American Girl

She waits another week to fall apart...

If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace. ~ Thomas Paine

This morning I took my nephew to school because his mom had an appointment.  Being out of practice at this sort of thing, we forgot his backpack in the car.  So while he stayed on the playground, I went to fetch it.  On the way back in, I ran into an old friend from high school, whose daughter happens to go to the same school.  Small world. We chatted for a few minutes and then the kids were lining up to go inside, so I walked over and handed my nephew his backpack, and he said "Thanks, Babe!"  What??  Where did that come from? LOL

 

I really want to whine about how uncomfortable I am, and how my skin feels so tight over my belly that it might just crack open.  My fingers are either so chubby or swollen (I can't tell) that I had to take off my wedding rings.  I also have cankles.  Oh, and I'm not sleeping well, even when I have the whole bed to myself.

 

There, whine over.

 

So I have this new scar on my arm.   It's right by my elbow, and it's not quite two inches long.  I think it will end up smaller once it heals, but for now, I need to come up with a cool story to explain it.  I was thinking shark bite, but it's not quite dramatic enough for that.  Ryan suggested that I tell people I cut it while rescuing children from the broken stained glass window of a burning churh.  Ha!  I'm open to suggestions.

 

Did anyone watch Alias last night?  I thought they totally jumped the shark last season, but rats, they've totally sucked me back in.  They're pretty silly to go up against Survivor though - I predict this season will be the last.  It's fun to watch just to see all the creative ways that they use to hide Jennifer Garner's pregnant belly.  I'm totally trying that clever "jacket folded over the arm" method.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 11:07 | link | comments (5) |

You guys are good sports for hanging in there with me, even while my posting is sporadic, at best.  I had some very minor surgery last week that left me unable to do anything with my left arm, like type.  I was also entertaining my childhood friend, who came to be my nurse even though it was completely unnecessary.  And now I'm just cranky and sad and moody, so I hold back because I have nothing nice to say, and my mother raised me right.  Don't say anything at all.

 

I passed my blood sugar test.  Flying colors.  Woot!  No more tests left.  Well, I guess labor and delivery will be the final test, huh?  66 days to go.  Give or take.  That's like two months.  I keep saying it - I have so much to do!  What have I actually gotten done?  Nothing.  But this weekend we're painting the baby's room.  For serious. 

 

Let's see, what else?

 

We went to cheer my sister in law on Sunday as she ran in the Susan G Komen Race for a Cure.

 

All of the survivors wore pinks shirts.  It was really very encouraging and nice and emotional.  Even this little doggie got dressed for the occasion:

 

 

He wears a pink hat and a feather boa, which you can't really see.  {Sigh}....it was really nice, and easily brought an overly emotional girl like me to tears, more than once.  The boys were downtown at the same time doing the Stephen Siller's Tunnel to Towers run, but alas, I have no pictures to share.

 

I want to say that there's grass growing at ground zero.  Grass and weeds, blowing in the wind.  I want to say it, but I think the signifigance of that is lost on anyone who's never been there before, where the towers were there.  Saying there wasn't any grass there before isn't enough.  You would have had to have seen it, concrete buildings on concrete slab, but oh so full of life.  Now, life goes on, but in a completely different way.  Grass.  A few blocks away in Battery Park, birds are buildings nests in the sphere.  If you haven't seen the sphere, it's not pretty.  The base is lifted and bent and there are holes ripped in it and when you look at it it makes you feel like you got kicked in the stomach, because it really gives you a sense of the destruction of 9/11.  But now, you look at the gaping hole torn in it, and there's a little pigeon sitting there, staring back at you. It's totally covered in bird poop too.  You know, there are some impressive statues all over Manhattan, and some of them are covered in netting to protect them from the birds, and all of them are cleaned and shined up on a regular basis, but not this one.  I guess it's just not that important anymore. 

 

Take all that death and throw some life at it.  Cover up the destruction and it's not so bad.  Because after all, life goes on, people forget, and we don't like to think about things that make our hearts ache. 

