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OK, saw this in [livejournal.com profile] cori_may's livejournal, so had to take the quiz...


Which Lady of Camelot Are You?

brought to you by Quizilla

But I wanted to be Dame Ragnul! I wonder if they even had her as an option. I think this is a cool quiz. How did they even find personalities for half the women of Camelot? I mean, how do you assign values for Lynette? I wonder if the non-maidens from the Castle of Maidens are even options? And damn that Guinevere, I'd never cheat on my guy!

As usual, I am overthinking, I suspect.

So. The contractors came. They made my kitchen boo-ti-ful, but sitll not QUITE done. For one thing, they have to put in grout in the backsplash. They tell me they'll be back tomorrow but don't know what time. So it goes.

Took Dad out for a longish walk today. I don't think he was expecting to be put through his paces quite so much. I also bought him fruit salad at a little deli halfway through the walk so he'd eat something and not dehydrate. I caught him mumbling to Baby that he has a job opening at his house (presumably, formerly filled by the dog) and that she's welcome to apply. It's better than some of the other stuff I've caught him muttering at her...

As usual, my parents are showing up before I can become properly introspective.

Thanks...

Sep. 24th, 2002 07:20 pm
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Thanks all for the good thoughts and wishes following the death of my parents' dog. I spent today with my father in an attempt to keep him from dwelling on everything. That dog was really the center of his life until Baby came along, so I've been attempting to make sure he remembers there's a new center. I think it worked. After hysterical crying on his part on Monday he seemed in much better spirits today. In fact I suspect this will bring about a change in our routine in general, with more time spent up at his house.

Contractors are theoretically due here between 8:30 and 9:00 am tomorrow. Anyone taking odds?
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Rebel, a much-loved retired greyhound whom my father adopted sometime around '96, was put to sleep tonight. His body was riddled with cancer, but he had a good time of it until his sharp decline in the last week or so.

We'll miss you, Rebel.

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Some years ago, while sharing a cab ride home with [livejournal.com profile] epilady and [livejournal.com profile] chestertodd the subject of teeth came up. I explained my phobias about dentistry and they said not to worry! Then they told me about Dr. B, the Best Dentist in New York. A few months later, I gave him a call and have never regretted it. Turns out these friends, who have often spoken of being in search of 'gay experiences', also pointed me to the Gayest Dentist in New York City, but more importantly, the Nicest.

Some random observations and recollections...

The business cards (green and cream stripes) match the 'architectural' wall in the waiting room. (The other wall is purple.)

I was scared to death for my first visit, and they gave me a stuffed animal to squeeze while they did their thing. The next time, I asked for it, and the assistant told me she'd have to go get out of the closet because, "The decorator was here and we had to hide it -- he gets upset if he sees them out!"

My husband started seeing Dr. B. Dr. B constantly exclaim over how sweet my husband was. One day, he was giving my husband dental hygiene directions and Hubby said, "Is there anything else I should do?" Dr. B said, "Yes," then spread his arms and said, "Give me a big hug!"

When Baby was born, he sent us gorgeous sterling silver presents for her: a switch plate and a night light with Noah's Ark theme.

The first time I was ever in his office, he was busy passing around a photograph of an art deco pin he'd bought for his mother at an antique store on his way back from Fire Island. He'd just finished having the clasp fixed and wanted to surprise her with it.

Today, Dad was at the office with me, minding the baby. Dr. B wandered out to the lobby to see her saying, "Where's the most beautiful person in the world?" and Dad answered, "Here I am!" to which Dr B replied, "Don't make me spank you!" God they were funny together...

Dr B is also incredibly patient with my phobias and need to have everything explained twice (once by the techs and then once in English). He's gentle, and careful, and never cross-contaminates, and very knowledgable.

So, [livejournal.com profile] epilady and [livejournal.com profile] chestertodd, allow me to kiss your four feet and thank you for the Nicest, Gayest, Most Trustworthy Dentist in New York.
creidylad: (Default)
Gwen just outgrew 6-9 month size. She is just moving into 9-12 month size... so how can it be that her 12-18 sized pygamas are already a little snug? Ah, the jigsaw puzzle that is children's warddrobes...

