A Stitch in Fix Saves Six? SAHM's mental ventures out there...

It's a stylin' time in the Wright household. Baby got a haircut. Daddy got a haircut. Mommy and daddy learned how to use Pinterest and are experimenting with wild things like Stitch Fix. Life be dazzlin' hereabouts.

Ok actually, I still look greasy and disheveled, but some more thought has evolved about times where I may not.

On the Chaya front, somebody went through a bit of a growth spurt and got tall and mature and stuff. We have a front-facing, pixie-haired preschooler in our lives now.

The daddy-daughter haircut day was surprisingly smooth. We went to Hair Mechanix in downtown Mt Vernon. Kind of a sleek and fun barber shop, but boy did they nail the essence of toddler hair cutting: quick, unobstrusive and non-threatening. Chaya sat in my lap and squirmed around a bit, while our tactical genius struck with laser like precision at whatever swathe of scalp was exposed.

And it was a needed shearing:

Before... was getting a little rabid. And covered in all sorts of strange materials.

After...

Very pert. Much easier to handle. The stylist asked if I wanted a lock of her hair to save. I said the we'd already had to cut out ratted pieces off the back, so no sentiment required here.


But enough about Chaya's crazy hair!

On Chaya's very first day of Preschool, I rushed home and sent in a big honkin' application packet for a job. Not just any job: a professional job that sounded like a perfect fit for me. It so inspired me that I actually re-activated myself with the Washington State Bar Association. This means that this year will be spent tracking down all the free CLE credits I can cram into nap times and maybe actually still having to attend something somewhere. But I get ahead of myself. 

Just the idea of doing this was a major paradigm shift and it's rocked the cobwebs from my hydroxozine befuddled stupor apace. 

So far, I'm not feeling like the job opportunity is going to go anywhere. I've since updated that recalcitrant employment email address a few times (hey I'm an attorney again... hey I've been thinking about you... you look really nice in that gray sweater... hey is this still your number?) without response. Disappointed to not even here a "we got your stuff, thanks." But nonprofits and all. 

Still even contemplating such a step has numerous reverberations in my domestic blissitude. I had to think about so many logistical challenges and things I would or wouldn't do if I were to be back in work that the work product lingers. 

And the wheels have begun to twist and turn. 

And a few logistical ponders:

Chaya's done great with preschool. That was really reassuring for somebody who was applying ot possibly need a lot more of it. Given the hours requirement of the job application, I could likely have worked in 4-5 days of morning preschool. That seemed totally feasible to me, if sad ot lose that time.

And I suddenly thought "if we both have to be out of the house for a certain period of time, I'm getting a cleaning service!" Little things, but just the thought was intriguing.

I'm back to thinking that I'll use Chaya's preschool day to fit in my medical appointments, tidy the house, and maybe have a quick bit of rest. But should anything require me to regularly be out of the house, it would be kind of nice to have a thorough cleansing of the household. While I might want to be home... less so. It's still a pain having somebody go through your house.

I am nowpondering the option of taking on another attorney's contract in June 2019. Part time, in court for at-risk-youth. But it has a major couple of downsides. Still, it's opened up the pondering. and that of course perpetuates the keeping-an-eye out side of things. As well as making me reconsider taking that GAL training for the CLE credits and seeing where it goes from there. We'll see. But of course there are hurdles.

Extra exciting eczema in the real world: 

My hands still suck. They cycle through better and worse, but it's never really cleared or fully abated. It's quite limiting. Being in anything remotely like a warm room causes a major flare. A rise in body temperature causes a flare. I mostly have to wear gloves because too much abrasion is agonizing (and it keeps the moisturizer in). Aridity causes a flare. Heating causes a flare. Poor sleep never helps, but of course that's cyclical enough that I'm leaning on some anti-histamine sleep aids to keep any shoes from dropping.  I'm closing in on a dermatology appointment and hoping for something that will allow me to "manage" my condition without living in a slightly chilled clean room with an array of cotton gloves. 

This is a condition that doesn't really get "cured" (honey-smoked, maybe, but not cured). I don't quite know what made things erupt so angrily after a pretty conclusive dormancy, but there we are. Hope springs eternal that "avoiding triggers" means something a little less than "never doing anything that raises my body temperature above slightly shivery ever again." But if not, offices are going to be kind of miserable. 

One facet is being addressed in a different way. Since I started weaning Chaya things have seemed awfully "off" hormonally. And things got worse after she was fully weaned. I started getting my pregnancy "flame ear" and waking up in the middle of the night completely overheated. Any heat made my head hurt, my hands swell, and my stomach to turn a bit. It wasn't the traditional hot flash, but everything pestilential annoyance of pregnancy that wasn't directly related to having a large object crowding out my internal organs. In the midst of my "my hands are driving me nuts" and "this looks kind of weird to us but we're not really experts" I insisted strongly that some of this seemed hormonal to me, considering. 

Blood tests confirmed: (1) I don't appear to have an autoimmune disorder of which to speak, (2) I have the same wonk-ass hormones I had pre-conception but they're angrier now! Or at least they were unmedicated in this version of wonk-ass. I'm not menopausal, but I have virtually zero estrogen in my system. Guess what causes almost every single "symptom" I've complained of in the last several months? Hypoestrogenism. I don't think it will cure things, but I think the hormonal switch up  definitely triggered some serious crap. So at any rate, I am now taking estradiol while I await another meeting with another specialist: my reproductive endorcrinologist is back on the agenda for next week. I somewhat suspect she'll tell me to get on birth control instead of cycling through several more years of HRT. 

Of course many people fault birth control with worsening their eczema, so that doesn't thrill me, but hormones do play a part. And they definitely impact the "flushes" of whatever kind. I don't know if getting my hormonal flora back in place will cure my heat intolerance, but it will hopefully mitigate it. 