 

So I want to tell you, my friends, how insane it is that there's grass growing at ground zero and birds living in the sphere, but I'm lost for words, because I can't possibly make you understand how wrong it all is.  So I'm going to stop now.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:49 | link | comments (6) |

Why I love my husband; Reason #1/972,568,256,214

 

He always makes me laugh.

 

Last week we stopped at Target for a few things.  Ryan had to get something from another store, in the same shopping center, so we split up.   When he came back I was just getting to the cashier, so he walked up and said "Hi", like a stranger might.  So I said Hi, and he said "You know what?  You look like such a nice person, I'm going to bag your order for you."

 

At this point the cashier stopped what she was doing and turned around to look at him.  He just smiled at her and wheeled my cart towards him so he could put a bag in it.  She kind of shrugged and muttered "Oooookay." and went back to ringing up my order. 

 

As she was finishing up, he said "You know, you look SO nice, I feel moved to pay for your order today."  He took out his wallet and I said "Wow, Thank you!  Thank you very much!" and the cashier just stared at him and said "Are you kidding me?"

 

So of course, he can't resist.  He goes on "Just look at that smile she has!  Doesn't it just make you want to do things for her?" 

 

So the cashier looked at me, looked back at him, looked back and me, and said "Um, no, not really."

 

Ha!!  Still, he handed her some cash, and she looked at me, wondering if I was going to accept this generous gift from a stranger.  Well sure, why not?  As I matter of fact, I reached over and added a pack of gum to my order.  Then he asked me if he could walk me to my car, and I said "Of course", because really, it was the least I could do.

 

As we left, I heard her saying urgently to the cashier next to her "Did you SEE that?"  I think they're probably still talking about the legendary stranger who helped out a pregnant shopper.

 

We really do crack ourselves up.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 11:31 | link | comments (12) |

I'm convinced that I'm going to fail my glucose test today.  For the non pregnant, it's a test the see how your body is breaking down sugar.  First, you have to fast.  Then they make you drink something that tastes disgusting because it has more sugar than any human should consume in one sitting.  Then you have to sit for an hour.  Then they draw blood to see how your body is dealing.

 

I know it doesn't sound as horrible as I make it out to be, and I'm really just going by what people have told me, because I've never actually been through it before.  But Step 1 - Fasting, has me ready to pass out right now.  Not because I eat so much in a normal day, but because I eat frequently.  Because if I don't eat frequently, I feel dizzy and sick.  And that's without 50 grams of sugar complicating things.

 

I really, really doubt that I am diabetic and need to be on a special diet.  But if I fail this little one hour test, I have to take a {gasp!} THREE hour test.  And really, that's just cruel.  I think at that point I'd rather just assume I do have blood sugar issues and follow the diet, without determining it through torture.  There just has to be another way, doesn't there?  I'm sure this test was invented by a non-pregnant man.  Asshole.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 10:37 | link | comments (12) |

So, I saw Anna on Sunday.  That always makes for a fun blog story, right?

 

She came over to my mom's house and when she looked at me she got this mock horror look on her face and commented about how HUUUUGE I am.  So predictable.  I had been talking to my brother before she rudely interrupted, and smart man that he is, he took off.  So then it was just us, left to make painful small talk.

 

The thing is, she just saw me a week before when I picked up my niece to take her to the mall.  And that time, she just made a casual comment like "Oh, look at your belly.  How cute." 

 

Honestly, I haven't become gargantuan in a week's time.  (It's taken 28 weeks for me to grow to gargantuan status)  So what gives?  I think, and this is only a theory, that she's gotten her alter egos mixed up.  It used to be that she was a complete witch to me when we were alone, but a perfect angel whenever there were any witnesses.  This always resulted in my family thinking that it had to be me.  I overreacted, or I was too sensitive, because just look at Anna, she's such a sweetheart.  But now, she's nice to me when we're alone, and she's a monster whenever a family thing brings us together.