My mother and I have each selected a heap of clothing for when she grows into 18 month size... everything my mother picked has embroidery and bright colors. Everything I picked is plain and either tan or grey or both. So it goes.

In quite other news, my contractor is virtually AWOL. I don't know when my backsplash is going up, or when my cabinets get glass, or when he's going to put up the microwave spacer or order the new knobs or put in my sink pullout or replace my hallogen lightbulb or clean up the pencil mark...

"Soon" he tells me. I'm still not sorry I went with him, but this had better be done before the end of the month...

Meanwhile, I think I am in denial about the fact that Patrick is coming to visit this weekend. THAT should be interesting.
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Tonight my father said to me,

"Stop giving me directions, just tell me what to do!"

(I was, at the time, trying to explain that he needed to press and /then/ push to work the buttons that control the handle of my daughter's car seat, which she was strapped into at the time, and was wobbling dangerously atop a table.)
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Today we were supposed to go to the Ren Faire, Baby and I, but for various reasons that didn't work out, so we had a pleasantly lazy day. Then evening rolled around and in the midst of discussing dinner plans my parents offered that we leave Baby with them and go out, just the two of us. I had enough milk stored up that we could do it... so we did... and it worked! Easy as that. Baby was delighted to be there and delighted when we came to get her at the end, and I got to wear a non-breastfeeding dress for a change. Dinner was utterly delightful, too.

Lest anyone think I have only horrid things to say of my parents...
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I feel a few words must be said concerning my parents and their odious bathroom and associated habits. I live in horror of:

- My parents' bathroom door. It doesn't close all the way. Anyone coming up the stairs to the second floor has a lovely view of the door, in fact. Yet this does not bother them.

- My mother takes the cordless phone into the bathroom with her constantly, and uses both at the same time. I have no words.

- (Not to be read by the faint of heart) After listening to my father rumbling from the bathroom in his booming voice while performing his duties, so to speak, I am afraid I am unwillingly familiar with what he must sound like while having sex.

Ugh.
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Now, a longer note about Tuesday, which was utterly delightful.

The Better Half took Baby and I over to a friend's house on his way to the city, where we hung out all day. Eventually, her husband and mine showed up after work and we made dinner. A fun time was had by all. The babies, born within four days of each other, are developing at roughly the same pace (they both have two lower teeth, even, and are just learning to creep and threatening to crawl). There was one point where they were even linking arms and cooing at us and each other. At other points, they each had their hand on the same toy and seemed to be vaguely psyched about relating that way.

Not to mention how refreshing it is to spend the day with a friend and fellow-mother.

At the same time (you didn't think there'd be a whole post where I didn't mention my parents, right?) I get sick of my mother's constant, and I mean CONSTANT nagging about finding myself a mothering group. I know there is one at the Westchester Jewish Center but... that's not what I want. What I want are a group of AP style mothers with parenting philosophies similar to mine, and that's proving harder to find, though I'm making efforts...
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My father just called.

Yesterday, I spent the whole afternoon with him up at his house with the baby, hiding from the contractors and basically doing nothing but, well, hanging out with my father and the baby. I told him expressly I'd be trying to get some writing done this morning and I'd see him this afternoon.

It is 10 am, so of course he called, to see if perhaps I might like to come up and hang out with him. What's more he asked me in this flat, I'm-ready-for-you-to-hurt-me voice.

I gently told him no, of course. That I'd see him this afternoon, later.

Meanwhile, of course, the workmen showed up while I was in the shower and, when I answered the door, my towel swung open in back while I was standing in front of the full-length mirror in the hall.

I can't win.
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I created this journal in the hopes that it would get me actually putting my internal monologues into words instead of just running them through in my head over and over again. So far, it's not really working. Let me back up then, and talk about my visit to the Met on Friday.

