Onward

A few weeks ago I started out a post with "I'm worried about my marriage." Then it devolved into a screed about all the things I've been frustrated about since I went back to work after Maia's birth, and then I took it off Blogger to write and print, and then I put it away because I didn't want Eric to see it. We've been talking about those issues, and I'm trying to work on them. It's tough. I don't know what's changed since Maia was born (...aside from the obvious), but something has, and it's made me discontented. I'm pretty sure it's me, not him, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't work on it.

Anyway. It is now the Christmas season, apparently, as evinced by the Christmas trees put up at work (really? I can kind of understand the giving-tree one because people like to do shopping early, but the others are just for decoration and dude, I like Thanksgiving) and the mint M&Ms in my stomach, and my thoughts have turned to Christmas crafts. They can do this because I am done, done, DONE with Shoelace. Done as in, I sent a query in to a "contest" in which the literary agent promised actual, stream-of-consciousness feedback to all queries sent in at a particular hour (well, she didn't say stream-of-consciousness and that isn't what people got from the sound of the comments, but that's how it sounded to me), thinking I'd get some useful feedback. Then she actually requested the manuscript and I said "Well *!&#" because I'd noticed a problem with the end that I was working on fixing, but hadn't worried about hurrying because what were the chances? The moral of the story here is that it is a bad idea to count on one's ineptitude in one area because it will fail, giving one's ineptitude in other areas a chance to shine. Ahem.

So I have closed the book on Shoelace (which does, in fact, have an actual title...I forget if I've ever mentioned this) and am pondering some background for the next story, currently titled the unfortunately-acronymed Variable Density. What would the Republicans think if there were superheroes running around? That's what I'm wondering. I found that doing an actual query submission made me think about my writing differently. It's very refreshing. I also recognized, during the frenzied finish-this-quick-so-I-can-send-it session, that writing is a bit like quilting for me in that at some point, I lose all perspective on my own work and can no longer judge its merits because I start seeing it in negative. I don't see the work, I only see what I had wanted it to be but wasn't able to make it. With quilting I ignore that. (It helps that quilts are more difficult to revise than manuscripts.) I should learn to do some of that with writing, too. And then maybe I'll be able to let the next project go after a couple of go-rounds.

And, as I tried to say two paragraphs ago, it's Christmas as far as crafting is concerned. I have a pair of Fiber Fish mittens to make for Chloë, and a quilt to finish for her because she's in need of a big-girl blanket that she doesn't want to lay on the floor and pretend is the beach, which is what she does with the only other big blanket she has, a thick teal number made by Mom. I have to make something for Maia because I feel bad about neglecting her just because she has everything she needs. I want to make some mittens for my niece Rae, because she was interested in Chloë's the last time she was over here, though I'm not positive this wasn't just because it was so cold I was making all the girls wear mittens and hats and she wanted to go outside. And I have handprint wall hangings to make, assuming I can get a good tracing of Maia's. I'll be keeping busy up until Christmas. I prefer it that way. Having crafting time really helps make me feel like a person rather than just a parenting, working automaton.

This post has no direction or cohesion at all, but I wanted to say something, so I feel better. Status: loving my children, ambivalent about my husband, finished my book, pondering the next, ambitious on my Christmas crafts. As Chloë keeps saying these days: Onward!

The new normal

Eric has a new job! Again. Ahem. Anyway, he's employed, or will be once he fills out the paperwork, and we have to figure out daycare. I'm not so enthused about the daycare, but we did agree that Eric getting a full-time job was the most preferable option and I don't have to worry about finances anymore (and maybe I can think about getting a netbook/laptop for Christmas, once we've seen the damage of the hospital bills). And I'll be home alone with Chloe after August 24. It'll be interesting. When do babies learn to entertain themselves? Because currently whenever I have to use the bathroom I hand the baby to Eric, but that's not going to be an option in a couple of weeks here and it will be sad to have to put her in the crib and listen to her cry whenever I'm on the toilet.

My parents left Tuesday, and we're getting into a somewhat normal schedule again. It's revolving around the baby and her feedings and naps, of course, but I've actually done some e-mail correspondence and some cleaning, and I intend to go out and pick things in the garden once Eric gets up from his nap. Next week I may even start thinking about my hobbies again. So far I've mostly been reading in my spare time (and eating and drinking; I hadn't realized that lactating was going to make me so hungry and thirsty all the time), but it's about time to reintegrate my old life with the new. And it would be nice to finish Chloe's quilt before my maternity leave is over.

Interviews

And another interview today. At least places are still hiring. This is good. We've also got an appointment with a pediatrician--we're supposed to interview them, but I really don't know what to say. "Do you have an actual degree? Can I see your diploma?"

Incidentally, one of my friends just asked me if I planned to vaccinate my child. I think it's sad that she had to ask. Apparently one of her other friends isn't--said friend citing not only the autism non-link, but also "Those diseases aren't around anymore, so why bother?" People worry me.

Waiting, waiting

Eric didn't get that job, and is waiting on the results of another interview. They were supposed to call him Wednesday or Thursday, so I'm not hopeful. He does have a very good prospect of part-time teaching at the university, so that's something, but we finally pulled the last of his teaching stuff out of his car yesterday and he got very sad at the prospect of not using it again (even if he does get this job, he probably won't have a classroom of his own). He's been sad a lot. So have I, due to stress and pregnancy hormones, though we mostly do a good job of alternating so one of us is available to handle the other. I guess that's a marriage.