 

Maybe she thinks that with the divorce pending, I won't be obligated by family ties to help her out when she needs something, so she feels the need to butter me up before asking me to take her daughter shopping.   A smarter person might realize that regardless of what happens to my sister in law's status, I will always have ties to her children, but heck, we're talking about Anna here.

 

I just don't know.  I can't figure her out.

 

We continued making forced small talk, and she asked about Ryan, who was at work.  She asked what he thought of my "new figure" and I told her he LOVES it.  She seemed so disappointed that she couldn't rile me up.  Maybe it was the reason for the gathering, or maybe I've become soft in my old age, or maybe it's the hormones or the mommy vibe, but she just doesn't bug me anymore.  I see all of her attempts at subtle digs for what they are, and so does everyone else, so really, it's all on her, not me. 

 

She asked about how the pregnancy was progressing, and I told her that I had my last test coming up this week, and I'd be glad to get it behind me, but so far everything was progressing normally.  She told me to remember that some things can't be detected by prenatal testing, and you just never know what could go wrong.  And she added, for emphasis, that it's amazing more things don't go wrong with such a complicated process.  Okay, in other words, "Don't get your hopes up."   Seriously, who makes a comment like that to a pregnant person?  That's right up there with the people who insist on telling you about their neighbor's friend's cousin whose baby was stillborn and riddled with cancer.  Why?

 

I could have punched her.  Everyone would have understood.  But instead I just said "Aww, you're sweet.  I'll be sure to keep that in mind." and I walked away.

 

I'm feeling very smug.  Can you tell?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 14:12 | link | comments (10) |

I'm off to celebrate the life of my brother; My first friend, my very best friend.  We didn't have enough time with him, but we're ever so grateful because every single second we had with him was a blessing.

 

Wishing you all a similar blessing in your lives.

 

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 10:11 | link | comments (11) |

Ok...more on St. Jimmy.  I'm gonna help you out.  Mostly because I've gotten a bunch of hits from people searching the net for the answer.  Ok, mostly because I don't feel like talking about anything else.

Hey Urthshu - it's like poetry!  I swear!

Ok, Green Day's American Idiot is a rock opera.  I shall give you a "brief" synopsis.

It starts off with the title song, which just sounds like someong ranting about politics.  I'm not going there, it'll be too long winded.  Read the lyrics if you want.

Then you move into the the song about the self-proclaimed "Jesus of Suburbia".  This is the star of the show.  Here, he describes himself:

I'm the son of rage and love
The Jesus of Suburbia
From the Bible of "None of the above"
On a steady diet of soda pop and ritalin

 

So in other words, he's your typical stereotype of an American teenager, yes?  He goes on to complain in typical teenage fashion about how much his life sucks and no one cares and no one believes in him and he disagrees with his parents political views and long story short, he runs away from home.  There's more about this in the next song, "Holiday", and more political ranting:

Hear the drum pounding out of time
Another protester has crossed the line
To find the money's on the other side
Can I get another "Amen"?
There's a flag wrapped around a score of men
A gag
A plastic bag on a monument

We move on...in "Boulevard of Broken Dreams", he's on the street and he's lonely, wishing someone would find him.  In "Are We the Waiting" he asks that very question.  Waiting for what?  I dunno, answers as to what he should do with his life?  But this is interesting:

Live in isolation
Heads or tails and fairytales in my mind
Are we we are, are we we are the waiting unknown
The rage and love, the story of my life
The Jesus of Suburbia is a lie.. and screaming...

Remember, when he refers to the Jesus of Suburbia, he's talking about himself.

NOW it gets interesting, because in comes St. Jimmy.  Pay attention. (Ha!)

St. Jimmy's coming down across the alleyway
Upon the Blvd. like a zip gun on parade
Light of a silhouette, He's insubordinate
Coming at you on the count of 1,2,3,4

My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out
Suicide commando that your momma talked about
King of the 40 thieves and I'm here to represent
The needle in the vein of the establishment
I'm the Patron Saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal

Cigarettes and Ramen and a little bag of dope
I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allen Poe
Raised in the city under a halo of lights
The product of war and fear that we've been victimized

My name's St. Jimmy I'm a son of a gun
I'm the one that's from the way outside
I'm a teenage assassin exacuting some fun
In the cult of the life of crime

I really hate to say it but I told you so
So shut your mouth before I shoot you down Ol' Boy
Welcome to the club and give me some blood
I'm the resident leader of the lost and found

It's comedy and tragedy
It's St. Jimmy and that's my name
And don't wear it out

Nice guy, huh?  After meeting St. Jimmy, the Jesus of Suburbia is begging him for something to make him numb.