First of all, I hadn't thought I was going to go. The Costume Institute was running an exhibit on Adrian, a 1930s Hollywood film costumer and 40s-50s haute couture designer, but I'd given up on seeing it as it was closing today (Sunday). I mentioned it in passing to my mother on Thursday, and she suggested that perhaps my father could take me. He expressed reluctance. I said it was no big deal and not to worry about it.

Then comes Friday morning. The phone rings, and it is my father, telling me he is going to pick me up at 10 am and we are going to the museum. Telling, not offering. I try to demur. He gets belligerent. So here I am, off to the city with my father in one of his moods.

All of this is fine, except I should mention my father sort of has hypoglycemia, and when he hasn't eaten or drunk enough, gets cranky as all hell. By the time we hit the city, he was cranky beyond belief, but knew he was hungry, so we stopped to eat (treat on me... ugh that museum restaurant is expensive, but it was yummy). Baby was a total angel through all of this, and Dad was charming at the multitude of waiters who stopped by to ooh and ah over her.

(Let me note as an aside that everyone who coos at your baby wants to tell you about their own baby. Even if their baby is 33 years old right now and a professional teamster, the parents still want to tell you about their first gurgle and how cute their toes were. They never stop being babies.)

Then we saw Adrian. It was fascinating, or at least his stuff for the movies was. His private collections were OK. A friendly queen was ogling the gown made for Greta Garbo in "Queen Christina" with me and we had one of those little New York moments when we're both sharing details and tidbits we both know perfectly well but can't help clucking over in wonder and excitement. ("It was too heavy for her to 'float' in, she could barely move with all those sequins." "Did you know that was $2,000 of sequins in depression-era dollars?" "That's a lot of sparkle!") Then the friendly queen and I made eye contact, and it was all over. Whoops! We both thought, I'm talking to stranger in New York. Better look like I have somewhere important to be and move on.

So I did, I turned around and there's my father, hovering near the exit. I was wearing Gwen in her pouch on my chest, and he's looking irate and unhappy until I tell him I'm done and we can leave.

A brief stopover in Gauguin, then he was sugar-crashing again, so I took him to the cafe and asked for a blondie, realized I didn't need the calories, and asked for a banana instead. So of course he bought me the banana and the blondie, and looked hurt when I didn't want to eat the blondie. He then proceeded to binge on sweets. *Sigh*. That just means the next crash is harder and sooner.

Then we drove home, through a rain storm so thick that at 2pm we couldn't see a thing around us except a few headlights and the misty outlines of the Hudson River beyond the edge of the highway. I suggested perhaps waiting out the storm somewhere where there wasn't three inches of water on the highway, but he was having none of it.

On the whole, it was a pleasant day, despite the moods and nerve-wracking drive.

A note about Adrian's movie creations -- they were brilliant works not just of design but of iconography. Tracy Lord, Kate Hepburn's character from Philadelphia Story, was supposed to have a "brass heart," so her white gown is detailed with brass accents in an amazonian pattern. Subtle. Fashionable. But totally appropriate. Now I want to design movie costumes...
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They started here on the kitchen today. Last night we moved everything out of the cabinets and stored it all in baby's room. I use the word 'we' loosely to mean Christopher mostly did it and I helped here and there. I don't know what it is with me. When I go to try to figure out something like, 'all these objects need to fit onto a few shelves, how do I make that work?' for some reason my mind goes blank and I start feeling light-headed and dizzy. I told this to Christopher and he pointed out it was no different than playing Tetris. But for some reason it is. Perhaps I am blocking some memory of severe trauma that occured when I was but a small child, something highly damaging that occured while I was being forced to clean my room.

I knew there was a way to blame my parents for this.

Meanwhile, the kitchen's pretty cool. They've ripped out all the cabinets on the right side and removed all the paint from the cabinets on the left with a heat gun. It was so hot that it was setting off the fire alarm earlier, but all is well now. It's remarkably clean for a space that was power-sanded. Pictures to be posted soon. Baby and I camped out in the bedroom all day with a laptop and a few PBJ sandwiches and her toys. Damn she's cute.

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August 2010

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