Happy Monday

Work was rough. Everyone seemed shaken by the Mondays. John, the network guy that's brilliant and eccentric resorted to screaming/yelling the stress out. I asked him if it was therapeutic but I never got an answer. He's pissed b/c he found out he's been paying maintenance on a router that was never connected (6 years). That's a bad day for you. And he's dealing with the aftermath. And John's a Virgo -- I thought they cared about keeping it together... Guess not (I drive A nuts generalizing but it's my hobby).

And Steve, our project lead is falling off his diet. He's a teddy bear of a guy that hails from Chicago. He was railroaded into leading a 2nd project that has failure written all over it. Product should be delivered right about now and he's the 3rd project lead coming up to speed on the thing. We entertain each other with Murphy's Law scenarios and kid stories.

I was irritable b/c I couldn't get a decent answer out of anyone in gov't: I submitted a documentation package to government Feb 1. Gov't has had it a decent amount of time and now it's impacting the project. Can I get a response? No. I didn't really expect one but I was irked that build documentation from another contractor was supposed to be submitted 4/27. I don't have access to said database to verify document delivery. Can I find a gov staffer to confirm delivery? That, I actually thought I could get an answer to. But no, 2nd day running, all it should take is a glance and I can't get that.

I miss ITT and AT&T. I had total control, it was great. I wasn't the PM but I had enough latitude to call the shots and backbrief the PM. Both jobs rocked. Though the travel with ITT burned me out. I miss being the one getting the face time with the lead players. Though, strangely, I get the most money from NG and a pension but the lack of calling the shots is a bit of a pain. Thankfully, Steve is flexible and gives me some latitude.

It has been a rough Monday. But Happy Monday, the day's just about done. And the weather was beautiful. Now if I could only get my Hallmark account to work!

Parents are funny

I was a bonehead today and locked myself out of the house. It's like I have to do one, really stupid thing once a year. But, I suppose if it's once a year, I can't complain too much. A picked me up and we had a nice day together. Finally checked out Zaytinya (what has it been, 2 years since it opened). Then my parents came over and let me into the house.

Watching my parents, I can't help but wonder what it'll be like when I'm older. My parents have such a convenient memory. I love it when they tell me not to spank G. These are the folks (more my mom than my dad) who ensured I could barely walk after a whipping (and I mean whipping) with a belt. So my mom tells me, 'Don't spank G.' My answer of course is, spare the rod, spoil the child. And I'm not excessive. But I guess when you're a grandparent, spanking is evil. Like the grandchild will behave well without punishment.

And my mom looks at me and says that my hair is too dark. Last time I checked, it's the same color it's always been. But memory serves us differently, so, my hair's darker, I guess. My friend Mel said that you always have to cut grandparents slack, because they're just trying to get into heaven. Aren't we all?

Sometimes, I feel so crotchety already, it's hard to imagine what I might be like as a grandparent. I'll just delude myself that I might achieve coolness by then (unlikely, but a girl can dream). Then maybe, I'll become a no-spanking advocate. Who knows?

Interesting Blog and Cool Old Lady

Interesting theory on screen savers: http://science-professor.blogspot.com/ .

I was also pleased to see that NY police caught the creep that mugged a 101-year old lady. That lady is so cool: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18360915/?GT1=9246 . I hope I can be as even keel, should I ever make it to that age.

Filipinos

I admit, I'll never understand Filipinos. I always imagined that I would never be questioned about being Filipino, if my ethnicity wasn't mixed but my cousin, Pinky (yes, that's what we call her) has dispelled my illusions. Her husband's business partner brought home a mail order fiancee (ugh). Her name is Jem. Jem doesn't cook (haha) and was pining for Filipino food. She asked Pinky to make adobo. You can make it wet or dry (I like it a little wet myself) so Pinky makes it according to Jem's specifications and then made her own personal version (dry). Jem and her fiance sample Pinky's noodle soup. The fiance asks what Jem thinks of the soup. Without missing a beat, Jem explains that the broth is what you serve when you have no food in the house (I would've died in that situation; my ulcer would flare and I'm sure I'd be eagerly looking for ways to self-medicate through dinner).

Next, comes the adobo. Jem takes a bite and challenges Pinky's heritage. The adobo isn't 'Filipino enough.' Uh, yeah. So, it's not enough that both your parents hail from the Philippines, it's not enough that you speak the language (and Pinky is one of the only family members that does). If you don't cook a certain way, you're not Filipino enough. I don't know why Pinky tells me these stories, though I guess it's some consolation for all the crap I've gone through...I know they're not nice to anyone.