I was also thinking that I'd make use of a spritzer of water, some aloe gel, and a small fan to keep myself cool in an office. Not the ideal thing to constantly get damp, but heat really doesn't work for me. 

Anyways... enough about my weird health... no... wait... one more thing. 
Style: 

Gloves -  I did actually realize that my graying cotton gloves are off-putting. And I was thinking about how I'd manage that in an interview or professional setting. I feel like when you have to start a conversation with "Don't worry, it's not contagious" or "No, I'm not a mime," you may have already lost. 

 I discovered "UV Summer Driving gloves" - there's a huge trend for these summer UV gloves. And they are a but more attractive. 

See my Pinterest board here: 

Because recent developments pulled me into Pinterest. I appear to be about four years behind the game on Pinterest, so I feel like somebody's grandmother discovering Facebook, but it finally makes sense to me! It's like when I was little and would go through catalogs to circle all the things I wanted. It's magical fantasyland. Or a horrifying place of crafts, eating-disorder-inspiring sayings, and weird recipes. You choose your own adventure through pinning like crazy.

.... and



... An Ounce of Pinterest is Worth a Pound of (Carefully) CURE(ated by a Personal Stylist Online Shopping:

I dress like a homeless yoga student most days. I once had the option of "cleaning up nice" but then I bounded up up up the scale lickety split (thanks, Doctors - nothing necessarily improved except the extra space in my wardrobe). I've been dilatory to redress (har har) this gaping hole in my sartorial splendor, because... because shopping. Shopping sucks. It's depressing. It's full of missteps. Oh and trying on clothes is more than psychologically challenging: naturally that aggravates my hands. 

And thus new ideas were born. I was mentioning the whole Netflix-for-clothes subscription model to Andrew a few weeks ago. This is where you pay a membership fee and basically rent/check out clothes from a service. You pick clothes out. They make it easy to return. When you're done, you send them in and you get a new box. There's something really appealing about this model. I see it as one way of handling fast fashion: you constantly acquire and keep up with clothes that fit and fit trends but without shoveling through the corpses of fashions and sizes past. Plus, no laundry! You wear something and send it back. It's the 21st Century Version of having a few domestic servants or a good laundry service. I looked into Le Trunk, but they charge a fair amount and I'm kind of not feeling up to a $80 a month clothing budget in this lifestyle.  

Andrew went searching and we found a trove of clothing subscription services. 

He got sucked into Stitch Fix, which is a little different. This sends you a personally styled box based on your answers to an involved survey. You have three days to try the items (a blend of accessories, casual and formal wear). If you like any of it, you buy the stuff you like and keep. Anything you don't like, you send back. You can sign up to have a quarterly regular box. Or a weekly regular box. Or just manual. And when returning items, you get a chance to given feedback, so theoretically your stylist improves on their guesses each time. The personality test alone is worth trying it out. But this is where pinterest came into being. They let you link to your Pinterest fashion board. I have built a beautiful virtual wardrobe now. None of it likely fits or would ever fit into my life, but my online Pinterest avatar is very styling

So we're having a Cheesecake-clothing pact to try Stitch Fix out. And I picked up a free trial membership to Gwynnie Bee from a friend's referral. This is more of the clothing-rental model. 

So far, I've received two pairs of pants through Gwynnie Bee and expect my first Stitch Fix fixer-upper on Tuesday.


Gwynnie Bee. Is an amazing service though not one I'll stick with past the free trial. There are a few reasons for this.

The primary reason is that I'm not exactly plus sized (they cater exclusively to women size 10 and up). I do have long legs and full enough hips to qualify for their services but only sort of. Turns out that many brands that cater to plus sized women are also more prone to vanity sizing. So I am a size 12 or 14 in theory but not so much in practice. And no other part of my body fits plus sized, so my options are limited. Andrew says I'm not pear-shaped so much as cello-shaped. I'll take it.

The other issue is that the perfume in whatever they use to launder their clothes reeks to high heaven. I won't even speculate on what that does to my skin. My eyes and nose alone were burning after an hour or two in my first pair. Definitely will be washing before wearing in the future. Which kind of negates one of the appeals of rental clothing (never do laundry again!)

I give credit that they make the process easy. As soon as you're done you fill out a quick "I'm done and I did/didn't like these" and then seal the clothes up in a provided purple shipping bag. Complications may arise when your toddler decides the purple bag is the most awesome to ever... But with much distraction and some tears, you can extract it and jam it straight into the mail.

Of course I'm not sure I need nice clothes if I'm toddling. Though I'm tempted to drop the kid at preschool and run home to change into a complicated outfit with many pointy accessories and then just sit there sipping kombucha (not really big on wine coolers) for a few hours...

I hear fermented stuff helps with the eczema (that or a plumber... something about leaky guts)

Be-Bopping Baby and the Explosive Ear of Corn

In the 23rd week of gestation-a-go-go, a trusty helmsman shuffles from the stage and away from the seven kingdoms. And then there were two... and a smidgen. A kicking mango, karate smidgen burbling up in fair lady (W)rights belly. A new hope? A blotchy wrinkled eggplant? May time mercifully tell its tales in pleasing gestes without the taint of tragedy. Offices reshuffle and treadmill salvation nips upon its heels. And paternal parties go artfully anatine in the Lake of Swans. 

In week 24, the fizz pop of fermented milk of marvelous crackles with the snap pop KICK of MMA-corn-baby! Hubba-hubba-hubbies vanish into the bowels of the basement earth, while their sweeties swelter on sofas. A sororal gift of teeny sartorial splendor suits the building pile of be-bopping wrap-tastic supplies and nurseries emerge from the mist of pregnancy fog. And a single word: VIABLE shifts fears from early losses to premature labors. And on the bump bumps, ripping tendons and collagen that dare stand in the path of a full waddle!