I'm about two scenes away from finishing Shoelace but haven't done it, partly because I'm working on nonfiction writing and the baby bumper, partly because I just plain don't want to work on it. Even though I'm in the middle of the climax. It's very strange. But I must finish it before the baby comes so I can ignore it in good conscience; ignoring it is bothering me now. Maybe this week.

I've gotten to the hard bit of pregnancy, where I can't sleep well and my body aches and people I barely know keep asking me the same four questions (Are you excited? When are you due? Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? Do you have names picked out?--though somebody varied it the other day with "Did you really want a girl, or did you not care about the sex?" and I had to stop myself from saying "Actually, we really wanted a boy and hate the idea of a girl; we're not sure whether we're going to keep her"). I'm told this is nature's way of reconciling the new mother to a completely new life (not to mention labor) by making anything preferable to staying pregnant. I'm not sure I've reached that point yet, but I can see it coming. And of course maternity leave will be lovely, assuming the sleep deprivation doesn't send me (or Eric) into psychosis.

Gah. I'm depressing myself and I really don't mean to. I'm doing a lot of waiting lately, so I kind of feel my entire life is on hold, which is never a good feeling, but it's not that bad really. I probably need to do more and worry less--which I imagine is almost always good advice.

Job hunting

Eric has a job interview! This makes me happy. And him happier, of course. It's next Friday, so I've got plenty of time to take down the hem of the pants of his suit (he put them in the wash accidentally the last time he wore it; they seem to be okay except for being too short now, but Mom was the one who hemmed them so there's enough fabric left over to lengthen them appropriately). He's been looking for science teacher openings but only found two so far, and the other one was filled, so he was especially pleased. I admit to being ever so slightly disappointed that we won't be able to move earlier, and that we'll have to look for serious daycare. This is assuming that he gets the job, of course. I'm sure the competition for this job is more fierce than it would have been a couple of years ago. But I'm hopeful, and so is he, and that's a good thing.

Grumpy pregnant lady

I was a total grumpy pregnant lady last night, caused partly by wearing maternity clothes to work (they were fairly comfortable physically but not at all psychically. I have issues, I know) and exacerbated by a last-minute all-evening babysitting gig for the eleven-year-old stepsister-in-law for no good reason (and the two-year-old niece for a good reason, but only for a couple of hours and we'd agreed to that earlier) and annoying dogs at the mothers' house. I'm not a dog person anyway, and slobbery tongues and noses all over my pants and hands just as I was finally sitting down to the dinner I had to argue to be allowed to prepare even though everyone else was hungry and wanted what I suggested did not make me any more so.

Ahem. I really am slightly better this morning, though not a lot.

Today Eric has promised to mow the lawn and build a bookcase. I do not actually believe he'll get both of these things done, but I hope to be wrong. We bought three bookcases from Target a couple of weeks ago for the purpose of moving the library out of what'll now be the baby's room while still leaving a couple of small bookcases for the baby's stuff (not to mention her own books--she only has five or six at the moment, aside from the kids' books that I still consider mine, but that will change). Our dream house will have a dedicated library with built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. (And a secret passage.) In the meantime, we're lining the dining room with cheap bookcases. If we ever get them built. There's also a corn syrup slick in the pantry to clean up, and a mouse to poison or track down and shoot, and a whole bunch of other work to be done. Part of my grumpiness last night (and this morning) was also due to the neverending messiness and dirtiness of the kitchen and the house in general. Why are we homeowners? Arrgh.

To be honest, I think I'm disgruntled because I don't think I should have to be the one to work. Or rather, not the only one to work. Not twice in two years. Not when the house isn't any cleaner or better kept than when we were both working. Eric said on the way home from Penguicon that he was wondering whether he shouldn't just stay home with the baby next school year (and maybe teach lab part-time at the university) instead of getting a job. We need to talk more about this--it would be nice if it doesn't drive him crazy and we can afford it, but I wonder if he's really considering it because he's afraid of not finding a job, or of being dismissed a third time if he does--but I'm feeling all kinds of unattractive things when I think about it. I want to be the one to stay home. I didn't have to worry so much about money when I was unmarried. I do all this emotional caretaking already, I don't see why I have to be the sole breadwinner and the household manager too. I want someone to lean on, not someone to support. I'm a woman and a wife and I'm not supposed to have to do everything.

I hate that I feel this way. It's really not that bad; I’m just disgruntled and tired and anxious, and also the baby's hiccups resonate in my bones and I have to go take a glucose test and I still can't eat much cheese so mealtimes are difficult. (Not because I can't cook without cheese, but because our shared meals often involve it, especially in the winter, so if we want to eat something together there's a limited selection to choose from and if we decide to eat separately Eric invariably says he'll just have some chicken nuggets/a ham steak/Testosteroni/a banana and a cookie, and he's lost seven pounds since February so I really want him to eat better than that. And if I suggest making something that I won't eat he protests, like with dinner last night. I'm glad summer's coming, and that we can get to the farmer's market this Saturday.) I'm going to skip the glucose test today--I have no appointment; I just need to show up at the lab sometime this week--and go talk to Eric before I start yelling at him, which I don't want to do. And maybe bake some bread. That might make me feel better.

