Little Bits of Pixie Dust

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thourougly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!!"

Thursday, January 15, 2009

New Guy

My husband has given his heart to someone else... and his name is Randy.

Randy is the new guy at A*'s workplace. At first, I heard that Randy was "kind of weird." But also, nice. And then I started hearing more and more about Randy. Randy listens to some of the same music that A* does! Randy is very religious but doesn't shove it down your throat so A* can ask him biblical questions he's always wanted to know the answers to! Randy has a girlfriend and asks A* for advice! Randy is working really hard and learning all kinds of new things from, you guessed it, A*. All in all, Randy JUST ROCKS!!

The other day, the Randy story was how A* stuck up for him when he was unfairly reprimanded at work. I asked A* if he loved Randy, and he said, "Well, I kind of feel like he's my little brother or something." That was so cute and sweet, I couldn't make fun of him (much) for it.

Everywhere A* goes, he makes friends. At McDonald's, he is friendly with the girl that works the counter, and he especially likes the special boy who works the fry grill. At Subway, he has recieved many free subs and cookies from the workers there. At the gas station, they know his name and already have his purchases laid out for him. And everyday, I get to hear about all of these people, and what they said, and the free things that they gave A*, and really way more than I want to know about anyone that I have never met.

Now he has taken Randy under his wing, and I wonder if Randy knows just how much of our after work conversation revolves around him. Or how much A* seems to enjoy his company. Or really, just how lucky he is that A* has decided that he is a worthy cause, and will stick up for him like a little brother. I hope that he realizes this, because being loved by my husband is a pretty special thing.

I should know.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Q & A

After the whole job debacle, in a fit of motivation, I fired off a couple of resumes without really expecting anything back. But then someone got back to me that very day, and asked me to come in for an interview. This job would be full time, which means that I would have to leave the Peanut all day. It got me thinking...

When the Peanut was first born, and I was in the deepest depths of PPD and couldn't see any light at the end of the tunnel, I told myself desperately that I would soon get a job again. In the real world, where I could talk to adults and wouldn't have to worry about being with this brand new baby that I had no idea what to do with. I actually looked forward to it, because it would mean more than eight hours a day out of the house. And, if I'm being completely honest, away from the baby. I was so anxious and strung out about everything, going to work for eight hours seemed like it would be a break.

But the depression eventually lifted, and I got a little bit better at the baby stuff. I had work as a home health aide, so I was still bringing in some money, but we didn't have to pay anyone to watch the Peanut, as he could come with me. Still, I do enjoy feeling like I'm contributing, and I was going off of my previous feelings. I thought it might be nice to have a reason to put on something other than sweats and talk about things other than poop or teeth that may or may not even be there.

When I got the email requesting that I come in for an interview, my eyes welled up before I was even done reading. All of a sudden, I had to seriously think about this, and what I kept coming back to was that someone else would be playing with the Peanut all day. Getting those huge gummy smiles while drool runs down his chin. Hearing those giggles. Granted, yes, also hearing some screaming and dealing with a pissed off kid sometimes. But soon he will be sitting up, and then crawling, and then WALKING, and what if I miss it? What if I miss hearing that little voice say its first word, when I've been putting in the babble time for months?

My fingers hovered above the keyboard, my stomach churning. What did I really want? The Peanut squeals in delight from his bouncy seat, and I think that I know the answer.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009


I had a new job, for about five seconds. Actually, I was training for a new job for about a month, and then started it for five seconds.

My mom saw an ad in her town's paper for this job, and thought it would be something that I would really do well and enjoy. Also, it was work from home, so I wouldn't have to get a baby-sitter for the Peanut. It sounded perfect. I sent them my resume and they called and scheduled me for an interview. The interview was at the lady's house, and she and her assistant were dressed in jeans and t-shirts. The assistant was whispering asides to the other woman the whole time, like "Don't forget to tell her about this." and "Do you need me to move my car?" I don't know why these things were secret, but whatever. A brief discription of the job, and I was hired. I wasn't even really interviewed. The Boss Lady told me that I had been their first choice and that they were so glad when I called them back. I was flattered and really looking forward to the new job.

The first tinge of something was when I told my BFF that I had gotten a new job, she asked me what it was, turned out she knew of a girl that had worked for the same lady and she thought something had gone wrong. BFF checked with her, and it turned out this girl had worked for the exact same lady and had been delayed in getting paid for months and months, until her husband finally called Boss Lady and said they would have to take legal action if his wife wasn't paid. THEN Boss Lady said to this girl when she finally gave her the check THAT SHE WORKED FOR, Boss Lady said, "I hope you know that I had to borrow money from my mom to give you this." Hmmmm.

But I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt, mostly because this seemed like a dream job to me and I really wanted it to work out. First, there was the driving. I wasn't working from home because I was driving around the whole state all day. Picking things up, dropping papers off. The locations that I had to go to were at least 45 minutes away. I had to drag the Peanut out, only to turn around and put him back in the car. One of them was in a really bad part of town.

I was training this whole time, and finally I got my first real work. I sat down to do it... and an hour later I was done. For weeks I had been training, and this is what I got? I figured it out, and I had made $16. For what was supposedly a whole week's work.