But naturally, the fact that Jem is a mail order bride, that her manners are questionable indicate that in the Phillipines, Jem would not run in Hilario social circles. She thinks dogs are a delicacy. My mom's family, though poor, thought of dogs as pets. But I remain amazed at the lack of unity of one people. Other people have it easy.

My ex told me he'd like to date a Filipina. I couldn't keep a straight face. As long as G doesn't have to deal with a Jem.

Travel in a nutshell and G

Wrapped up 10 days in Europe with A. The trip alone was fabulous. Barcelona, Haute De Cagne in the Cote D'Azur region and Venice. We ate table-side (counter-side, really) with a cooking legend, Pinocho in Barcelona. He served us at will, from white beans to veal to bakala (no clue how to spell). We had the best coffee in France and superior foie de gras. And Venice introduced me to cuttle fish in squid ink.

In Barcelona, I most enjoyed a breakfast at House of the Cat. They were closing as we ambled up for lunch (2:30p.m.). But we were able to grab coffee and a cheesecake. The tables were set in an orange grove and the surrounding view reminded me of CA with its wide open spaces.

In France, I enjoyed most everything, from a gallant stranger who carried my suitcase 2 flights at the train station, a cordial taxi driver who tipped us off that the Picasso collection was not in Antibes for the summer, the Matisse church in Vance (simplicity is more beautiful than ornate structures), an Irish couple who related the politics of religion and the changing face of Ireland (Mick and Jenny) and Madeline, one of the workers at the Grimaldi Hotel who did our laundry (no charge) and ensured I had coffee and a croissant the day we endured a 10-hour train trip without food and drink.

Venice, I loved St. Mark's Square and the water taxis. The King's Palace and the Ca'D'Oro Gallery. The art was so overwhelming, I had ADD the majority of the time. It was too hard to take in, all at once. The canals were very charming but on warm nights, you could smell bits of New Jersey. Thankfully it wasn't high season when it's really hot.

We did squeeze in a side trip to Monaco, prior to Venice, but it's nothing like you expect. Like Hollywood, it's more glamorous in the movies. Up close, it was boring, just a smattering of high end shops in pretty buildings while scary women with painted faces walked past.

So, travel was great but the trip stressed G out. He's scared of my disappearing and panics if I'm out of his sight. And Gino actually seemed to reassure him, since G saw all my e-cards. Funny, the ex's good behavior. But it's a godsend and I'm grateful.

Who knew?

Strange science stories:

Kryptonite: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18289647/wid/11915829?GT1=9246

and jellyfish:http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17913669/ .

Who knew, really?

On toilets, Spain and A

I'm coming to the conclusion that men cannot flush toilets. My ex never seemed capable of it and I can only roll my eyes when I walk into the bathroom and find that I need to flush before I can sit. A's normally pretty good but on the occasions he's not...who knew the sloppy girl was so anal.

Barcelona is very beautiful but the trip is different from what I expected. Hemingway loved Spain and I thought I would too. I loved Mexico, I wanted to live in DR and Puerto Rico and I've seen more beauty in one day then I could hope to see in a lifetime, but....I was homesick today, if you can believe it.

New Yorkers are known for attitude. It's their thing. EVERYbody wants to be a New Yorker at some point. Who doesn't want to say, 'You messin' wit me?' But in spite of the rep, I haven't known too many New Yorkers to be rude. A and I had a cabbie cuss us out when A innocently asked why the cabbie was charging us more than the fare shown on the meter. And a passerby apologized for him, saying, 'He's not the real New York.'

And Paris, everyone loves to badmouth Paris. Virtually everyone I talk to complains that they were treated rudely in Paris. Granted, I visited Paris (and Bordeaux and Orleans) back in the late '90's. But in situations where I felt that my ex and I deserved to be treated rudely (he would ask bars and restaurants to make change for us, despite the fact that we weren't paying customers, in English, no less), we were treated with the utmost courtesy.

Here, our hotel is impeccable: Hotel Prestige off Passeje Grande; I've seen Gaudi and Gehry, a Friedlander exhibit (more culture than I can shake a stick at), Poble Sec is like a cross between New York ( shops just like off the Stuyvesant corridor) and alleyways and street signs like Paris and what's not to like about the coffee and ham sandwiches. But the people leave me cold. They are easily flustered. I'm the first to admit, my Spanish needs work. But I begin every sentence with Please and Excuse Me. And most people smile and they mentally cuss me out assuredly, but they indulge me.