Various weirdness

I woke up crying this morning. I'm pretty sure my hormones shifted during the night, causing me to have a sad dream; I don't know whether the crying was from the dream or the sadness itself, since the urge to cry wouldn't go away for quite a while. This pregnancy thing is weird.

I'm also having an urge to share the dream itself, even though I keep tearing up again when I think about it, and I didn't with Eric because it was about him and he didn't ask when I told him why I was sad and solicited a hug. So here it is:

Eric was dead. The circumstances were confusing, in typical dream-fashion, involving the placement of eight long wooden rods over a monkey-bars-like frame, but it had killed him and I knew that it had been either an accident or suicide, but I wasn't sure which, and not knowing was torturing me. I was then given an opportunity to step into a parallel universe for a short time to try to find out. (Do people who don't read SF have these kinds of SF elements in their dreams?)

I accepted the opportunity and found Eric. He was very happy to see me because in his universe we'd had a big misunderstanding (similar to the one we actually had at the beginning of our relationship) and had just figured things out. In the course of talking about this he mentioned the accident he had almost had, so I knew he hadn't been trying to kill himself. He kept apologizing for the time we'd lost during the misunderstanding and saying that now we had so much ahead of us, and I didn't say otherwise because I didn't want to disrupt his happiness, but I knew that soon I'd have to go back to my own universe where he was dead.

It sounds tame, but it was horrible--though much more coherent than a lot of my dreams, I notice, and I could probably make a good story out of it if I were a different kind of writer. I think I'd like to just try to forget it, however, except maybe to note that while I'm quite sure that I love Eric, it tends to hit me most viscerally when I'm feeling I've lost him (as before during The Situation, when I once told him I was severing communications--I meant to do it for six months but didn't get farther than twenty-four hours). This love thing is weird, too.

In the abstract

Eric's been craving bacon for a while now. (I call couvade syndrome. Aren't I the one who's supposed to be having cravings?) He finally bought some over the weekend from Andersons, where he prefers to get meat (and we both prefer to get produce), and fried it up last night. "It smells good," I said, and as he always does whenever I say that about meat, he offered me some. I declined, and something occurred to me that hadn't before: I don't really think of meat as food. For me, that is. It can have a nice smell that reminds me of a good restaurant or (in this case) Sunday breakfasts when I was a kid, but that doesn't make me want to eat it. "It's like the way I imagine a gay man feels about a pretty woman," I told Eric. "Abstract admiration, but no interest in partaking."

I had a long weekend, since I was taking my February days off this week so that I could be here next week while one of my coworkers is traveling, and we spent Monday and Tuesday doing household things (shopping and trying to repair a leaky spigot--we need insulation protection gear before proceeding) and sleeping late. It was lovely. I asked Eric what time he was getting up this morning, since he planned to visit a couple of school district administrative offices, and he said, "We should probably try to get up before nine." I reminded him that I had to go to work in the morning, but I thought wistfully that it would be wonderful not to have to. Would we get tired of each other? I don't know. Would I get more done? I hope so. I did some quilting and some writing and some laundry, so it wasn't a wasted couple of days by any means (not to mention the shopping and household repairs), but I always think I could have done more than I did.

This week: finish the spigot repair, write, quilt, plant broccoli, plan my planting schedule, make sure Eric does something every day. He really seems to want the structure that having work gives to his day; he's not enjoying the time off as I wish he could, though I understand why. Also, the sooner he figures out the substituting thing, the sooner we can decide whether I can buy plane tickets to go visit my family in April.

You go back, Jack, do it again

Eric's been fired. We don't know why--the principal did it, but refused to give a reason and seemed ill-at-ease, Eric says. He asked what happened about the four weeks he was promised and the principal wouldn't answer. He's very unhappy, of course--this is the second time this has happened, though less explicably this time around, and he really liked this job and this school and his kids. This happened after school Friday, so he didn't get to say goodbye to his students, but he did tell a few teachers and the quiz bowl team he helps coach, and they were shocked and sad. He's been apologizing to me a lot. I couldn't figure out how to stop him until he said it again this morning, before leaving to pack up his classroom, and I said, "I'm sorry. I'm not concerned about myself except for you." He said, "That helps." I guess I never actually said "I'm sorry you lost your job." I would say I'll remember it for next time, but I hope there isn't one. Twice is enough.

I am worried about money again, because I was told Friday morning that everyone in the company is now required to take four days off of work a month until further notice. I can cover mine with vacation until the end of March, and it turns out that Eric's paychecks will continue coming until then (since teachers work ten months but get paid across twelve), so we've got some breathing room. We're going to tighten expenses and such immediately, of course, and save as much as we can. I'd planned to go back to Washington in late April for a short trip with my cousin Bev and a baby shower and to see my other cousin Jaime's new baby, and we're going to have to see whether I can still do it. There's every chance Eric will be able to get a job as a substitute teacher, so money may not be a very big issue after all, but I'll be happier once we see the numbers and know what he can expect work-wise for the interim.

On the good side, it's warm here--forties--and the backyard is melting, which means I may be able to get to my garden again to dump the compost bin, which has been moldering under my sink for weeks. And my energy and appetite are returning, which means that we'll be able to tackle some household projects that need doing (though some will also have to be budgeted for--but the cleaning-type stuff will be free). Also, brownies sounded good to me the other day, which means my pregnancy-induced disdain for chocolate may be coming to an end. That's definitely a good thing.

