Artiste

This weekend's big event was my brother's art exhibition reception. This is his Master's thesis, and he's been working on it like a dog all summer. Not making the art -- I think the newest piece in the show was done last last year -- but finding a venue (he wound up using the hallways of the middle school where he'll be teaching this year), making invitations and researching print costs, building the catalog, and getting all his pieces framed. (I thought having everything framed was vaguely ridiculous -- oil paintings can be shown unframed, and some of the texture pieces might have been easier to examine without cases -- but it's apparently a requirement. I guess the school wants to make sure their students start off on the appropriate "starving artist" level -- John wound up having to get cases custom made from a shop in Chicago for the 3-D pieces, and he and my dad hand-built most of the other frames. Which is no mean trick, as there were over 20 pieces in the show, several of them taller than me.)


And Sam has been working nearly as hard; not knowing how many people to expect at the reception yesterday, she assumed the standard rule that about 1/3 of the people you invite to a party will show up, and so she's been planning, buying, and making food for somewhere in the neighborhood of 150 people.


John had asked me to be the "official" photographer for the event, which I was happy to do, not being able to help out much otherwise. I mostly avoided taking pictures of the art itself, since John's got it all posted on his Facebook page, but now I kind of wish I'd taken more, because it was really cool stuff.

Matt and I are buying a couple of pieces, in fact. We desperately want one more, but since it's six feet tall and twelve feet long, there's no way we could fit it into our house in any reasonable way. And at that size, none of the printers John has talked to have any way to produce smaller prints. John and I talked about my possibly getting some really quality photos of it, after the show is done, to make poster-sized prints of it. We'll see what we can manage.

All in all, John's done some wonderful things, and I hope he's as proud of himself as I am.

The reception was by invitation only, but the show's open to the public through Thursday this week -- if you're in the area and at all interested, let me know and I'll send you the location information.

Passive Aggressive

One of the managers that I work for is, in person, a really nice guy. But in email -- which is about 80% of my interaction with him -- he can be the most annoyingly passive-aggressive bullshit artist in the universe.

To whit, the following email exchange:

Him: Can you put together a list of all the procedures we've documented for this project?

Me: Here you go.

Him: Do you have any recommendations on what other procedures we need to put together?

Me: Well, the procedure for X is being written, and the one for Y is on hold pending resolution of an issue, and in a couple of months, we'll need one for Z.

Him (and this is a direct and complete quote of his entire email, sans signature block): Given what your other projects have done, no others?

...

Okay, seriously, I'm an adult. If you think I'm missing something, tell me. I'll either tell you why I left it out, or admit that I hadn't thought of it and add it to the list. There's no purpose at all to trying to lead me to it, like a parent prompting a child. ("And what do we say to Grandma, now?")

I'm developing a reputation at my office for being the person who will voice the ugly truth, and without trying to dress it up too much. I called this manager down earlier this week already, when he let a meeting drag on forty minutes past its scheduled quitting time. (Specifically, I said, "Hey! I've got another meeting in fifteen minutes, and I'd really like to eat lunch today." Because the scheduled quitting time had been noon, for petesake.)

The good news is that most of the managers I work with (including this one) actually appreciate this quality in me. The other good news is that I don't work for this manager; I work with him. My boss not only appreciates my bluntness, he applauds it. (Sometimes literally. When I tell him I've had to deliver a verbal smackdown to one of the managers, he high-fives me. Once or twice, he's even applauded when he's been the manager I've had to smack down. I like my boss. He does not suffer fools gladly, and he expects others to not suffer him when he's being a fool.)

So I called Passive-Aggressive Man and I said, "So it sounds like you've got something particular in mind."

And he said, "Well, I thought we could use a procedure for N."

And -- because I'm an adult -- I said, "Oh, sure. Hadn't thought of that; thanks for reminding me. Yeah, I can put something together for N."

How freaking hard was that? Sheesh.

---

Speaking of passive-aggressive, I can't decide whether to laugh or despair at Alex. He's working on talking so hard, I can practically see steam rising from his tow-headed curls. Practically any word we say to him, he'll take a stab at repeating. He's still really bad at it, but he's only two, and most kids under four aren't all that comprehensible. He'll get there.