Be-Boppy and the Slipcovered Sarong

Because some day I won't be able to just tuck the little Fonza-prune in my pouch and feed her via the ever so tasty amniotic ambrosia... baby things!! Two more exciting arrivals to presage our little bundle of joy and meconium! From the same "I could barely help myself from buying the entire list and a separate baby house to store it all in" generous Double-Mum-O-Awesome-sox-and saucin'. 

So far so good goes the week. And on our tip-toes to the weekend, this is promising. I've spent quite a lot of time organizing, cleaning and streamlining various processes at the office. Desk drawers that haven't been pried ajar in decades have had their spelunk! Supply shelves are re-ordered. Files are overhauled into logical areas (my version of logical anyways).

And everything that can be moved from clunky software into google calendar/docs etc. has been moved. Not the client files or anything, but our office type docs. How novel to be able to have a single portable calendar that addresses both work and personal, and which can be edited from any location! How thoroughly inconceivable to have a case status worksheet that can be edited by two users at the same time! Mombossa even christened our new conference room by meeting with an actual client there yesterday (more to come today). 

It's been a sweetly gentle week in terms of workload. There's really just enough for two people who are also dealing with restructuring and administrative matters. With three and no additional business, it might even feel treacle and molasses slow. But it's a perfect pace for the new normal to establish itself. Ha, normal. Sure sure. 

The home life settles as well. Andrew and I swapped our date night for the rainy Tuesday in lieu of the original plan in which he would spend the evening mud-biking and then go out with me on our perfectly clement Wednesday. I suggested it and I'm proud to have done so. I had more energy on Tuesday anyways (still have a residual headache from the weekend that got set off by yesterday's beautiful blossoming verdance), and yesterday was an excellent time for chores, chopping (of veggies), making of food, trekking to the recycling and the mail, and then collapsing for the remainder of the evening on the sofa with my feet elevated. 

Small joys. Elevated feet is like a double chocolate ice-cream sundae with strawberries and whipped cream these days. I'm far from the toils of timerster three, but I'm started to get those back aches and swollen legs/feet right now as a preview. Better to ease into these things, I figure. 

And these things are accompanied with adorable and exciting baby things! So a total trade off of easing in-ness!

Happy Tippee Toed Thursdays to all y'all. May your frolick to the weekend be an easy and a merry one!

Corny Fonz The Viabilababy!

I trammeled past all odds and daunting barriers (to be described below) to make it here and share the very joy of WEEK 24 of this pregnancy dalliance! Viability, baby! Whatever that means. Ok, I know what it means. There was that first trimester paranoia about all the normal discomforts of pregnancy being harbingers of miscarriage. No more. Now we get to go full on Valetudinarian about common complaints being signs of premature labor!! WHOOOOO! Or so all my pregnancy sites are beginning to warn. If anyone needs me, I'll be camped out at the ER until August. 

But that's cool. Between the malicious doors out to close in my face and the cruelly unrelenting onus of gravity, I didn't have enough to worry about. And it's kind of awesome that should the Fonz be born today, there's now about a 50% chance of survival. 

And the sites agree pretty unilaterally: she's an ear of corn this week!

Which works, as her ears are developing rapidly. Not only can she hear, recognize sounds, and possibly react to them by punching my belly, but she also has now developed her inner ear sufficiently to distinguish up-down and right-left. Which is pretty impressive. I still can't distinguish left and right half the time. Our little creature is a genius!

Well at least her brain is developing rapidly. The neural functioning is now about on par with that of a newborn, capable of some form of "consciousness" (time to whip out the philosophy books and ponder such weighty words), memory, and REM sleep even. What do babies dream? Hard to imagine. Probably lots of naked dreams and dreams about showing up for delivery totally unprepared (see we're all freaked out about preterm labor here!).

But while she's awake, she's a thrasher now. And it's going to get more exciting apparently. This month is the most "active month" since she'll get too big to go whole hog after that.

My poor aching stomach muscles and ligaments. They're not already totally tweaked, ripped and twinged from all that growth... ok, they are. I swear, turning to look behind me while reversing the car is painful and feels like ripping. I hear that my collagen layer actually is doing just that! All for you little baby. My uterus is now the size of a soccer ball (hence your desire to kick it? Naw, I think you just get claustrophobic in there) and my skin is irrepressibly itchy. As promised!

In other exciting "well phew at least I can blame something" symptoms: (1) Braxton Hicks - no, not hiccups, but the uterine practice contractions that really are totally normal, but make sure they're not a sign of labor eek. Or something. They pick up around now. (2) Carpal tunnel - I guess I am advised to elevate my hands on a pillow while I sleep. I have been elevating them on a stuffed animal. Hope that's sufficient. (3) Dry eyes - yep! (4) Nasal congestion and cold symptoms - worse than before.  I barely can breathe through my nose at night on the best conditions and feel like a leaky faucet in the mornings; (5) red itchy palms? Well red and itchy. Not palms yet. But I'll take the advice to avoid things that exacerbate the redness like heat, tight clothing and... oh yeah dishwashing. All yours sweet husband! (6) Round ligament pain - stretching oh so close to snapping; (7) Oh yes, the pregnancy fog and clumsiness persists to new levels. My aphasia is epic and I sometimes will just stand in a room for minutes trying to remember why I went there. 

Speaking of... why on earth am I here at the office? Why dear lord why would I walk through an office door barricaded with several bags full of discovery documents that I know to be abstruse, incomplete, fallacious, and disorganized? Documents I know to be my responsibility. 