The menagerie

The current baby quilt (Fishy, Fishy) is inching towards completion. It doesn't help that I realized that I cut one of my templates and therefore sixteen pieces wrong, and unfortunately they're all too small instead of too big. I realized I never posted a picture of James's quilt, so here it is on my bed:


(Please ignore the mess on the floor. That's Eric's side.) I like the watercolor technique a lot, now that I know better how to use it.

The kitchen is finally almost clean, but the mice are still around. This despite the twelve (no kidding) traps we laid out around the kitchen. I'm quite tired of having the contents of my pantry piled on top of the chest freezer (for one thing, bread and flour go in there, since there's not enough room in the regular freezer) and of having vermin in the house, but we're not sure what to do. Today I saw one skitter across the floor and climb up a hole between cupboards, and I swear it did it on purpose to avoid the glue trap that would otherwise have been in its way. I moved the trap directly below the hole but I have a feeling the mice are too smart for us and we'll never get rid of them. Until I give up and call in the poison, anyway.

Eric's job may be in danger again...his principal told him that he's giving too many Fs and not enough As, and he should do something about it. Anything. Or else. He's told a couple of people at work and they're highly displeased, but not shocked, so apparently his new employers aren't as much better as his old ones as we'd have liked. He was potentially going to be out of a job next school year anyway, since there are statewide education budget cuts and he's a new teacher, but now we're pretty much planning on it, and working out what we'll do if he doesn't get another teaching job at a different school (which, with the budget cuts, is looking unlikely). We did this last year and were okay, but of course we'll have a baby around this time...but if he stays home and maybe picks up some community college classes to teach at night, we'll be saving some $6000-$7000 on childcare anyway and earning a few thousand. And we've been saving money. And I'm working on the freelancing, though not as much as I should. We should be okay; I just wish adulthood weren't so complicated.

Adventures in infertility: IUIUIU

(TMI alert. Also, length alert. Sheesh.)

So the IUI was last Thursday. Actually it was last Friday. Let me explain...no, there is too much. Let me sum up. No, I'm lousy at summing up, let me explain:

I had my ultrasound/follicle study Wednesday. The technician said, "Whoa, you responded well to the Clomid. Almost too well," and said I had three ripe juicy follicles but all in the side with the blocked tube. She sent me off to the scheduler, who sent me off to the check-out, who said, "Was that all for today?" and I remembered I was supposed to get a Profasi shot as well. Since the office had totally forgotten about it, they had to send me out to the local pharmacy to get the Profasi itself. It's damned expensive stuff--the generic is $64, but the name-brand was all they had and it was $109. It contains two months' worth of medicine, but I'm not seeing that as much of a selling point.

Before I would surrender the Profasi I asked the shot-giver (that seemed to be her only function, at least that day) whether it actually made sense to go through with this, since my eggs would have nowhere to go, and she checked with a doctor who said that yes, it was worth a shot since eggs can migrate. I let her do the shot (it ached for days afterward) and looked it up later. The key is that the ovaries aren't actually connected to the fallopian tubes, just very close to them; the tubes have fimbriae that capture the eggs as they emerge and sweep them into the tube, but it's possible for the eggs to escape the nearest fimbriae. I don't know how often this happens--I only read about the migration bit on a couple of forums, secondhand from posters' doctors, and one said a 10% and the other a 70% chance. I also wonder how often an egg wanders off and is never recovered, and I can't imagine it being all that often.

Regardless, I got the shot and we scheduled the IUI for the next day, when Eric would go to the fertility clinic at the hospital during his planning period to, er, do his part, and I'd come by a few hours later to pick up, er, his part, and bring it to my gynecologist for the actual procedure. Wednesday night, he mentioned that he wasn't sure exactly where in the hospital the clinic was, but neither of us looked it up, me because I figured I'd do it at work before I left, he because (as it turned out) he thought I knew, though he didn't ask me for the directions then.

Thursday, I had a blood donation appointment with the bloodmobile at work for 10. At 11:30, Eric left school to find the clinic. He couldn't find it. He called me. I wasn't there because the bloodmobile people were, aside from being discourteous and not very gentle, running extremely late, and I didn't get out until 12. Eric shouted "Where have you been??" and then told me that the hospital had sent him to someplace that said he needed to go across the street, and the people across the street had told him he was in the wrong place, and now what? I got directions from the gynecologist and relayed them. "Then it's too late," he said, and yelled at me for not being around my phone at all times "when you knew I didn't know where I was going!" and for giving blood when I was supposed to be getting pregnant.

He went back to work. I called the clinic and the gynecologist and was told that we could reschedule for the next day. The scheduler, whom I've talked to a lot in the past couple of months, was upset that I asked if that would do any good. It turns out Profasi stays in the system for around 36-48 hours and the eggs don't die until it's gone. This was going to be a little over that time limit, so I was dubious, but we'd already spent most of the money we were going to spend this month and I scheduled it despite Eric saying he'd given up for the month. Later he called back, and we made up and he agreed to try again on Friday.

Friday, armed with the new improved directions, he had no problems at all (except in locating the porn, he said--it was discreetly tucked underneath a towel, and he didn't find it until afterward). I accordingly arrived a few hours later, tucked "the boys" into my bra, which gave me the giggles, was told by the technician "Good luck--I hope I never see you again!" and drove off.

