Preschool Birthday Conundrum

In what is sure to become a regular series of posts, I have to ask: Is My Kid Weird If...

In this case, the "IF" is "If she doesn't want her preschool classmates to come to her 4th birthday party?"

It seems that all of her peers' birthdays are in the fall, and they are all inviting the whole class to their parties. Between now and November we've RSVP'd to events at Pump it Up, Little Gym, a local park and child's home. Julie's birthday is at the end of November (and is a perpetual topic in our home from about April onward). So we've discussed the theme and guest list ad nauseam, and she's adamant that she only wants to invite grown ups (i.e., grandparents and a few close friends of ours who are like aunts and uncles to her).

She enjoys going to other kids' parties, but she doesn't seem to equate that with having a similar event herself. We've always had a simple party with kid food and cake at our house, everyone crowded around the kitchen table singing "Happy Birthday." I've always assumed that she just enjoyed being the center of attention and that not inviting other kids meant not having to share her toys. But is that abnormal? Should we be hosting 15 kids at Chuck E. Cheese next month? I just wonder...

Blowing the Dust off the Place

So a few things have changed since I last posted here four years ago (good grief). We succeeded in getting me knocked up and now have an almost-four-year-old daughter, Julie. I'm no longer in my 20s and I don't get out much. But despite, or maybe because of, the fact that I've lost my youth, 18,000 hours of sleep and a good portion of my mind, I have more to say than ever. Topics to include:

• Sleeping - Julie doesn't do it. James and I would like to. Drama ensues.
• Money - Not so much with the having it are we. Stress ensues.
• Family - Both sides, 360 degrees of crazy. So many stories to tell. Sneak peek: goats, the "rapture," sugar daddies and short engagements.
• Politics - God is great, Beer is good, People are crazy.
• Current events - i.e., I read "People" magazine and "gofugyourself" and share insights.
• Religion - We go to church and believe in God. But we're not weird or anything.
• Food - I love it. I cook a lot, with varying success. My kid eats plain pasta and fruit. Rah.
• Horizontal mambo - The kid doesn't sleep. Nooners, anyone?
• Love - So much of it among James, Julie and me, thank goodness.

There are so many wonderful bloggers who I admire, and I could never hope to live up to their humor, wit and insight. But I'll try to write here often and see what sticks to the wall. Yee Haw.

Angsty Dreamer. . .

Anyone available for some free psychoanalysis on this one?

For several years, I've had a recurring nightmare with the basic premise that I'm late to my first class of the last semester of my senior year at Baylor. Sometimes I mess up and go to my Tues./Thurs. class instead of my Mon./Wed./Fri. class. Sometimes I just oversleep. Sometimes I can't find the right building. A few times, I've been late because I couldn't find a restroom and I had to pee (yeah, I drink too much water before bed).

Last night, in a new twist, I dreamed that James accompanied me to my first day of class, but when I got to my religion class, it had been changed to something else. So we had to track down a class catalog to determine where I was supposed to be for class at 9 a.m. And we couldn't find one anywhere. So I missed my first class and was freaking out. Then I woke up.

Why, almost six years after graduating, am I dreaming that I'm late to class? It's always upsetting, and I'm tired of it! My best guess is that the dream represents some underlying anxiety about my life, but I'm not sure what it is. . .

My Brush with Celebrity

I just noticed that I'm on childsplayx2's blogroll! I am duly honored.

For anyone who might be reading my blog anew (and, as you can tell from my comments, I get TONS of readers!), I assure you that I won't write about my girly bits every day. I have a rich, full life that includes:

• A job in marketing for a small non-profit organization
• A wonderful husband who also has more to do than just get me knocked up
• A love of good books, good red wine, and good country music (i.e., Johnny Cash)
• A belief system that is both liberal and Christian (the two are NOT mutually exclusive, no matter what the "religious" right has to say)
• A major crush on TiVo
• A nerdy obsession with grammar
• A whole host of neuroses that will become obvious the more I write

So, see? I'm all kinds of fun. Unless you're a conservative, corporate, non-reader who can't spell, doesn't drink, hates sex and TV, and listens to Barry Manilow all day. Then, I'm probably not so great.

Guess I'm Taking This Class Pass/Fail

In a rather depressing example of getting a cart and then realizing, "Uh oh, we might not have a horse," I've decided to test the ole ovulation to see if it's actually happening - after seven months of trying to conceive. I've always felt like such a fertile myrtle, but I have heretofore had zero evidence of that assumption.

So, I get to undertake the ignominious task of peeing on a stick every day for a week and surmising vital biological data from the process. I'm anxious about my basic female-ness in a way that I haven't been since I was 12 and anticipating puberty. My inner nerd wants to study for the test, but I can't figure out how. . .

My Ovaries are Losers

I was SO sure this time, but I'm not pregnant yet again. Apparently my boobs decided to ache just to toy with my emotions - bastards. In between bouts of self-pity, I've been contemplating the following:

-- Once you start paying attention to something, you suddenly see it everywhere.
-- There are some ways in which I am exactly the same person I was when I was 12.
-- God's timing and my timing are sometimes very different.
-- Sometimes you don't know how much you want something until you don't get it.
-- Faithfulness is at the same time a very practical matter and entirely impractical.

Paralysis

James Joyce is one of my favorite writers. And one of the major themes in his book "Dubliners" is that many people suffer from paralysis of will - they are unable to take decisive action to improve their lives. Joyce felt that the entire city of Dublin was paralyzed by its ties to the Roman Catholic Church and to England.

Anyway, I have been operating (or, not operating, rather) under a Joycean paralysis for the last week or two. I've been slacking off at work, avoiding household chores, forgetting to pay bills, and even scrimping on the finer points of personal grooming. You might not know it to look at me, but I was a real mess for awhile.Over the weekend, as I scanned our dusty, cluttered house, I recognized my paralysis for the first time. First I evaluated my behavior like a critical old aunt: I was a lazy slob who ran away from her problems. Then I considered myself like a mom with an impish child: Life has been really busy and challenging lately, and my coping skills haven't been so good. Weighing both of these opinions, I decided that I am just a big, sloppy, fretful human who freaked out for awhile and took a little hiatus from some of the ickier aspects of being an adult.

But the good news is that I am out of the funk. On Saturday I did several loads of laundry and cleaned house. Today at work I cleaned off my desk and recommitted to being a "good and faithful servant" of my employer. And I am paying some bills and facing our finances like a responsible adult (deep breathing exercises help. so does wine). So if you've missed me here in grown-up land for awhile, hello! And thanks so much to my sweet husband for understanding how I felt and embracing my crazy. I no longer feel like a paralyzed Dubliner, and my only lingering connection to the city is my fondness for Irish whiskey.