Why would I need heed the signs made so clear when the clasp holding up my cell-phone purse strap caught on the seatbelt, refusing to release until I finally struggled free and broke the entire clasp in the process? What contumely causes me to charge so boldly forward into the abyss? 

Absent-mindedness mostly. That and the desire for lemon water and a hand-full of dates I suppose. (Yes appetite is there and it likes dried fruits a lot). 

And the promise of the weekend. So very near. There is no turning back. Only charging forward with our ears a poppin (mostly in my lower abdomen).

Mind the Baby Gap Wild Wardrobery and the Myoclonic Massage

We may be a few months off from the big screaming show, but the stork arrived a little early with some gifties in a magical suitcase containing roughly two Baby Gaps and a small bedroom. Actually, my sister gave the sartorially laden suitcase to my mom to return to me back in March. I've been afraid to attempt opening it, being fully familiar with my sister's magical packing abilities (she could fit a stable of ponies into the trunk of a kia, I'm pretty sure. 

Yesterday, though, I had a brief moment of bravery and/or those occasional nesting twinges that lead more domestically minded women to remodel, select "baby themes" etc. etc. And thus I dared open Pandora's suitcase. 

Baby clothes are friggin' TEEENY!! I swear she gave me doll clothes. Adorable, misty-tear-inspiring doll clothes. Sleep sacks, onesies, little itty bitty baby shorts, fifty odd hats for all varieties of meteorology and activity, fleecies, sweaters, vests. Our little girl is going to be one snazzy 0-6 month old. After that, her chic might take a wee bit of a nosedive, since that's maybe when the torch gets passed back to us and things get a little less chic and a little more hipster norm-core type fashion (at least I'm assured that this is the stylish word for "rolled out of  bed and threw some plain clothes bought on sale at Rite Aid" these days)

Today has been nice. Andrew is holed up in his bike dungeon again doing unspeakable things of which I daren't speak or ponder. I started my morning off with a walk and a massage. Oh the massage was lovely. So nice that I started to drop off, causing one of those sleep-jerk-awakes that startled my poor massage therapist. I had to assure her that what she was doing was absolutely perfect and please would she not stop. She still did eventually, but I guess when you pay for an hour you can't expect eternity. 

For whatever reason I'm quite sleepy today. Have been yawning up a storm through all my sundry chores and am looking forward to a spell of time just chilling on the sofa before dinner. Perhaps the boyfrianceband will emerge from his lower chambers even! I've got the traps and the binoculars ready just in case!

Super Swine Crash Land on Monday And the Fizzy Fermented Preceding Weekend o'Whoopie

Man, I was tired this weekend! I don't know what got into or out of me. Ok, yes I do. Into me: thrashing little creature who seems hellbent on early parole for good(ish) behavior. Forget c-sections, I think this little Fonzie beast will be burrowing her way out of my belly. Possibly, now that she's heard she's viable, she'll be doing so fairly soon. And it's not uncomfortable yet, but she's getting bigger. I'm still in for it but sooner than before. Out of me? Well, that's a topic of private nature that need not be shared too publically, other than perhaps a lot of energy during the week. 

Also "into me" this weekend was my very own homemade kefir! I doubt that the oh so strenuous work involved in making it was to blame for my exhaustion (put some "grains" in milk, leave milk alone at room temperature for a day, strain grains, drink kefir), but it was an exciting process. I started getting pretty obsessed with kefir a few months ago. Fizzy fermented milk that has kind of a sourdough yogurty tang but then absolutely unique at the same time? Sign me up! But commercial kefir comes mostly flavored (i.e. "sweetened" which I hate) and in smaller containers for a pulchritudinous penny.

Turns out that making kefir probably isn't significantly cheaper day by day. Or at least if I persist in buying organic milk, then I probably pay about 0.75 cents a day for 1.5 to 2 cups of kefir versus 75 cents for decidedly 1 cup a day. Something like that. But it does create a lot less recycling to haul out to our common recycling islands at least. I could probably buy cheaper milk and say "hey, the flavor of the original milk matters less when it's all fermented and weird tasting anyways," but that seems sort of excessively penny-pinching. 

And maybe the homemade kefir isn't quite as addictively "yogurty" as the Trader Joe's kind, but it has a certain quality that makes it pretty compelling. I'm enjoying it. And any time I can "make" food that requires so little effort while still giving me that homemade halo... I'll go for it! I put nutmeg and cinnamon in during my "second fermentation" for the kefir I made this weekend. It was nummy. 

Andrew has made significant progress in the bike dungeon, after quite the struggle. Floor is as perfect as he needs it, and he's actually set up his desk and bike trainer down there. Hence why he may never be seen again. But I have all the food upstairs, and so far there's no bathroom down in the basement jungle, so I have sufficient incentive with which to lure him out from time to time. 

And since I was so zonked this weekend, I didn't need to do much luring for my satisfaction. I actually took quite the incredible nap yesterday. This got my energy up for some serious sofa surfing down stairs until I decided it was time to remove dinner from the slow cooker and force the fella to come upstairs (we insist he dine in style, so fortunate that his mom sent him his grandfather's old military jacket). 

And really maybe all of that sleepiness was in preparation for what awaits at the office: several bags of discovery dross. Not in binders. Not labeled with relevant exhibit tags. Probably (if past history serves as a marker) not relevant or complete. Guess who will get to find out?? Hopefully our client and our financial expert. But I'll get to spelunk as well. Wheeee! Definitely a Monday morning there. 

Wish me luck and I wish you a happy work week full of whimsical whistling from your lips to the sun that surrounds you!