He's even venturing tentatively into the land of multi-word combinations. One of his favorite things to do at dinner is point to each person's cup of milk by turns and say, "Mi'!" To which we respond with, "Yes! That's Mommy's milk! Yes! That's Daddy's milk! That's Penny's milk! That's Alex's milk!"

Last night, he pointed at my cup and said, "Mi'!" I said, "Yes, that's Mommy's milk." He said, "Mommy! Mi'!"

"Yes, Mommy's milk! Very good!"

Then he pointed to his own cup and said, entirely without prompting, "Lah-le mi'!" ("Lah-le" is how he says his own name. X is a hard letter to pronounce.) So he's starting to glom onto the notion that words can be used to modify or clarify the meanings of other words, which is pretty cool.

He's even starting to get the idea that words can be used to explain other words. He was trying to say something to me later at dinner. "Ha! Ha!" I thought he was talking about the ham he was eating. "Yes, that's ham!" Finally, he gave me a look and waved. "Bye-bye!" "Um, okay, bye-bye. Where are you going?" "Bye-bye! Ha!"

"...Oh! You mean HI!" I waved. "Hi!"

He waved back, relieved that I had finally caught on. "Ha!"

I thought it was pretty nifty that he figured out using "bye-bye" to link it to "hi" for me.

But the one thing we can not get him to do is utter any variation on the word "please." He'll repeat anything else we tell him to say, and frequently exhibit some understanding of what it is. "Alex, say 'dinosaur'!" "Di-doh! Rarr!" "Can you say 'star'?" "Tah? Up-high!" (When he sees a picture of a star, he calls it an up-high. That wire may not uncross for a while, I guess.)

"Alex, can you say 'please'?"

"..."

Nothing. Won't do it. He'll bring me a book, begging to be read to. "Book! Book!"

"Say 'please'."

"Book! Up!" He'll lift his arms, demanding to be picked up.

"Say 'please', Alex."

"UP!"

"Can you say 'please'?"

And then he gives up and walks away.

Every time. Sometimes he gets upset, sometimes he decides it's just not that important, but he will not say it.

Kid's gonna be a right stinker. I can tell.

Improvement

Yeah, I can be awfully damned whiny sometimes, can't I?

I still hate my job. But I'm coping a little better today.

I made a modified Cobb Salad for dinner last night, and it turned out much better than I'd expected. Penny loved it -- she especially liked the avocado, which was a new food for her -- and even Alex ate most of the bits and pieces I put in his bowl! (He got the meat and cheese and egg and avocado and orange bell pepper. I knew better than to try him on broccoli, cucumber, or lettuce. I flat out forgot to put tomatoes on the salads, too, or he'd have eaten that as well.)

Anyway, it was fewer points and much more filling than I expected it to be, and Matt and Penny were both so enthusiastic that I think I'll be trying to make it more often.

After dinner I went to book club, and we had a baby shower for Becky, which was fun.



Reactions to the book (Waiter Rant) were mixed, but we enjoyed talking about it and the experiences it reminded us of, so I'm calling it a success. (Books I suggest are not always such good picks.)

They're even taking a chance on another of my recommendations (The Graveyard Book) for our October book. Though I think that hung on the fact that Heather -- who we tease for never liking the books -- said she'd already read it and loved it, and had moved on to M Is for Magic and Coraline and wanted my suggestion for other Gaiman books to try. Since Heather wasn't part of the book club yet when we did American Gods, I suggested that. (It got pretty mixed reviews from the book club, too -- it's kind of an in-joke that the books I suggest are going to be about as far as you can get from chick lit and other usual "book clubby" books, and that our opinions on them are going to vary pretty wildly.)

Today, Matt's taking Penny down to Chesapeake to have a long play date with Jess. So they took Alex to school for me, and I got to work most of an hour earlier than usual, which is nice. (It's especially nice if they end up staying down there for dinner, rather than fighting the traffic to come back, and I have to leave a bit early to pick Alex up.) Penny's been excited about this for a week, so I hope they have a fantastic time.