Today, people were rude to us 3 times. For lunch, our waiter made very clear that we were a nuisance since we arrived as the kitchen closed @2:30p.m. A museum counter clerk (a woman, the betrayal) was a flaming C to us. I think A was pretty unhappy with me, because I told him we were leaving. All he wanted was a coffee and I wanted an OJ. We waited 10 minutes for our turn and the minute A began to order coffee, she showed her exasperation. I asked for a refresca and pointed to the OJ and she would have none of it. She sneered, rolled her eyes and if there was ever a woman that I wanted to trample (the museum cafe for cryin' out loud), it was her. I asked A to walk with me and we were out of there. And the poor hotel clerk at the front desk: he'd been wonderful the night before, recommending the Olympic boulevard for a nice walk after dark. Murphy's Law, the room keys didn't work upon our return, today. A tried them. The clerk reswiped them and when I brought them back, the red light was still blinking for both cards. And while the clerk was far more restrained than his counterparts, he did ask, did we understand how to insert the key? At least in the U.S., the customer is always right.

And A. I think he's an incredibly lucky person who doesn't aways realize his luck. I think he's pretty cavalier about the wrecks that he's walked away from. Even though I know he's unhappy about his divorce (who is, really), he's very lucky that he's on speaking terms with the ex. I'll never downplay what he's been through, but it's a marvel that he's relatively intact. And I love his zest for life.

When we talk about marriage, it's nice. He's the one for me and he knows that. But change will always scare me, even a little bit and it's hard to believe that he wouldn't view me as a ball and chain, at some point. If we stay unmarried, he can never accuse me of that (holding him back). He can give me a hard time over getting pregnant but that's the worst of it. G and Jack could always find fault with me but kids always find fault their parents anyway and it's not their call. Being married doesn't mean you stay married.

Part of the problem is, I used to keep lists. Lists of all the happily married people. Problem is, when your marriage fails, everyone feels compelled to share their stories. My list has grown dramatically shorter. The only time I wanted A to lie to me, I asked him if it could happen to us. And I wanted the obligatory no. Or I hope not. Instead I got the honest answer: it happens. I know. I know it happens. But I can't survive that. Not again. I was engaged before I was married, to someone else. He freaked and picked fights like crazy (after almost 2 years of happiness). And I told him, if you wanted out, you could have just said so. Months later, he said he made a mistake and I told him, firmly, with a smile, yes he did. Then came the ex, because my I bowed to my parents' anxieties of two unmarried girls (the shame), approaching 30. And now, it's day by day. Jack and G will come 1st and after that, we'll figure it out. The only tough part is I don't have a glib answer for nosy people who ask, are we married, but I'm working on it.

19 Sep

Looking at the calendar, I'm thinking 19 September. 19 September would be a good day for Baby W to make his entrance. The up side of C-sections, A and I get to choose the day. And G will be at his dad's that week so I'll have at least 4 days to adjust to the new little one before worrying about G. 'Course I need to run it past A. But I'm tired, can't sleep and couldn't think of much else, so hopefully, A will agree.

Am packed (except for shoes) but still feel unprepared. The trip should be fun though. Funny how A and I have been switching positions: he's been excited and I've been unwilling to get excited until it happens. Now he's worried about checklists and what not and I'm more excited (but still have to address my lists). Barcelona, Nice and Venice. Too cool.

Very 1st time that I've hit Europe when I wasn't boondoggling after work. I do miss hopping the pond. But back then, I travelled way too much. England 2 or 3 times a year, on top of CA 3 to 4 times a year, I was fried. But the perks were nice. There's no way United kept my mileage. And A's making fun of my calling a car. But I miss the perks.

Have two outfits that I just bought, that I love. If A doesn't like them, he's nuts. Another shirt I bought is questionable, but I'm pregnant. I give myself a pass to wear it, regardless of A's raised brows. I will simply remind him, Tarantino is LA, ha ha.

I still haven't seen Grindhouse. Alexandra's in Detroit, Grace is too hard to pin down, socially. A, I'm not sure he would be the best companion for Tarantino. I guess the new rule is, if you're from CA, you must hate Tarantino. Sarah hates him too. Whatever. He only raised the bar re: dialogue, action sequences and soundtracks. Josie, well, she ran to see 300. I didn't. I guess I'm the only 1 that doesn't care about it.

Anywho...vacation!

Recovery from your parents

Recovery from your parents should be a tax deduction. Somewhere, somehow, future kids should be able to meet some sort of threshold where they could get free therapy for life. Or free rides at Disney World for a day/ month. Something to make you say, wow, I don't know how I did it, I survived, let's go celebrate!

Parents said they'd 'stop by,' when I really should've known we were talking about they're spending the night because they miss the grandkid. I should've said no. I wasn't thinking. I'm not packed, I'm not entirely happy and my mom's usual criticism has me ready to bazooka anyone who's even going to comment about my weight.