Bring on the Ice-Ice-Baby (Fonzarelli)

Well I'm definitely dreading summer at this point. It was warm yesterday. Unseasonably to a small degree, getting up in to the 70's. That might be "clement" for most, but I've never been a big fan of heat (unless the heat is concentrated in battery-operated slippers, gloves, or cozy robes in cool climes). As I've babbled on about, I'm an HSP (highly sensitive pain-in-her-own-ass more like - the world as sensed by all but with the volume up to the max). Temperature, light, sound, emotions, gestures... they're all so overwhelmingly loud most of the time! Dimmer switches and proper fanning is always an issue. And heat, in particular, triggers the worst of headaches. This pregnancy thing has certainly enhanced that distaste to a right aversion. Pretty sure my version of "room temperature" is closer to 62 degrees at this point. And some days, I'd certainly let it get colder just for the rare luxury of getting to snuggle into my warm and cozies. So, yesterday... a preview of the joys to come. And they were less than joyous. 

Fortunately, I have air conditioning in my office now. Thank all the powers that be and any that may be-and-not-be-in-some-kind-of-transcendent-neo-platonic-fashion for that! Of course as soon as I leave my little cave for the middle office, the ambience hits oven and we're up to an 80 degree swelter. I, in turn, find my face a vermillion shade of fireball and begin to hear the tarumtumtum of a good throb. Home was better, but not fantastic. We don't currently have a fan in the ground floor area. We will once the air conditioning takes over in our bedroom, but until then, that is the priority room for fanning. 

Our new home is significantly less oven-like than the prior, thank goodness badness and moral ambiguity... BUT in my delicate "condition" this only ameliorates the difficulty. Our new place has great airflow, so any breeze will calm a warming interior. Some days, though, nary a breeze in sight. Yesterday was one of those.

Needless to say, yesterday was big fat headache and ice pack day. And it wasn't that warm out! Hence my concern. Oh summer pregnancy. Adorable to have a baby so close to my birthday, but awfully inconvenient to place me of all people smack in the dab of a likely warm June and July while sweaty, huge, and pumping 150% of my normal blood volume with swollen everything. 

If anyone needs me for the next four months, I'll be trying to fit my enlarged body into our standalone freezer! There's a bit of a legend (confirmed by the mombossa) that my labor was possibly induced when she threw herself into the lake to cool down on a warm August Day. Poor Fonzarelli might just be coming out early, because that sounds really refreshing. 

Anyways, the forecast today is for rain - blessed rain. I may do a little thank you dance to summon it on its way. 

At least the bike and chain got to enjoy the weather with an after work bike ride. Since he has a great tolerance for heat, it's not been easy for him tolerating his wife's ever boiling blood and arctic preferences. I really appreciate that he has been adjusting to life with blankets and warm sweaters and robes so that the heat can be low enough to forestall migraine eruption on my part. Maybe I just need a cooling suit and he can have a heated one. That should mix us nicely in the middle. 

Whatever the heat may be today, may you warm nicely into this week with gusto and zeal. And a little bit of cozy if you can find it!

Karate Kiddo, Filial Fortunes, and a Long Leslie Goodbye!

In the week of 2-2s, the pruney Fonzarelli tossed and tumbled along with an world set atip in full frenzied stir! Hail through the scintillating sunbursts! Tempests between soothing professional palps. The pending departure of a third of the Musketeers beckoned perky poltergeists to upend the furnishings and set offices askew in a sequence of ne'er-lasting lasts with the departing damoiselle. Weekend ways were safe but uninspired, and keys led nowhere. 

As week 23 charges into the sixth month, bumping bellies burble when leeky mangos train for MMA matches in utero. Intrigue abounds at the Collaborative Convention as members of all seven kingdoms reeled at the news of Leslie's departure. A grand fete planned and executed in an abundance of feasting gave a fondest farewell to a dear friend. Registry excitement exploded in (W)rightlandia, while office elves revitalized the second-home-space. And a moment of awestruck gratitude at the instance of a father's festival of birth. 

Collaborative Law Snippets - What I did instead of writing a post this morning... an excerpt about Leslie

12:10 - The Strident Secretarial Screams Harken the Meeting Hour:

Special Party Business!!

Official business began on a bittersweet (no sorry, no chocolate this time) note. 

Pamela owned that her loyal Bosun Leslie would soon no more hold the helm at Englettlaw. Upon her own designs to retire from her seat at the Seven Kingdoms of Family Law some day (and with knowledge that she could not possibly do so until her mate was well situated and safe from political backlash), Pamela ha​d encouraged Leslie to seek employment in a new field well insulated from the upheavals of litigious larrikins and their lurking lackies! 

Leslie will now be working as an assistant project manager at Dawson Construction. Her last day at the office is Friday April 17th. 

And thus it was that Pamela declared that April 17th shall be a day of feasting and feting in the kingdom of Englettlaw. Between the hours of 1:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m. all are invited to drop in and wish Leslie a fond farewell* 

*Farewells are nice, but treasures and tributes will also be accepted... either by Leslie or by her soon-to-be-erst-coworkers. Did Adella mention she likes dark chocolate and money and generally sparkly things, and that she is registered at amazon.com's baby registry and wouldn't Leslie's office just make the perfect nursery for her incoming infant... if the desk were just replaced with that amazingly awesome Graco Play yard with little monkeys plus that little kick and play baby piano and shouldn't the office generally just sort of have more of a monkey theme??? With a ball pit????Wouldn't that be just perfect!

​As the members reeled at such a blow to their community, Patrick dangerously flashed his eyes, pointed his inquisition upon Adella and revealed the terrible secret he had learned from the oracle of Harris Street: Leslie and Adella were one and the same! Where were they going, he asked, chuckling at the turnabout and awaiting the gasp of such gravid reveal! If commercials were allowed, there would be a break about here...  