At the gynecologist's, everything went fine except that my cervix is apparently severely tilted, so the gynecologist had to shove the catheter to get it in the correct place and I therefore bled quite a bit more than I'd been led to expect. Also, they should have warned me to bring a book or grab a magazine. Their ceiling was not interesting enough to entertain me for the requisite 20 minutes on my back.

And now, we wait. I am now doubly hoping that it worked, because I saw that ThinkGeek now carries solar system mobiles and how totally awesome would that be for a nursery?

There's no neat acronym for "clean up after messy husband."

Acronyms are in my future. Acronyms like HSG and IUI. I am displeased. Eric had an SA and it showed a slightly low count, but not hugely so. We've been TTC (there's another one, which I am only using to continue the theme because that one bugs me for some reason) for more than a year now, so we're trying to decide what to do next (aside from continuing to try, because it's fun).

I've been having a busy time with Eric gone. I'm quilting, writing, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, baking bread, gardening. (Oh yeah, and I have a job.) I'm also finding myself with the odd urge to clean up Eric's spaces. He has two, his side of the bedroom and his half of the office, and I let him let them get messy, within reason. (The glasses and cans have to go downstairs within a reasonable time.) Since I don't have to interact with either one, I'm fine with this arrangement, but now that he's gone I'm itching to put his ties and books away, throw away the old receipts, sort his papers into neat stacks. Of course then he'd never find anything. Maybe this is a response to the first problem?

Not special

We spent today with Eric's family. It was a fairly nice gathering, but I heard more about my in-laws' opinions and feelings and prejudices than I have in a long time. As we drove home I thought, My God, he's just like his family, why did I marry him? and worried vaguely. So I asked him about it: do you think you're different from your family? In what ways? Why do I get so tired after a day with them when I don't after a day with you?

This led to discussions on the nature of giftedness and potential, and how in our younger years we were both expected to Do Great Things, and how those Great Things were always in the nature of "win the Nobel Prize" or otherwise change the world. We were never led to believe that we might someday use our potential to be passionate and voracious debaters, or excellent at customer service, or the person everyone in the office goes to for help; or that that would be an acceptable use of our talents. We were never told that we would most likely be just another speck on a cog in a machine, and children have, I now know, no concept that being an adult in contemporary society is just that. We were always told that we needed to sparkle externally, never that it would be okay to quietly be a good and talented person without being outwardly exceptional.

I've been struggling with this ever since I left grad school, but I never thought about it in quite this way before. Eric says he has, because he had to come to terms with what he's decided to do with his life. He does feel he still has the capacity to change the world; but it's going to be more indirectly now, and he doesn't feel the need to change the world so much as to change his students. He has better goals now, more focused ones. I'm working on developing my own. I wonder what my EEP friends are doing with their lives, and whether they think about these issues as often as I do. I kind of hope not; I hope they've either become outwardly exceptional and are happy, or have come to terms with not changing the world and are happy.

(Also I hope that if someone does change the world, some of them have a hand in it. Far better them than, say, my mother-in-law, whom Eric says he's tempted to write in as his vote in the next election, but knowing what I know he knows about her political opinions, I don't think he's serious.)

A lonely housewife, that's me.

I don't wanna go to bed. I don't necessarily want to stay up, either. Dammit, having a housemate is more addictive than I thought. Well, when it's my husband and best friend, anyway. I've had almost forty-eight hours now of being able to do what I want, cook what I want, sleep when I want, etc., and I can't enjoy it as much as I should because I miss Eric. Even with his picky-eating, computer-focused, sleep-disrupting ways. He's off at a gaming convention in Columbus and it sounds like he's having a grand time; he got free admission and (shared) room by volunteering to demonstrate games but that's hardly a hardship for him, and he still gets most of his time to play. I expect him to come home with several new games in tow. I will hug and kiss him and tell him I missed him, and then I'll make him clean the bathroom.

Anyway. Things are happening to me work-wise: Jade put me in the way of some freelancing work that is pretty much exactly up my proverbial alley (why alley? This area of my experience is not at all a dirty, dark, rat- and beggar-infested slum) and I am engaged to do it: around 30 hours over the summer, and then more or less as much as I can handle in the fall and the spring. It is not exactly the science writing I was envisioning, but it pays well and it's absolutely a good start. And it's a bit of a running start; I get the feeling they would be happy if I would leave my job so they could pile work on.

If all goes well, I might discuss doing exactly that with them in the spring. Eric has a job now--hooray!--and will have cheap health insurance, and of course we're planning to move next summer anyway. They mentioned the possibility of full-time work down the road, telecommuting, which would be awesome beyond words for a cross-country move. Again, it wouldn't be the freelancing I was envisioning, but it would still be a good move and a step up (though the job involves the same industry my current job does, which makes this all the more funny coincidental). Also I've been thinking over Shoelace, and also another project I want to do after. So both Eric and I are doing well on the career front this week. I suppose my career wouldn't be hurt by my actually going to bed at this point.

Things move, and people too

My seam ripper is missing. This is severely problematic. I have Dad's quilt to finish by July 1, when we go out. And not only is it not started, but I've got this other quilt to finish first. And to do that I need to rip out part of the also severely problematic back and redo it. Then pin, quilt, and bind--not too hard, especially since I can leave off the binding until there's more time, since it's just our summer bed quilt. But I can't find my seam ripper, which means I can't rip out the seam, which means I can't progress.

