That image of George Jetson running on the ridiculously accelerating treadmill has been a metaphor for my life in the past (you know, like when I lived in space) but never so much as lately.
I have no idea how parents with more than one kid do it.
We have a very good baby, with a good temperment and generally all-around sunny disposition (thank you, C.). He's sleeping - mostly, save for a few teeth waging war with his gums.
But we are exhausted. Absolutely, totally exhausted. Like can't get out of bed in the morning, and drag ourselves into it again at night. Everything in between? Great big blur.
Will one of you parents out there please assure me that there will be a day, even if it's in the distant future, that we won't feel like we're in this fog? That there will be a time when we return to some semblance of normal that isn't restricted to get up, go to work, feed/eat dinner, go to bed, with the occasional load of laundry thrown in for the occasional giggle?
I know, I know, I'm supposed to find those special moments in life in the process, as part of the journey, blah blah blah. But people, I sleep on planes. Almost always. I'm not so good on the journey part of things.
And for treadmills, I'm more of an outdoor runner, where I can easily vary my speed and surroundings.
OK, the metaphors are now out of control, and this is starting to sound like the whiny ramblings of a crazy person. Or at least a really, really tired one.
Parents, feel free to chime in with advice, quityerbitching remarks, or just general tomfoolery to remind me that there is plenty of humor in simply watching the dog await manna-like Cheerios falling from above. I promise I will appreciate it all, just as soon as I come to.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Baby training
I've often referred to having a dog as being really good training for having/raising a baby. And it is.
The only problem is when you hear your dear husband ask the baby if he wants to go out (a.k.a. for a walk in the stroller) or if he'd like a chew toy (a.k.a. a teething ring).
Perhaps the training (of us) is a little too good.
The only problem is when you hear your dear husband ask the baby if he wants to go out (a.k.a. for a walk in the stroller) or if he'd like a chew toy (a.k.a. a teething ring).
Perhaps the training (of us) is a little too good.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
An explanation of the soul of a Jersey girl
Sometimes, you read something that just explains who you are, right down to your core.
Growing up on the Jersey shore, I have a passionate allegiance to my state, and particularly to the area in which I grew up. In that area, it's almost blasphemous not to have at least a basic appreciation for a certain Boss.
That said, there are those who have only experienced the "Born in the U.S.A." Springsteen (and yes, you know who you are). Or who only know the one that shows up on the cover of Rolling Stone.
Yes, I am a fan of his music. A huge fan. But I am even more of a fan of his ability to put pictures into words then into music, all at the same time, with such ease and authenticity.
But I just read Springsteen's N.J. Hall of Fame acceptance speech, and was overwhelmed by how much it describes what New Jersey means to me, and to my love for all things Jersey, good and bad.
What particularly sang to me was this:
"So anyway . . . you get a little older now, you get those crisp fall days that come in September and the beginning of October. My friends and I, we slip into that cold water of that Atlantic Ocean. These days, you take note that there's a few less of your friends swimming alongside of you as each year passes.
But something about being in one place your whole life, they're all still around you, in the water. And I look towards the shore, and I see my son and my daughter, pushing their way through the waves, and on the beach there's a whole batch of new little kids running away from the crashing surf. Like time itself.That's what New Jersey is for me. It's a repository, now, of just my time on earth. My memory, the music I've made, friendships, my life, it's all buried here, at this point, in a box, somewhere in the sand, down on the Jersey Shore. And I can't imagine having it any other way."
That is what New Jersey is to me.
Growing up on the Jersey shore, I have a passionate allegiance to my state, and particularly to the area in which I grew up. In that area, it's almost blasphemous not to have at least a basic appreciation for a certain Boss.
That said, there are those who have only experienced the "Born in the U.S.A." Springsteen (and yes, you know who you are). Or who only know the one that shows up on the cover of Rolling Stone.
Yes, I am a fan of his music. A huge fan. But I am even more of a fan of his ability to put pictures into words then into music, all at the same time, with such ease and authenticity.
But I just read Springsteen's N.J. Hall of Fame acceptance speech, and was overwhelmed by how much it describes what New Jersey means to me, and to my love for all things Jersey, good and bad.
What particularly sang to me was this:
"So anyway . . . you get a little older now, you get those crisp fall days that come in September and the beginning of October. My friends and I, we slip into that cold water of that Atlantic Ocean. These days, you take note that there's a few less of your friends swimming alongside of you as each year passes.
But something about being in one place your whole life, they're all still around you, in the water. And I look towards the shore, and I see my son and my daughter, pushing their way through the waves, and on the beach there's a whole batch of new little kids running away from the crashing surf. Like time itself.That's what New Jersey is for me. It's a repository, now, of just my time on earth. My memory, the music I've made, friendships, my life, it's all buried here, at this point, in a box, somewhere in the sand, down on the Jersey Shore. And I can't imagine having it any other way."
That is what New Jersey is to me.
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