Next week, I'm taking a day off to take Penny to the beach, which I'd promised to do this summer. I figure I'll just take her to Yorktown beach, which is more river than ocean, but it's not all that different an experience (deep salty water, sandy beach -- the waves are smaller, but she's six, for petesake). That way, if the novelty wears off after only an hour or so, we haven't put in an hour and change to get down to the "real" beach, and we can go do something else -- go shopping, or visit my parents, or something. The key (for me, anyway) is to get in some one-on-one time with Penny, because as fantastic as she is with Alex, he does eat up a lot of attention, and I think it'll be good for her to get some time in the spotlight.

And somewhere around the middle of September, Matt's taking a week off. One of his stated goals for the week is to work on cleaning/purging the house, and then imposing some organization on what remains -- especially the kids' stuff. I'm all in favor of this plan, so I plan to take a couple of days (or a day and a couple of half-days, or whatever I can wangle, given my work schedule) to help him out. Which won't be very relaxing, but it might do a lot for my state of mind.

Tired

I'm tired.

Not sleepy, though I'm almost always happy to contemplate a return to bed. But it's not the kind of tired that I think sleep will fix.

I'm tired of my job. I'm tired of being taken for granted. I'm tired of the endless meetings and administrivia and paperwork that no one cares about. I'm tired of being a necessary evil rather than a valuable resource. I'm tired of feeling like I could dry up and blow away and no one would even notice. I'd quit in an instant if I thought I had a single skill that I could market elsewhere.

I'm tired of my body. I'm tired of the endless aches in my knee and back. I'm tired of the fuzzy hearing. I'm tired of my ugly hair and the bags under my eyes. I'm tired of the cravings for things I shouldn't have. I'm tired of the constant lack of energy (that diet and exercise were supposed to fix, dammit). I may be getting thinner, but I'm not getting any younger.

I'm tired of my house. I'm tired of the clutter that I can't get rid of. I'm tired of the mess that no amount of cleaning up seems to fix. I'm tired of the carpet, I'm tired of the walls, I'm tired of the furniture. I wish I could have six months and the budget to throw every single thing out and start over from scratch.

I'm tired of my life. I'm tired of reading the same four books to Alex over and over and over. I'm tired of trying to make sense of Penny's random questions. I'm tired of the treadmill of routine. I'm tired of participating in endless chatter but failing to be involved in a single conversation. I'm tired of being adequate at a lot of things but excelling at nothing.

I'm tired of being so whiny and pathetic.

God, I hope this is PMS.

Mrmph.

I got to bed before 11 last night, but I'm still dragging this morning. I slept oddly; every little thing seemed to wake me up. Matt coming to bed, the cat settling himself by my ankles, the feel of my own bones under my skin... (Seriously, my hips felt bruised and achey, like I was pregnant again. Maybe now that I am less cushion-y myself, it's time to look into a softer mattress.) And when I slept, my dreams were disturbing.

Maybe I'll chalk it up to the disturbing stuff I was writing last night. Or that I just started reading The Graveyard Book (yes, I'm running quite behind).

Whatever the case, by the time our alarms started blaring at us this morning, the bed had resolved its softness issues and was warm and cozy and inviting, and the rest of the world... not so much.

It doesn't help that 6am is only barely past dawn, so it's still fairly dark and dreary-looking. Nor does it help that I'm looking at a day chock-full of hideous meetings (I am literally triple-booked for about half an hour this afternoon, in fact, and double-booked for at least two more hours across the day). I won't be getting to the gym at lunchtime, that's for sure. (Though I have to leave the building somehow, so I brought in my camera, and will go out for half an hour and take pictures of the flowers or something.)

The fact that I am here at all, writing this and marshaling my strength and resources instead of running screaming for the hills is, I think, a testament to my dedication and devotion.

What You Ask For

Well, I got the lazy weekend I'd asked for, but I hadn't accounted for the problem with having nothing (or at least not much) to do: When I don't have anything else to do, I get eat.

Which was especially a problem on Saturday, because Saturday night, we were joining Elizabeth and various other friends for a dinner at a nice restaurant to celebrate her birthday. (Happy birthday, Elizabeth!) So I was trying to save up my points so I would have more options at dinner. Except I couldn't seem to stop eating all day.