I was going to go to Joann to pick up a replacement seam ripper and maybe some cotton-acrylic or wool-acrylic yarn if I found some on sale for a baby sweater for my friend who already made me a baby blanket (I'm not pregnant and she knows it; she says she ran out of people to give blankets to and it's the only crochet stitch she knows). But Eric called because his friend from school had just told him she got a job offer, and he's worried because he was slightly later than his classmates at applying for jobs and is afraid he won't get one at all.

So I went home, and we talked. Some of the things he said were a bit odd--for example, that he would never be able to support our family. I mean, he went into teaching knowing what the salary would be like, and I've never demanded that he support the family single-handedly, and I don't expect myself to do it either (I am technically now, but by the skin of our teeth--but then, if we were permanently going to live on just my salary we'd be making some lifestyle changes). Some went back to our one big issue: where we're going to live. We talked, and as usual didn't get much resolved, but he seemed a little heartened that I wasn't disappointed in him for not having a job yet. I was put in mind of how I felt in early 2006, when I was living in my Toledo apartment, jobless and despairing and playing way too much World of Warcraft.

And instead of quilting, I spent the evening gardening and cooking. (Eric was at his weekly gaming session.) I planted some peppers and cotton and sunflowers and cantaloupe, and swatted mosquitos, and picked some spinach in the hopes it won't bolt so quickly this year. At least I've been able to enjoy some. And then I made marinated spinach salad, and chai ice cream, and brownies for the chocolate chocolate chocolate nut ice cream we're making at Eric's dad's request for our party this weekend. Other flavors we've made for the party: pineapple and lemon. Other flavors planned: strawberry (by popular demand), root beer, and apple cinnamon. We're very much enjoying the experimental part of this hobby.

I think I'm going to have to revisit my idea last year of cutting off hobbies until I get my writing tasks and ideas in order. Ice cream doesn't take much time. Neither does bread baking. But the non-food crafts do. I need to keep up the garden, and I really do need to finish these two quilts; but otherwise I may want to place a moratorium on non-literary creativity until further notice. Though that'll be hard...I want to knit some reusable grocery bags from the cotton I have that I won't use otherwise, and there's a bunch of spinning fiber I want to get to, and I wanted to make Christmas stockings this year, and I have the perfect baby sweater picked out and C will love it.

Books books books

My Amazon order came! I got a gift certificate for participating in a blog-related market research interview, you see. Then Eric wanted to use up most of it for his Edition Four D&D books, and I said if he got to spend that much money I was spending an equal amount, and he said okay. So I got Local Breads and Seed to Seed and an Ingrid Michaelson CD recommended by a coworker. Local Breads is looking awesome. It concentrates on local specialties in Europe, mainly sourdoughs and whole-grain recipes, and has two and a half chapters on rye; all of which are completely awesome and exactly what I would like to work on with the baking. (Well, aside from making a decent sandwich bread. I made up a recipe I like except I can't get any oven spring so the loaf is too dense and small. I'm still working on it.) And Seed to Seed promises to be very useful. Haven't listened to the CD yet, but I will. I think it's interesting I didn't get any fiction. Granting that I have plenty unread in the library, it's still a change of reading taste for me.

I'm having busy days--another week of crazy clients (four weeks after the last one, and the same week as the full moon--hmm) while people are gone, and lots to do yard-wise. Eric's final project is finished, which relieves us both mightily. Now he's just got PRAXIS this weekend. He starts studying tomorrow. We bought him a book, and looking through the practice tests I think I could do well on the multiple-choice without having looked through the review sections, though probably not on the constructed-answer questions.

I've been working on a nonfiction thing, and I find it's been way too long since I worked on Shoelace. I shall rectify that tomorrow if possible. Also Eric mentioned the other day that he still has to read PV and get me comments and query letter help. I found it charming that he remembered; it's been a while since I asked and he's been very busy since. In the meantime, though, I'm happy letting it lie and working on other things.

Ironically, resenting one's mother-in-law is extremely conventional.

When I'm at work--or generally with people who are not my close friends--I tend to pretend that I'm more conventional than I am: that I care about cars, makeup, celebrity gossip (I do care about work gossip). I smile, I make small talk, I laugh at dumb jokes, I stay quiet about my true thoughts and interests. I was thinking last week that perhaps that time had come to stop doing that, and start being more fearlessly myself.

But perhaps I was wrong. Yesterday Eric and I went over to his mom's so that we could visit and he could work on a video he has to do for school which isn't working on anybody's computer but his mom's. When we arrived, she was complaining about something that was wrong with her computer, so Eric naturally said he would take a look at it before starting on his work. Time went on, and his mom said something about it; he said, "I don't want to be working on this, I want to be doing my homework!" and went back to trying to figure it out. She went away. Not long after, she came back and said, "I didn't ask you to work on my problem. You shouldn't have offered if you were going to be that way about it. I didn't like your tone, and I'm tired of your rudeness."

He was surprised, since he hadn't directed it at her specifically, just meant to vent some irritation at the problem itself. He apologized, and she said again that he had been rude. Eventually she wandered away and fell asleep on the couch; he sat at the computer, upset and unable to work, and we decided to go home.

