, but I did wash her bottle, make her bottle, and then pour it out and clean it again before I realized what I had done.
“I was changing her diaper on the bed, right? So I take off the diaper, clean her up, put the diaper back on her.... and then I thought, ‘Shit!’ And had to do it all over again.”
I haven’t put a dirty diaper back on the child yet, but I did wash her bottle, make her bottle, and then pour it out and clean it again before I realized what I had done.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Why is this so hard?
Scott’s parents stopped by the house while Erick and Becky were over with their son, Sammy. We were very happy to have some adult conversation. I didn’t realize how much until his parents offered to take Emerson for the night and Scott agreed.
I gave him a look that said, “How could you let them take her?” I mean, when she’s only a month old it just seemed - I don’t know... callous? Besides, I’d just spent my entire Saturday afternoon at work, and wasn’t able to spend time with them. He saw my face, and immediately retracted. But his mother was so disappointed, and Scott suddenly looked so tired and frazzled, that I realized he must really need a break.
Patsy and Jim wanted to make sure I was “comfortable” with them taking the baby. Of course I am. I married one of her five great kids, so I obviously have some confidence in her abilities to care for children. But there’s this noise Emerson makes when she’s eating, and another she makes when she’s settling comfortably into your arms to sleep, that just kill me.
I look forward to the 4 a.m. feedings because small things like make the hour and the loss of sleep well worth it. And she’s getting so much more alert and responsive every day. Yesterday she laid in her crib and watched her mobile for 10 minutes. That’s a long time for her, and she wasn’t just staring up. She was able to single out an animal and follow it with her eyes, turn her head when it moved out of her field of vision...
These things Scott sees all the time. And while I know it’s very stressful to be at home with a child all day, and I would be working no matter what (well, unless we were fabulously wealthy, in which case I’d just spend my time traveling and taking classes), I envy him the time he spends at home.
I overheard him last night telling Erick and Becky that I was itching to get back to work. Not true. I wanted my full 6 weeks maternity leave. But they were trying to reduce my position to part-time while I was on leave, so I HAD to go back to protect our income. I mean, it’s all well and good if I get to stay home with Emerson, but not if we have nothing to feed her.
I gave him a look that said, “How could you let them take her?” I mean, when she’s only a month old it just seemed - I don’t know... callous? Besides, I’d just spent my entire Saturday afternoon at work, and wasn’t able to spend time with them. He saw my face, and immediately retracted. But his mother was so disappointed, and Scott suddenly looked so tired and frazzled, that I realized he must really need a break.
Patsy and Jim wanted to make sure I was “comfortable” with them taking the baby. Of course I am. I married one of her five great kids, so I obviously have some confidence in her abilities to care for children. But there’s this noise Emerson makes when she’s eating, and another she makes when she’s settling comfortably into your arms to sleep, that just kill me.
I look forward to the 4 a.m. feedings because small things like make the hour and the loss of sleep well worth it. And she’s getting so much more alert and responsive every day. Yesterday she laid in her crib and watched her mobile for 10 minutes. That’s a long time for her, and she wasn’t just staring up. She was able to single out an animal and follow it with her eyes, turn her head when it moved out of her field of vision...
These things Scott sees all the time. And while I know it’s very stressful to be at home with a child all day, and I would be working no matter what (well, unless we were fabulously wealthy, in which case I’d just spend my time traveling and taking classes), I envy him the time he spends at home.
I overheard him last night telling Erick and Becky that I was itching to get back to work. Not true. I wanted my full 6 weeks maternity leave. But they were trying to reduce my position to part-time while I was on leave, so I HAD to go back to protect our income. I mean, it’s all well and good if I get to stay home with Emerson, but not if we have nothing to feed her.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
That's great
Me: “Okay, I’m going to Sam’s Club.”
Scott: “Okay.”
Me: “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
Scott: “No. My back really hurts, and my head hurts.”
Me: “Poor baby. If it makes you feel any better, I got baby poo under my fingernail this morning when I was changing Emerson.”
Scott: “You know, I do feel a little better.”
Me: “Great! If I can ease your suffering...”
Scott: “Okay.”
Me: “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
Scott: “No. My back really hurts, and my head hurts.”
Me: “Poor baby. If it makes you feel any better, I got baby poo under my fingernail this morning when I was changing Emerson.”
Scott: “You know, I do feel a little better.”
Me: “Great! If I can ease your suffering...”
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Looking forward to such things
My friends Gage and Jamie had their baby in early December, so Kerrigan is a little further along than Emerson. Jamie emailed me this description of their little sweetie’s development:
She’s getting interested in her hands, but hasn’t totally figured out that they’re her’s yet. The other day she was laying on the bed with her right hand up in the air, looking at it. Well, her hand slowly started to fall towards her belly, and she’s watching it as it gets closer. But as it gets closer, she starts giving it this suspicious look as if to say, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” Then she picks her hand back up and looks at it like, “Good! You stay where you belong!” But then her hand starts falling back down and she starts looking at it all suspicious again. She just kept repeating that for about 5 minutes. And she’ll hold a rattle, but she inevitably smacks herself in the head with it and then promptly drops it. Or she’ll look at it a bit, then kinda forget about it. Then she’ll pick her hand up and see it and look all surprised as if to say, “Whoa! Where did that come from?!”
She’s getting interested in her hands, but hasn’t totally figured out that they’re her’s yet. The other day she was laying on the bed with her right hand up in the air, looking at it. Well, her hand slowly started to fall towards her belly, and she’s watching it as it gets closer. But as it gets closer, she starts giving it this suspicious look as if to say, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” Then she picks her hand back up and looks at it like, “Good! You stay where you belong!” But then her hand starts falling back down and she starts looking at it all suspicious again. She just kept repeating that for about 5 minutes. And she’ll hold a rattle, but she inevitably smacks herself in the head with it and then promptly drops it. Or she’ll look at it a bit, then kinda forget about it. Then she’ll pick her hand up and see it and look all surprised as if to say, “Whoa! Where did that come from?!”