Really...what is wrong with Asian people? They're not happy unless you're anorexic. One of the only women my mom has complimented was bulimic. That's healthy. Except for the stomach pains (gah), I'm faring much better than the first pregnancy, weight-wise. Last time around, I had gained 30 lbs in the 1st trimester for a total of 60 (thank you OJ). But the cravings paid off, G's pretty smart. I want to believe some of it's genes but some of it was the OJ.

Baby W, sorry, I'm not craving the OJ anymore. Margie was very sweet at work today. Told me how good I look (yes, I take my compliments where I can get them) and that she expects the baby to be bigger (not too big, please). I hope I'm more like her as a mom. Very vibrant, positive.

Desi complains that El and I don't give my mom enough credit. Yeah, that's true. But it's hard to commend the person that gives you gifts and Chinese water torture at the same time. I can make all the excuses that I want for my mom, but c'mon. At some point, she has to take responsibility. Both my parents, a therapist's dream. El and me too, obviously.

My negative energy though, I just get messy. It's not something to be proud of, but it's harmless enough (until A arrives). And lately, my dad has been breaking stuff every time they visit. The cover for the kitchen fan now has to be fixed. What the hell?

I'm sure G will complain about me too. Whatever. Maybe I'll start a petition on recognizing recovery from your parents.

Adjusting

All of the adjustments we will all enjoy when A moves in.... I figure it can't hurt to get started reading:

On Step-parents and parents: http://www.parentalalienation.com/stepparents.htm

The importance of family meetings and family activities: http://www.kidshealth.org/kid/feeling/home_family/blended.html

Strategies to be aware of: http://www.flc.org/hfl/parenting/stepparents.htm

Building trust: http://www.familytlc.net/step_parenting.html

Blended families: http://www.helpguide.org/mental/blended_families_stepfamilies.htm .

The balancing act will be interesting. I am excited for G to help out with Baby Jack. He's happy that he can help be a role model, as the older brother. I am nervous about the compromises that we'll all have to make, space-wise. G sharing his room with the baby made the most sense and I've verified with my friends that had to double up as kids (their own experiences and other-wise) that there's no permanent damage. The challenge will be including G, making sure A's happy, making sure the baby's taken care of and finding time for myself while making sure that G and I still have quality time, in addition to couple time with A. No pressure!

I need to ask A where he'd like G's playspace to be. The living area by the kitchen seemed like a good place but I forgot about A's piano. The crawl space was my original idea for baby W's belongings and G's toys. A was less enthusiastic but I can't think of an alternative. G has to have a place to play. How else will he feel welcome? Hopefully, we'll have no bumps moving to a bigger place next year.

Family names

You can tell you probably don't have the best name in the world when you work to find out what it means, only to have a person hesitate before they tell you. Except for the fact of my grandfather, I have been ashamed of my family name, Lepesqueur. It's a mouthful, everyone screws it up. I do like being French. But that's about it.

My cousin, Gene and I were of like minds. We both altered the pronunciation of our name so it would sound better. Instead of the hard, consonant sounds of Le-pes-cur we would pronounce our name as Le-pes-cure as in, 'we are good and helpful.' Given my French teacher's hesitation in dissecting my name, I knew it wasn't a good meaning. She summarized my name as either fisherman or sinner. I would tell people that my name meant bad fisherman. My guess is, she give me the nicer version of my name. Maybe the family name means 'cursed' or 'cursed cur people' as in ' dirty yellow dogs.'

A made crystal clear how much he despises the name I've chosen, Yannotti. I did hope, since we're not married, that the baby could carry both our names. He's very territorial about names, unfortunately. But I like a good Italian name. My ex's family aren't the only Yannottis.

The upcoming family structure will be unorthodox but family's family, regardless of last names.

On girls

I think there are a number of reasons why I can't have a girl. For one, I have way too many neuroses that I'd have to worry about passing on to a daughter. With the boys, I'm alright. But girls, holy cow! I'm afraid I'd bring worrying to a whole new level (my mom was the expert worry wart).

And then there's the problem of self discipline. I'll budget say $25 to spend on the goddaughters. But then I see a cute dress (http://www.macys.com/catalog/index.ognc?CategoryID=25324&AdID=34686&LinkType=SiteAd&LinkLoc=5991&PageID=25324*1*24*-1*-1) like the kimono dress and the budget crumbles. Just this one time....

And despite working in a hair salon in high school (hahaha), I can't style hair to save my life. I can't even braid. If I had a daughter, she would picket for a new mom. Boys, no worries, good hair cut and they're good to go.