But were they? Members regaled the hall with tales of Leslie's prominent past in paralegalling. Existing before time itself, she may well have started the LAW Advocates program before adopting the Englett office as her safe harbor home. Surely such vivid tales were not merely illusion concocted by a mad daughter of the Lady of Englettlaw! Surely memories could not be so manufactured in each mind. Surely Leslie had no reason to develop an alter ego in the form of Adella after several bouts of insomnia! Surely somebody had seen the two together at the same time!

Clarification: Whilst each forms a vital part of the Kingdom of Englett, these ladies manifested from different origins (sometimes the Oracle plays April Fool's tricks and poor Pat fell prey on this day) and only occasionally inhabit the same physical presence. 

A few distinctions: 
1. Leslie is a paralegal, a professional vocation which is sometimes confused with a legal secretary though it is a distinct calling and skillset. Adella is Secretary of the WCP. But not actually a paralegal. Or a secretary in other connotations of the word. Some malicious calumny has even branded her as an attorney (shudder and gasp!).

2. Adella is enceinte (and possibly insane, but that's a different issue) with the spawn of Wright. Leslie's son is already in college and she'd not be thrilled to hear of any pregnancies on her part at this point. 

3. Adella is sticking around to milk the nepotism for as long as she and the little incunabula can impose upon the aegis of her generous mom-boss. Leslie is flying off to new career in construction

...​And with grief did the official record end, while discussions continued. It is presumed that all survived the day, but never guaranteed. 

Writhing Wrinkly Ear of Mango Mumbo Jumbo And the treadable treadmill! (fingers crossed, which is making typic very difficult)

It's Week 23 in baby-bumping land! That means a new list of produce and a whole new definitive entry in "you can't be six months' pregnant! You hardly show at all/aren't even showing!" Really, trust me. Don't make me show you my belly button here (oh wait, too late, shirt's back off)... It's all true. At least I hope so. I've got a visit with my OB today and I would like to think they'll confirm that it's a healthy 23!

It's an exciting milestone in that if the Fonzarelli were to leap forth from the womb prematurely, she would actually have a mild chance of survival this week (between 23%-30% with proper medical care). That chance will sky rocket as the weeks wear on, but it's still kind of cool to think about. The first trimester is all about milestones towards the pregnancy "sticking"; from here on out, the milestones are about the pregnancy releasing successfully!

And if our little ruddy wrinkly rat were released today? Why we've got produce to pick:

1. Papaya again! Papapapapaaaaaaaayaaaaah! I'll buy that. She's going to fatten up into a nice plump papaya in the next month, apparently doubling her current weight. Of course that just means putting on about a pound, but still, that's significant when you consider the proportions. 

2. Eggplant again! Well after that Seder "chopped liver" recipe with eggplant subbed in, I am pretty ok with eggplant. Between that and Baba Ganoush (new baby name? Kalamata Baba Ganoush? Aubergenia?), I have made my peace with the odd nightshade. 

3. An Ear of Corn! Mmm how appropriate for a summer-baby. This has more to do with length but with all the stringy hair and whatnot growing on her, she may well look covered in husks. 

4. A Leek! The mellow and nuanced allium. Long, lithe, graceful, and oh so subtly saporous. 

5. Mango! I love mangos! And it fits that ruddy hue she still sports due to the veins and arteries showing under that translucent skin she's got!

And that red skin? It's hairier at the moment, but also developing keratin. And the fat be coming. Hence why I need to eat all of that brownie brittle we bought for Leslie's party. My baby needs collagen!

In other "weird but vital substances coming this week" her lungs are developing surfactant, which will allow the lungs to inflate and deflate without sticking together! This will enable many future years of screaming and shrieking and bawling I am sure!

Apparently, the little Fonza-leek has fully developed hearing. She's starting to get familiar with the audial surroundings and may no longer be startled by familiar loud noises. Like my usual screams and hollers when nobody else is around and a nasty cabinet edge has assaulted my poor face again? My caterwauling in the shower that makes Scuttle the Seagull sound like Bing Crosby on a crooning binge? My squawks and shrieks in traffic when another car is driving recklessly and the fact that I am hurtling through space in a metal death trap at 70 mph comes back into full consciousness? 

Apparently not. Or at least, she might get used to it, but I'm instructed about a billion times to remain happy!!!and avoid stress because it's like more toxic to neurodevelopment than mainlining GMO nutrasweet laced with PCBs and BPA. Or something. So, um, I mean... ommmmmmm. I actually was even going to go to a peaceful and calming "contemplative prayer" meeting last night (largely meditation), but then I was so friggin' tired that I ommed out on the couch with my legs up instead. I think that was a fair trade off. 

Apparently it is par for the course that I'm also starting to tire more easily again. Time for that nap to make a comeback. 

Which is actually amazingly convenient timing (at least I hope so). Yesterday -while I was waiting several hours to receive the joyful news that (1) I need gum surgery too (what can I say, my mom's a role model), but (2) I can wait a few months after giving birth first - the treadmill people finally arrived. The thing is equipped with a new motor and motor control board. I used it for an hour yesterday and am on minute 52 right now. Which is promising. 

That's tied in to my previous comment about naps, really. See, without the treadmill desk, I pretty well need a walk in the morning to keep my head straight. So I've been taking an hour long walk each morning for the last month. That really cuts into the "non work time" I have for myself in the morning. My twenty minute nap just didn't fit in, so I folded it into the walk part. I am looking forward to being able to get my walk on while working and take my breaks for resting. 

I won't really get a chance to do a full treadmilling day today, since there's much afoot hereabouts. There's that appointment with the OB (hopefully informing me that in fact I can be six months' pregnant and it's all good!), and then there's that whole "last day of work party" thingy shortly after. 

We've laden the outer table with treats, but there is a lot more to get. And gifts to compile. And banners to hang! And sweet nothings to whisper to each other about our undying gratitude and love, and about how we'll still survive (which inevitably will be asked: "what are you going to do with Leslie gone???"). 