It's like a throbbing toothache of the mind
I can't take this feeling anymore...
Tell me, Jimmy, I won't feel a thing
Give me novacaine

THEN, the Jesus of Suburbia meets a girl that he really falls for; Whatsername.  Interesting girl:

She's a rebel
She's a saint
She's the salt of the earth
and she's dangerous
She's a rebel
Vigilante
Missing link on the brink of destruction

We come to see that the relationship is a bit rocky.  This is more apparent when you actually look at the lyrics as they're written out, but I'll help you out:

His writing: She's an extraordinary girl
In an ordinary world
And she can't seem to get away

Her writing:  He lacks the courage in his mind
Like a child left behind
Like a pet left in the rain

His writing:  She's all alone again
Wiping the tears from her eyes

Her writing: Some days he feels like dying

His writing:  She gets so sick of crying

Sadly (If you didn't see this coming) they break up.  Not only that, but she breaks the news to him in a letter.  Letterbomb.  In the letter, she signs off with a very interesting observation:

You're not the Jesus of Suburbia
The St. Jimmy is a figment of
your father's rage and your mother's love.

Hmmmmm.  So now he's all depressed, as shown in the very sad lament "Wake Me Up When September Ends"  Now he's at an interesting place that I'm not sure I fully understand but I'll give it a try.  Poor St. Jimmy meets his untimely end in "Homecoming".  It starts off with the Jesus of Suburbia all alone, begging for someone to call him and say they're coming home.  Whatsername?  You would think so.  Then it goes on:

You taught me how to live in the streets of shame
Where you've lost your dreams in the rain
There's no sign of hope
The stems and seeds of the last of the dope
There's a glow of light
The St. Jimmy is the spark in the night
Bearing gifts and trust
The fixture in the city of lust....

In the crowd of pain
St. Jimmy comes without any shame
He says "We're #$%!ed up"
but we're not the same
And mom and dad are the ones you can blame

Jimmy died today
He blew his brains out into the bay
In the state of mind
In my own private suicide

The second part of the song appears to have the Jesus of Suburbia attempting to get his life back together after St. Jimmy's death:

Jesus filling out paperwork now
at the facility on East 12th Street
He's not listening to a word now
He's in his own world and he's daydreaming

He goes on to beg for freedom, and somebody, anybody to get him out of there.  There's a very childish taunt:

Nobody likes you
Everyone left you
They're all out without you
Having fun

And there's a postcard, addressed to Saint Jimmy:

I got a rock and roll band
I got a rock and roll life
I got a rock and roll girlfriend
And another ex-wife
I got a rock and roll house
I got a rock and roll car
I play the shit out of the drums
And I can play the guitar
I got a kid in New York
I got a kid in the Bay
I haven't drank or smoked nothin'
In over 22 days
So get off of my case

So this clearly indicates that a habit has been kicked.  It's signed "Tunny".  Who's that, and why is he writing to St. Jimmy?  I dunno.  My guess is that Tunny = The Jesus of Suburbia, but this isn't made clear.   It seems to be taunting St.Jimmy.  My life is great now, so leave me alone.

Sooo, The Jesus of Suburbia ends up heading home.  In the end, he sounds very together, and he's thinking about his past.  He thought he saw old Whatsername on the street, but it turned out to be someone else, and he's thinking about her, wondering whatever became of her. 

I must confess, the regrets are useless
She's in my head
From so long ago and in the darkest night
If my memory serves me right
I'll never turn back time
Forgetting you, but not the time

The end.