Girls grow so fast, it breaks my heart. Mattie's 10 now, I think. Old enough for 1st communion. Girls are supposed to be your daughters forever and sons, you're supposed to lose to wives and such. But hopefully, I'll find a decent balance with G. Girls may be more fun to shop for but I'll take G and Baby W anytime.

confession

The things that have bothered me recently, my failures that I haven't come to terms with:

1) Nicki W - I wish things could have worked out like a TV special. I wish that your mom had never sought to remarry. I wish that your stepdad had been someone different. I wish that you had called me back, when you asked to live with us. It's one of the few times that my parents were supportive. We could have made it work. I wish that I'd had your number. I don't even know how long it was before I found out. Dead at 14 isn't the way to go. I do want to believe in reincarnation. I want to believe that you went on to have a much better, much happier life. The last time I saw your sister was at a neighborhood funeral. The folks I know don't seem to want to remember you. I remember you and I wish things had worked out differently.

2) Bia - Your secret was too great for me. And I still can't believe that no one else knew. No one else wanted to see. I knew you weren't clumsy. Your dad was a doctor. Doctors are supposed to help people. Another time that I wanted a TV special ending. Guess the nuns were too busy obsessing over teenage pregnancy and LaReine's academic performance instead of paying attention. Your secret taught me my limitations. I want to save everyone, help everyone, but I couldn't and can't. I did tell Sister Jean, when I knew I was leaving LaReine. Someone had to look out for you. But I told her the same thing you told me -- that if we interfered, your life would be worse. I pray you survived. I pray you made it. And I wish I could know that everything turned out ok.

Sometimes things seem so overwhelming. And then I know I have to take a deep breath and step back. A lot of times I wish I had a different life. I wish I'd had more fun -- it feels like I never got much of a childhood. But it's all in the comparison. I still had food on the table and a roof over my head. I wasn't cyberbullied. I wasn't forced to fight a war -- it blows my mind that a 13-year-old Sudanese boy can be a seasoned warrior. And that's beyond sad. Loss of innocence is such a crime, no matter the circumstance. But my ultimate confession: I'll always wish I did more. It's too frustrating, when you don't do enough.

snot brain

I am a big, old, honking snot brain today. Even with cold meds, my nose is Niagra Falls. I look so pathetic, Paul didn't even try to make fun of me today. Normally, he assesses my boots, my dresses and the belly. The guys complained that I looked dorky, perpetually, holding the tissues up to my nose. But it seemed better than their suggestions to stuff my nostrils full of Kleenex. Though I would happily snort wasabi right now, just to feel my sinuses.

The belly is pretty damn big. My belly has it own zip code now. Please let my bathing suits be flexible enough to fit. I'm so not in the mood to look for new suits. Figures I'd be sick before vacation.

This weekend, I'm supposed to meet A's boss and his wife. Figures I'd come down with something right before the big, social event. No way to look somewhat composed when you're clutching Kleenex and sucking down Halls. Maybe I'll gorge on hot and sour soup tonight. ANYthing to be rid of this cold.

Bright spot: Kim gave me Tylenol sinus meds and half a box of Puffs (and lots of pity). I love the 'mommy' treatment.

too wussy

I am too wussy. Baby Jack is kicking my a$$. My stomach is bothering me and it's hard not to get whiny about it. I actually had to call the doctor's office to verify that the stomach pains were normal. It's not full out cramping but it feels like the kid is boxing my umbilical cord. Or Tarzan swinging from it. If this kid is giving me a hard time now, how bad will it be in the future?

I ran in the Marine Corps Marathon (no training -- other than 10 mile preps) and there's no comparison. The endorphin high you feel while running never really kicks in during pregnancy. Maybe the nesting period, but that's close enough to birth, it almost doesn't count. The baseball-sized blister I had on my foot, that was nothing compared to now. And I'm not even 5 months in.

I feel awkward and ill prepared. The Lamaze stuff they teach you, I never got into it. I always wanted to try hypnosis and I do think that would be pretty cool (no drugs, just the practiced concentration) but I think you have to be in another setting besides a hospital, some new agey place or something. But G was back labor (jackhammer on the spine) and there was no way in hell I was going to suffer through.

I've already enlisted A's and G's help in cajoling the little one to be gentler to me. G decided Jack wants out already. I just think he's a hellion in there. Hopefully, he'll be a little nicer to me. But facts are facts. I'm becoming a bigger wussy with every year. Hard to believe I ever completed the 26.2 mile run. If only you got a medal at the end of pregnancy. 1st place for best composure during labor (that would not be me)! Just give me the shot, please.