At home, he threw himself on the bed and I tried to talk to him about this, telling him that he shouldn't take it personally, that his mom had been having frustrations all day (she'd told us about them) and she was just blowing off steam. In the middle of the conversation, she called him. She started out asking why he had gone home, and whether he had finished his video. When he answered, she started a long monologue. I couldn't hear most of her words, just her tone; but in the middle she got louder and Eric sat up, and I could hear her say, "You know what it is? It's your haughty, arrogant, holier-than-thou attitude. The two of you think that you're perfect and the rest of us are constantly wrong. You criticize how Addie's being brought up, you criticize me for watching TV and getting text messaging, nobody can do anything right except for you two. It's not just me who thinks so, but I'm the only one who will say anything about it, and I'm sick of it."

She went on and on, Eric trying to interrupt, trying to say "I'm sorry," and being overriden. Finally she told him he should come over and finish his homework, and hung up.

"I guess it wasn't just her letting off steam," Eric said, and started crying.

He didn't know what she meant by most of the things she said, and neither did I--except that I know that we both (Eric especially) certainly do have opinions on things the mothers do, as well as everything else in the world, and we talk about them. So do the mothers. Essentially, Eric said, the rest of the conversation was saying that he was an arrogant, worthless human being, and the time had come for her to tell him so.

He sank into a depressive stupor. He's been clinically depressed before, and we've been thinking it's probably coming on again, especially with the stress of the past several months. Some things he said, then and later, confirmed it: that while in this catatonia he was thinking of different ways to kill himself, that if he were going to kill himself for being worthless--and since his own mother had told him he was, it must be true--he would have to hurt me too ("Sure," I said, "Otherwise, I wouldn't let you go through with it," but he said that wasn't it, it was:) just in case I happened to be carrying his child because he wouldn't want his genes passed on. That he would never actually do it because whenever he was low enough to think of it he never had the energy to carry it out.* One of my tasks today is to find a psychiatrist on our insurance plan. Eventually I got him to sleep.

*(This is why suicidal people first taking antidepressants have to be watched. The drugs give them energy before they lighten the depression itself. Finally, my psych degree comes in handy.)

Two hours later he woke, still wildly unhappy but at least able to move and talk; we had dinner and talked about what we were going to do about his mother. We toyed with the idea of never talking to her again (which had its appeal), of pretending it never happened (which didn't), of asking Edith for any suggestions, since we didn't know how serious Brenda was about what she had said or what she wanted us to do. Finally we decided we would stay away for the next couple of days, then ask Edith what she thought would be best.

(My God, this has gotten long. It's going to be much longer. Well, this is what happens when I no longer use my notebook as a regular journal.)

Not long after, of course, Brenda called. She wanted to come over. Eric agreed. She sobbed in the entryway that she didn't want to fight, though Eric hadn't been fighting and I hadn't entered the issue at all except as accused by her; then she complained that she wanted to sit but didn't want to take her shoes off (as is our rule in the house), so I told her just to walk into the living room in her shoes. "Yeah, but I just walked over in the mud," she said as she crossed the carpeted floor.

She said she knew she was overly sensitive sometimes, but we were so arrogant and cynical, and she was bothered by it. I asked what she wanted us to do differently, and she said she didn't. She and Eric discussed it, and went on a great number of tangents, and it emerged that she didn't exactly want us to change our behavior, she just wanted to tell us that she didn't like it. She couldn't explain what made us so arrogant except that we didn’t seem to like the same things she did, that most people do: that whenever we say we do things differently, that means we think we're better than her. The Addie thing was completely made up, as was the "it's not just me but I'm the only one who will say anything" bit.

"What can we do to prevent this from happening again in another six months?" I asked her, when she asked what I thought and why I was being so quiet.

"Nothing," she said.

She dragged me over for a hug, and joked at me, and asked why I gave her an inscrutable look sometimes and complained that it unnerved her. The inscrutable look is what I wear when I'm annoyed by her (or whomever) but don't want to say so. I will continue to use it. I will try not to spend much time with her. As a friend of mine (to whom I ranted about this this morning) said, I wouldn't want to be arrogant and critical. I will try to be less myself around her.

And until Eric gets sufficient help, I will try to get him to be less himself around her, too. She knows he's had problems with depression before and that he's under a lot of stress now. She doesn't believe in psychiatrists, though he's seen one in the past with excellent results; he mentioned I was going to find one for him, and she didn't actually tell him it would be useless but expounded on how there was no such thing as a good psychiatrist. (She knows I was a psych major too.)

He's feeling much better, now that they've talked. He says that when it happens next, Edith and I are to simply force them into a room together until they talk. We both know it will probably happen again. If she felt justified in attacking him this time, she'll surely feel justified in doing it some other time. He's going over today to work on his video, but I think this soon after this incident they'll be safe.

Now that he's feeling better, I'm free to feel worse, and I am. The I'd-have-to-hurt-you-too thing didn't faze me at the time, but I'm disturbed by it now. (Not that I don't think I could take him. As he frequently points out, I've taken kickboxing and fencing and I stretch daily and exercise semi-regularly, and his exercise consists of pacing in front of a blackboard all day.) I don't want to go through this again. I probably will, sometime in our lives; but I'd prefer it be for a different reason. And I still don't know how much truth there was to her accusations. Maybe I do need to continue keeping myself to myself.