Sooooo, now I've made it painfully easy for you.  Who (or what?) is Saint Jimmy?

Many, many apologies to Green Day.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:30 | link | comments (4) |

So...what's this?

 

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 19:06 | link | comments (8) |

I just want to take a moment to brag about my newly promoted husband.   That's all.

 

Good days, bad days, but never a boring day on this job. You do what God called you to do. You show up, you put one foot in front of the other, and you do your job which is a mystery and a surprise. You have no idea, when you get in the rig, what God is calling you to do. But he needs you…so keep going. Keep supporting each other, be kind to each other, love each other, work together. You love the job, we all do. What a blessing that is.

~Father Mychal Judge, Sept.10, 2001

posted by: AmericanGirl at 15:39 | link | comments (3) |

Yesterday I was at my in-law's for a Labor Day party, and there was a little girl there, Ryan's cousin's baby, who just turned two.  She was, by far, the star of the show.  Her hair was blonde, nice and neat and secured with a pretty pink bow in front, and a huge mess of bed-head in the back.  It matched her personality perfectly. 

 

She ran around chasing Ryan's brother, and as she did she called out "Imana GET yooooouuuuuu..." over and over.  Each time he turned around to get her instead, picked her up, turned her upside down, spun her around, she would laugh so hard from her belly, and then when he set her down, she would try to look serious and say "Don't DO dat!"   Then he would take off running and she would scream and chase him down with "Imana GET yooooouuuuuuu..." all over again.

 

She was pretty perfect.

 

I've been giving a lot of thought to what our baby will be like.   I think of my youngest nephew, and he's so special to me.  Not because I play favorites, (they're ALL special) but because I feel I had a hand in raising him - this amazing, fatherless boy who doesn't even seem to know that life dealt him a bum hand.  He says things that I say, he mimics me in tiny little ways that no one else would notice - like the way he slaps his forehead when someone does something silly, and the way he sits on the couch watching TV as he methodically flosses his tiny little teeth - that's me.  Influencing a child is one of the most powerful things anyone can do.  It goes beyond genetics, even though that's there too.  He's certainly his father's son.  He has a quick sense of humor, he raises one eyebrown at you when he thinks you're feeding him a line of bull, he sticks his tongue out when he's concentrating really hard on something.  All things he has built into him, because he didn't have enough time with his dad to pick them up any other way.  But I'm there too, and that is simply mind boggelingly amazing.

 

I almost feel bad saying it, but I hope my child turns out just like him.  The perfect mixture of mischief and angel.  When he's at church, he sings louder than anyone else.  Unfortunately, while everyone else is singing "Nearer, My God, to Thee", he's singing "Hakuna Matata". 

 

We've been telling him about the baby, showing him with his sister's doll how you hold the baby, supporting the baby's neck, and he tries it, so cautiously, and every five seconds he whispers "Like this?" and we tell him "Yes, exactly like that." and he smiles so proudly.  Then when he's done he stands up, takes the baby by one leg and tosses it on the couch before walking off to do something else.

 

If you ask him to pick something up or otherwise clean anything, he sighs and says "Cindarelly, Cindarelly, all I hear is Cindarelly..." but he does it. 

 

Over the weekend, his mother and I sat at the kitchen table and he came in and said that he needed a box.  She offered a shoe box, a cereal box, a box from 24 cans of soda, but he turned them all down.  "Bigger", he said.   Figuring he wanted to build a car, or a spaceship, she asked him what he had in mind.  "This" he said, and he pointed to a giant pile of toys.  He wanted to pack them up and send them to the kids in Louisiana who had lost everything.  It wasn't even the old stuff that he had outgrown, it was some of his favorite things.  With a brave, knowing face he packed them all up in a big box and asked if a firetruck could bring them to the kids.  He said "Some of them can't find their moms and dads."   I nodded, so he suggested "Maybe they could let them sit in the truck and blow the horn."  In his little world, that's how it works. 

 

If you ask him what he wants to be when he grows up, he says he wants to be his dad.  Oh, precious little boy, you already are.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:45 | link | comments (10) |

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