And that brownie brittle, of course... Fonzie needs me to eat that brownie brittle! Or an entire veggie plate and several tons of trail mix. Maybe both. 

Happy Friday!! Yes, our new baby bassinet is the very first baby item we've received in our home. I started building up our amazon baby registry earlier this week and sent it to my mom and sister for feedback (Andrew's been a bit distracted with his bike dungeon project and I thought it was time to just get a checklist and start the windows shopping online... terrifying process, but kind of fun when you ease into it gradually). Naturally my mom exerted "great restraint" in not buying the entire list. But we may have a few items already  headed our way!

This fabulous Halo is my dream product! It's a side-sleeper bassinet and a little harder to put together than I could manage. But it's going to be awesome! At some point... After we clear out all the cardboard and whatnot... 

Leslie and the Light-to-Heavy-and-full-of-Hearted Last-Day

Well, we three of Englettlaw are now an Engle-duo! Maybe two and a half. Leslie actually will be coming in on off hours a few times a month to handle billing. Sure we do this because billing is complicated and she's good at it, but also so that she - as an employee subject to all the benefits and confidentiality rules of such employment - can continue to hear the lurid and colorful tales of our trade. I'm sure she'll have a few of her own to swap with us soon, going into construction and all...

And what a day. It truly was the right send off and the right-but-unanticipatedly-so-and-feeling-kind-of-early time. She began the day by coming in late (preplanned PT), so the rest of us began the day hanging a banner (We Love LESLIE) and compiling her trove of tributary gifts, including the honorary diadem of rosy sparkles and frivolity.


And maybe I began my day before all that dayness by romping on a functioning treadmill. This was not necessarily an ode to Leslie, per se, but I'm glad I could give her one day of that oh so familiar treadmill roar before her future employment environs swallow her in hush. I am so selfless!

Upon her arrival, we - eventually (I was on a roll with the treadmill) - convened in the office for a right on treacly sickening love fest that I will spare the world of sharing for fear of a mass diabetic outbreak. But it was heartfelt and poignant, and involved the ritual exchange of chocolate and cards on both ends. In customary fashion, I had to leave quite abruptly in the midst of all the kumbaya hugging in order to make my OB appointment. 

Incidentally, it was the fastest appointment I've had at BOGA so far. I met yet another fantastic doctor (they have a stable of them there) and she heard the heart, measured my belly and explained the oh-so-exciting glucose test I'll be taking next month. After some reassurance from her, I actually this morning am starting to feel more confident that I feel the little Fonz practicing her taebo in my belly. In fact, this morning, I noticed that I could see it if I stared at my stomach. Still not 100% certain every time, but... adjusting to the idea that I'm not just marveling in awe at crazy indigestion.
 
'
And in the afternoon was the party. With plenty o'plentitude and more food than a roving hoard could ravage. Few even tried, but it was a beautifully balanced afternoon of small groups holding court and hearing the tales; there was also bountiful moments letting Leslie know how appreciated she has been and how missed she will be. Also, brownie brittle. 

When the final straggler had been chased out, we packed up the food, removing the perishables to Casa Wrighta, and had a prolonged and surreal goodbye. 

Today the adjustment really begins. Mombossa can start processing what it means to be short an appendage and right-hand of 13 years. And in the middle, we can start making a plan for moving around all the furniture and apportioning responsibilities. 

And maybe in the middle, there will be some chilling and walking and "oh my lord 65 is HOT" air-conditioning fantasizing. 

Swan Puddle Jump Into a Grateful Birthday Fete

Yesterday was my father's birthday. I forget how old he is. Older than me. I could even calculate it out, since I know his birth year (1981 - was a very young dad... no, not really), but why bother? He's alive and he was born and that is enough cause to celebrate. 

As I was walking yesterday morning, I had time to reflect a lot on what it means to have had my father as a father. Really, my parents as parents. I realized that I am one of very few people I can name who has had an ongoingly positive, supportive and present relationship with both of my parents over the entire course of my life. That really just blew me a bit away, actually. 

Oh yes, my parents have had their individual issues coming to grips with their own selves, their issues with each other (hip hip hooray for divorce when it's right for two people), and certainly we've butted heads at younger ages. But it has always been true that both were there, both were concerned, both listened (in time perhaps), both expressed love and limits, and both gave me the support to try my own path with the assurance that if I failed, this would be ok. 

Feeling mighty lucky. 

My dad and I certainly had more of our share of conflict when I was a sprat, mostly a teenager. But in a lot of ways, this was essential for me to learn the rules of healthy conflict and communication. It also gave me a place to assert and crystalize my budding sense of identity. The conflict was always within a safe space in which love - even acceptance - on either side was never doubted. My father loved and so he worried. It was hard for him to let go, but in the end he did. And I learned fathoms about setting boundaries and expressing my needs in the (longish - teens aren't necessarily the most emotionally intelligent beings so some lessons take a little longer) interim. That's pretty amazing. 

Other things I'm particularly grateful for from my father: (1) a sense of tradition, of values, of coming somewhere, and the importance of reaffirming rituals that connect me to my origins and my family, (2) a deep thirst for beauty, and the vulnerability to that beauty which allows the giving up of self to imbibe more fully, (3) the use of humor as a tension and stress relief valve, (4) a sense that I am merely one part of the world and that I owe it to those around me and to myself to invest in the lives and well-beings of others, (5) the pique to leap from my comfort zone despite aversion, (6) fiscal responsibility, (7) planning is good, but cooking - and life - should never be entirely on-recipe, (8) that a quest for learning and knowledge is best when insatiable and always forwarded, (9) a sense of the importance of spirituality and community in my life, (10) a billion other things including the importance of communicating about difficult topics and staying emotionally available to our loved ones even through difficult conversations. 