Not even a year and already I'm psychoanalyzing him.

I did a bunch of work in the yard this weekend. I feel better for it, even though my back was twinging a bit last night. Apparently I really did get older; that never happened before.

Mom sent me two outfits--both rather lower-cut than I'm comfortable with--and a big black handbag, which is, she said, to replace the dreadfully old and out-of-fashion one I own. Said old and out-of-fashion purse is as sturdy and useful as ever, and considerably more reasonable-sized than the new one, at least until I become a mom, so it's not getting thrown out but I will use the new one. Eric didn't get me anything. "Your present from me isn't here yet," he said. "It's on its way?" I said, brightening because I hadn't expected him to have ordered anything. "Well, no," he said.

I then explained that while I don't necessarily need more stuff--an offer to cook dinner or vacuum (which is my job) would have been just as much or more appreciated than a book or a CD--it would have been nice to believe that he thought about me when I was not immediately before him. I would say, "Not even a year of marriage and already he's forgetting my birthday," but the thing is, he didn't forget; he just didn't do anything about it, even though he knew he ought to and voiced an intention to. He had a rough weekend, though, so I didn't push it as much as I would have liked to. There's also the question of whether his overall mood and outlook these days--i.e., possible depression or possible overmedication--is affecting his ability to get things done. He's been sliding on his homework, but then he always does that, so I don't know.

The next few days may bring that to a test, as I'm going to Pennsylvania for a training class. I'm using my new handbag to take on the plane with me. I'm in my usual "What did I forget to pack?" mode, which is normal and therefore not worrisome. This will not exactly be a vacation, but woohoo for something different!

Mostly bad beginnings

Well, this week isn't starting out much better than last week. However, this may be due partly to my mood. Eric's having health issues, James is having (more) health issues, my birthday's coming up, and it's That Time of Month. Of course work isn't all that calming or appealing right now.

Eric is on a couple of seizure medications, and last winter he had a scare when he thought they weren't working and we went to the ER. It turned out actually to be a potassium deficiency, but he got on extra medication anyway due to some side effects of his epilepsy he'd been noticing have increased in intensity. This stuff--Keppra--has made him a lot more tired. This past week, on his spring break, he's gotten almost nothing done because he's been tired and listless; part of this seems to be that he has no structure or stimulating influence--such as his wife nagging him--to do things, but he feels part of it is the medication, too; he's been having this problem for a while. He's going to get an appointment with his epileptologist this week, and he's going to try taking a loser dosage of the Keppra to see if that helps. I am on changed-behavior watch.

James's doctor called him Friday and said, "I got your blood test results. Um, how are you feeling?" Apparently his lipase levels are abnormally high, which is a bad sign. James is on a liquid diet (which is making him exceptionally crabby, he says) and will be getting an MRI on Tuesday, whether he can pay for it or not. Fortunately his boss is being supportive and is actually getting him on insurance early to help him out; that may take effect tomorrow or it may happen on April 15, depending on what the insurance company has to say, but at any rate he can wait two weeks. Then, another surgery and, with luck, a solution.

I talked to Mom last night and she said, "So, I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell you this, but...have you talked to James lately?" I assured her I knew what was happening, and she talked about it, mentioning that James had consulted Dad and received his advice to get it checked out and she was glad he had done it early this time. I'm pretty sure I'm the one he consulted, or at least first. I could see him not telling our parents that he talked to me, either so as not to hurt their feelings or to protect me from them being upset that I knew he was in trouble and hadn't told them. I also think it's kind of amusing, and kind of sad, how much the four of us keep things from each other, just to try to keep each other's worrying to a minimum.

I'm not too concerned about the birthday except I'd like to be able to do something for it and can't really, and I mentioned to Eric that I might want to skip the symphony (which is on that day) and he dismissed the idea instantly. So we're going out to dinner at an inexpensive Mediterranean place instead, either before or after the symphony, and I don't know what I'll do otherwise. The normal Saturday thing, I imagine.

At least it's gotten warmer. I'm going to work in the yard tonight if at all possible, and I have seeds to start and, when my order of yeast gets here, bread to bake. I tried the no-yeast pumpernickel recipe over the weekend and it turned out terribly. But I have the other pumpernickel and a multigrain sandwich and a gruyere bread recipe I want to try soon. And there are plants that need tending and dirt that needs spreading and shrubs that need trimming. Eric predicts this year we'll have no spring at all, that it won't truly warm up until it suddenly becomes hot and humid. It's happened before, he says. I suppose at least it'll be good tomato weather.

Analysis

I sent off an article last night, after much dithering. Eric finished his grading. We lamented our mutual lack of productivity. We squabbled. "Why are we so irritable lately?" I asked him after showering. "They say that the first year of marriage is the hardest, but it's been, what...nine months? Ten?"

"Well, partly it's the situation," he said. "Student teaching is probably annoying me subconsciously--"

"We're not getting as much sleep as we should," I said.

"Yup, and then the winter is dragging on, that's bothering us both."

"And there's the lack of money."

"No wonder we're irritable."

"I guess so." He went away and I toweled my head. A moment later I opened the bathroom door and called to him, "Do you think a lot of couples analyze themselves like this?"

"No," he said. "Maybe that's why we'll make it?"