I managed to control it enough that when we got to dinner, I didn't have to order the dry chicken breast and water, but I spent the whole day wrestling with myself and wondering what the hell was wrong with me. And then we got to dinner and though it was great to see everyone and it was fun to chat (when I was able)... all the other women were able to do the girl thing and not even finish their meals, while it was all I could do to not lick my plate and then start snitching bits from Alex's unfinished pasta. Again: what the hell is wrong with me?

(I know this is a gripe that more legitimately belongs over on the diet blog, except that it drove me crazy all weekend, so... sorry.)

So I was feeling like an utter pig (and sort of unsatisfied, foodwise, to boot) and when the kids and cat conspired to wake me up at 6:15 Sunday morning and keep me up, I was in the foulest of foul moods. I managed to avoid snarling at the kids, but only through intense self-awareness that my bad mood had nothing to do with them. I put off eating breakfast until nearly 10, afraid to start another day's cycle of uncontrollable eating.

Going to the grocery store, weirdly, helped. By the time I got home, I was hungry but willing to be hungry. (I'm on a diet, after all; I spend about 80% of my waking hours hungry. Most of the time, I'm able to just acknowledge it and move on.) Naturally, I guess, since there was nothing I actually wanted to reserve points for. Eventually, I had lunch, and when I felt myself getting antsy again in the afternoon, I decided it was time to get out of the house again.

So I left the kids with Matt and went to Target, ostensibly to shop for a baby shower gift, but after I'd picked out a bunch of cute outfits for the baby-to-be, I wandered through the adult clothing section. I forcibly resisted buying new shirts -- I just finished overhauling my short-sleeved wardrobe, and need to save up for my fall/winter clothes -- but did spot some pants I thought looked good, and I do need better-fitting pants. So I tried on about eight pairs, and wound up keeping three. (I still can't wear pants without elastic waists. Fitted waist pants always gap at the back and show off my undies. It's ridiculous. I can't be the only woman on the planet with a shelf in the back, can I? C'mon, designers -- three darts would take care of the problem!)

And then I walked past the shoe section about twelve times until I decided fine, I'd go ahead and buy the high-heeled demi-boots I saw a few weeks ago. Call it retail therapy for my bad mood. I almost bought a pair of high-heeled mary janes that actually made my ankles look less puffy, but decided that I needed to restrict my unnecessary shoe purchases to one pair at a time. Especially since I haven't worn heels on anything like a regular basis since high school. (Seriously. I even wore flats to my wedding.)

I was feeling somewhat better by the time I got home -- whether it was the adorable baby clothes, or the frivolous shoes, or the outing itself, I don't know and don't much care.

So when the kids were in dire need of entertainment and Matt dug out the backyard pool, I grabbed my camera and had a blast taking pictures.

Cruel Eld

My new reading glasses are going to take some getting used to.

I had thought, when I ordered them, that I'd be able to use them for being on the computer, as well, and thus about 85% of my working day. Alas, the reading glasses are useful to exactly the tips of my fingers when I reach my arm out in front of me, and my computer monitor at work is a good foot and a half or two feet further away than that, when I'm sitting back and have the keyboard tray pulled out.

So either I need to rearrange my desk to bring the monitor closer, or I'm switching back and forth rather more frequently than I'd like, or I'm just sucking it up and using my "normal activity" glasses for reading at work. I'm still playing around with it; I'll figure it out eventually.

They worked fairly well at the gym (I read while I'm working out) though I had to take them off whenever I was actually walking anywhere or risk bumping into things. Walking back to the car, carrying my book, iPhone, headphones, glasses, and keys in my tired and sweaty hands, I dropped the phone twice and began to consider the notion that I need a small bag to carry my workout gear around with me.

After I'd showered and changed, though, I thought I'd take a stab at writing for an hour or so, so I pulled my laptop onto my lap and then put on the reading glasses, and ZWOM! the screen was suddenly enormous and I could see the actual pixels making up the letters on the screen. No, seriously, the screen was magnified by at least 5%, which doesn't sound like much but was actually quite shocking.

I observed as much to my twitter feed, then realized that being excited about reading glasses is quite likely the oldest thing I've ever done.

And the fact that I'm hoping to spend a significant portion of the weekend sleeping and reading is not helping my case any, I suspect.

Ah, well. If I actually worried about getting old, I'd be a lot older already.