Phew, so wow lucky me! Who knows why I'm still so oddly adjusted, but I like to think that while most people assume they are "above average" I'm more like "there is no up and down when you're diverging from average in outer space!"

We celebrated by make yet another trek to the hinterlands of Seattle, a driving and sitting experience which I was admittedly dreading. After the last few treks - particularly in any form of heat or sunshine - I've reeled for days afterwards. Headaches, dehydration and electrolyte imbalances, exhaustion... and I'm not saying these aren't on the periphery, but it was worth it to share Swan Lake with the man who shared that love of music-performance-emotion-experience-theater-etc. with me. 

It's a stupid story: boy hunts swans, boy meets swan-girl, boy gets confused by a jerky sorcerer in a drag-fabulous-on-Gay-Pride-day cape into thinking some other girl is the girl he met, boy loses girl when girl is consigned to be swan for the rest of her life because the boy went and fouetted with some other chick... but it's so evocative when staged well. The music itself is integral to every part of our lives (and so profoundly passionate), the dance sequences are familiar to anyone who has ever studied ballet, and the raw experiences of love and betrayal can be thoroughly chilling and sob-inducing with just the quiver of a swan's shoulder. The PNB put on a brilliant performance with Leslie Rausch and Seth Orza as the leads. Leslie Rausch so well captured the vulnerability and thrall of the white swan with a capricious and gleeful black swan that defied a traditional temptress and yet accorded perfectly with the story. The costumes and sets were splendid. And the choreographical touches by Sendak made the story far more cohesive.

And oh that music. The way it swells with longing and passion... lovely. 

There's something about sharing a moving experience with somebody similarly moved that enhances its sapor and potency. That was truly the case yesterday. Speaking of things for which to be grateful. 

So, if I complain or cavil about the odd headache or sleepiness today, let it be known that I am beyond words more lucky than not and more grateful than anything. 

Happy Monday! It's already weird and mad in the office with Leslie gone and furniture magically moved around. The piles of resulting stuff from various shelves is a little terrifying and much organizing remains to be done, but we're getting there... now to actually figure out running the office as a duo. Yikes!

Official Officey Reshuffley Riot! But like in a Mellow Sorta Way

Leslie's gone for one day and things get topsier and turvier than the curiousest of curiosers! And I've gotta say, I love it. This weekend, Mombossa enlisted her trusty consort (a/k/a "Favors" according to Swype's favorite interpretation of "David") to move heavy things around. Many heavy things. In many locations. When I entered on Monday, the horrible treadmill desk dungeon had returned to its airier capacious location (within viewing distance of the monitor). 

But that wasn't all...

The whylum "Leslie's office" had undergone a total makeover worthy of a half-finished Queer Eye episode. I say half finished, because the major components were moved, but the final touches perhaps forestalled. The two part desk had been separated out. One moved up against a wall with a computer station still intact. The other removed from the office and repurposed as a reception type table in our front lobby area. This is a drastic transformation of that opening space, which previously met visitors with several screens and a narrow secretary on which to leave papers (if you could balance them).

Back in the ever mutating Conference Room, the table and chairs stood ready for conference. A little shelf in the back was begging to be filled with snack supplies (I happily obliged with my many mediation set-up trainings, and now all of the most unhealthy and tempting of junk snacks are snugly hidden in plain sight of all relevant conferencing attendees. Just as it should be!

But it didn't stop there! The large bookshelf previously in "Leslie's Office" had been moved into mine. In exchange, my two other smaller shelves had been thoroughly removed from the office along with a filing cabinet and a few other sundries. 

As mentioned, everything was PILED with detritus. Filing boxes, closed files, semi-open-file overflow, dance shoes, swimsuits, and a million other personal items that I'd stashed in the little shelves because I had no other plan for them and didn't really want to deal with them. Several forests of papers no longer needed or poorly organized. This was my task yesterday. I still have the dance shoes, hand warmers, electric slippers, and hair glitter sitting on my new bookshelf, but the paper has been recycled and the shelves are organized. And the desk actually has surface area and an inbox!

Mombossa was still on a rampage, taking several trips worth of filing boxes down to the car and moving others. An entire half-office space full of piles were whittled down to none by this morning!

In between, she fled the office to buy a new phone at the mall. Guess her old one finally gave up the digital ghost (in the shell or pre-shelled, I forgot to ask). 

We may have also done some work yesterday, but it's primarily important to get the workspace set up for our impending public appearance. 

In other events, I am still pregnant. Good to keep tabs on that. Hence perhaps why I allowed Mombossa to do all the heavy lifting yesterday. Probably also a culprit (or so I shall asseverate to high heavens) in the mysterious toppling of several gravity-prone items including a bag full of pepitas and a full glass of water.

Belly button is still at the threshold of outie without full committal, but I can pretty assertively say that "oh, all that rumbling I thought was maybe just my GI system being weird??? No, no I don't think that causes actual ripples and bumps and little fist impressions on my outer belly! Duh, baby moving!" 

Hey, I'm a first timer. I discovered my new rippling belly sometime this weekend. You can even see it through clothing. I've more or less abandoned omphaloskepsis for a more generalized area-watch. The whole thing is fascinating. Equal parts creepy and delightful. Our little one is super-active. I am super-in-for-it when she gets to be baby sized instead of some happily measurable produce! And I finally got to let Andrew feel the rumbles with assurance that he wasn't just experience his pulchritudinous paramour's bad gas or something. Phew! And yikes... a few more months and I just hope no hands actually break through. Little thing is getting strong!

Wish me luck! With the office reshuffle, my blundering elegance, and this wee Fonz's karate, I may need it!