The following day, I emailed Boss Lady to ask her what I had to do the next day. Of course, I knew it would be driving somewhere. I sent the email at around 6:30 in the morning. At around 8, I checked again. And 8:30. And 9:00. You get the picture. Until I had to leave for my other job at 10, I kept checking and there was no response. So I figured there was nothing to do, and went on ahead with my day. At around 12:30, I checked again, and there was a reply. It said I needed to go and pick something up by 10:30 that day. The email was sent at 10:46. Wha?

The final straw was when A* learned of yet another former employee that wasn't paid. I wrote her another email and told her that it just wasn't working out. I know, it was cowardly to write an email, but I am so not good with confrontation of any kind. Seriously. I actually threw up this morning because I was so stressed out about all of this.

Now I'm relieved, sort of, but really just disappointed. I wanted this to work out. It was something that I actually enjoyed doing. I was glad to have two jobs to be helping out my family.

I guess if it looks too good to be true, it must be too good to be true. (Except my husband. )

*********** In case you're interested, this is my 100th post. 100 posts, two or three moves, two or three cars, one marriage, lots of crying, lots of Zoloft, one baby, some more crying, and the whole time, no one really cared. Yay me!***************************************************

Thursday, January 01, 2009

Sexual Healing

The first man I remember feeling something for was Davey Jones from the Monkees. It was way past their time, but reruns of the show were on Nickelodeon everyday when I got home from school, and I fell in love with Davey. My parents found vintage posters for me and I pasted them around my room. I had vague fantasies of the two of us getting married and walking on the beach, while the song "Daydream Believer" played in the background. I was probably around first or second grade, so my imagination didn't go much past this. Then one night, my parents told me excitedly that they had tickets for a Monkees reunion tour and they were taking me! I would get to see Davey Jones in person! I was absolutely overwhelmed with this news, and quite honestly felt like I couldn't take it. I didn't understand some of the feelings I was having, and I panicked. I made up some lame excuse about not wanting to go to a concert yet and fled to my room, where I gazed at my posters through a veil of tears and hugged my Cabbage Patch tightly. I never went to the concert.

In the sixth grade, I discovered the meaning of the words "crush", though at the time I would have told you it was absolute true love. I was totally obsessed with a boy named Doug, and spent countless hours in my room listening to Boyz II Men songs and writing his name over and over in my diary. I wanted to kiss him in the worst way, and I felt my knees go weak when I was close enough to get a whiff of his scent; lots of cheap cologne and that slightly sweaty boy smell. This was the first time I ever thought about actually kissing someone, and how it might feel, and how I really, really liked the way he smiled. The day Doug moved across North America, he told me that he had always had a crush on me, hugged me breathlessly, and walked out of my life forever.

A couple years passed in a blur of different boys, different lip gloss, first kiss, stomach dropping, knee shaking, uncertainty. Then Chris came into my life. Chris was my first long term, "serious" boyfriend. Chris and I made out a lot, and then one night we were in my basement. I was wearing a gray ribbed knit shirt and jeans, he was wearing a hoodie. He sat on my dad's workbench, and I sat on his lap. His hand uncertainly crept up my shirt, and I giggled in an embarrassingly high pitched way. I was sure that any minute I would hear the door at the top of the stairs open and hear my mom's footsteps coming down the stairs, just in time to see her daughter turn into a hooker. Or something. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I stuck them down the front of his pants. My face burning, I touched it. Ah! I touched it! I didn't know what to do with it, so I just laughed again.

Surprisingly, Chris and I stayed together after this encounter, and worked our way up the sexual ladder. Until we broke up, and I started dating someone else. R- was gorgeous and had the ability to reduce me to a puddle of helplessness with one look from his huge brown eyes. I had never been attracted to someone like this before, and I loved the way it felt when his fingers roamed over my skin and I grabbed his curls. We did everything but together, and then had a messy breakup.

College was, well, college. More boys, lots of beer, keg parties, naked boys running down our hallway at night, roommates giggling at the sound of a bed creaking overhead. I met Tim smack in the middle of my partying, and felt he was the One. In Cancun, on Spring Break, we consummated our relationship, and I kissed my virginity good-bye. I was twenty years old, and I was a little tipsy. I didn't see what all the fuss was about.

Tim obviously cheated on me, because he wasn't the One, and in between Cancun and breaking up I tried to avoid sex at all costs. I just liked doing everything else better. Tim didn't give me any complaints. I thought that it was completely overrated.

A* came into my life about a year after Tim broke my heart and I was ready for a change. For once, I just let myself go and embarrassingly soon after we started dating I discovered EXACTLY what all the fuss about sex was. I don't know if it was because A* took the time to please me, or seemed to genuinely care about how I felt, or just true love (I know, gag) but I was hooked.

However, I had some very funny ideas about sex and how a woman shouldn't really want it that much and shouldn't be too loud or shouldn't want to try different things, I don't know where it came from but I did, so I would never initiate anything with A*. We had a really good sex life.

Most times when people have a child, they lose their sex drive. I was the complete opposite. As soon as I shot that kid out, I wanted to go at it. I waited about two weeks after birth until I told A* I thought it would be okay to try. We did, and it was great. More than great.

Now we enjoy an extremely healthy sex life, and I was having a great time last night as we rang in the New Year, until we heard a distinctive grunt from over the baby monitor and time stopped. We held our breath and listened, hoping against hope that silence would reign again. It didn't. We smiled grimly at each other, pulled our clothes back on, and went and got our son.

Our first minutes of 2009 were spent giving kisses and tickling, but not of each other. Things have changed so much over the year, and that's just fine with me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Happy New Year.