Deviant Dispatches

Let me preface: I love my daughter. I have loved her since Day 1 (however you might measure that). I'm continually amazed at all the things about her - from the way she stared at everything so intently the moment she was born to all the shifts and changes as she's become a different person over the last nine months. She's incredible and studious and smart and adorable and (yes) perfect. I thought (hoped) it was just hormones at first. Then I thought it was just trouble adjusting to this big life change. Then I called it by its true name (at least, in my head) and tried to ignore it, and then hoped it would go away on its own. I'm sure many other mothers do this too. I felt so guilty for having postpartum depression. I also felt angry for so many reasons: I couldn't figure out how to do it right (because surely I was doing it wrong). Spousal Unit had (still has) a different parenting style than me and we had trouble compromising (largely because of the...

*Following is a rather detailed discussion of bacteria and other gross stuff. Finish your breakfast before reading.* Dear Michael Jordan , Please be advised that I have within my possession an item that may or may not contain enough of your DNA to clone you. I suggest that you come take it away, because otherwise it may never leave the house. Back in his wild and carefree teenage years, Spousal Unit's first job was as a country club caddy , and one glorious day, he got to caddy not for you, but for your assistant. You spent several hours gallivanting across the course, whacking some balls and talking about others (of the basket/base persuasion, I'd imagine) while Spousal Unit washed your balls. He was thrilled, and understandably bragged about it to all his family members upon coming home. (This would have been more impressive to his brother, I imagine, if it hadn't also been his birthday.) But back to that DNA sample, from which we might be able to engineer a be...

It's been busy at the abode. Spousal Unit turned 30; he threw me a surprise party; I turned 30. We gained a furnace and a fetus. Oberon had bladder and jealousy issues (he apparently doesn't like my new hormones). We discovered a wasp nest the size of a volleyball (abandoned) and the neighborhood trick-or-treating status (decent). Work has been insane for both of us, to the point where it's a perpetual madhouse. But we manage. The anxiety of having a room dedicated to the new stroller and baby clothes is balanced by the excitement of having finished the Tickle's first sweater (Spousal Unit named it; don't worry, that will change). Child's Placket-Neck Pullover by Joelle Hoverson The worry of whether I'm eating enough omega 3s is balanced by the joy of steak. (I promised myself I'd pay attention to my cravings in case they're saying something important. To quote Spousal Unit, the Tickle doesn't know I'm vegetarian and doesn'...

Our farewell sunset I write this from the airport in Toronto, which is far nicer than any airport I've ever been to (based solely on the lounge, with its uniform tan chairs divided into small cubicles in a meager yet still existent attempt at privacy). For the first time, I actually stepped down off an airplane and onto the tarmac before walking into the building, and it's a bit like I've stepped into a movie. (Except young traveling ladies in Hollywood movies most certainly do not belch like sailors after having ginger ale. They get cute hiccups instead.) Spousal Unit and I are headed to Quebec City for a delayed honeymoon - after getting married , we visited Door County, but this is the first real vacation we've taken together, and so it is the honeymoon we've been meaning to take. Tonight we'll go to see A Midsummer Night's Dream in French, with a live orchestra, and we'll pay slightly less for tickets by virtue of being young, at least by Can...

Moving is a complex, stupid animal. There are a billion things to stress over and twice as many people to complicate things and get in your way. Throw in first-time home ownership, and it makes my usual level of worry seem like wondering what to have for lunch: inconsequential and minute. (Minute is my new favorite word lately, I think. Sorry. Or not sorry. Too busy worrying to parse it out.) In these times, destitute of peace of mind, I find two things helpful: writing and thinking about the positives. This at least temporarily gets my mind off the stress and helps me remember why I'm putting myself through such a terror-inducing process in the first place. In the new house, I won't have to worry about whether the landlord is going to charge us for replacing the carpet that the cats have demolished. I'll just have to either live with it or replace it myself, which means no reliance on someone else's fickle policies. (Thankfully, there's little carpet in the n...

Spousal Unit's late-night revelation that my favorite work pants fit me like I "took a dump in them" seems like a pretty good precursor to my post about the colon in the library. Hosted by the UW Carbone Cancer Center , Spousal Unit looked forward to this inflatable walk-through colon (deemed the Stroll-in Colon) for weeks. I'm not joking. You know I'm not. Spousal Unit eagerly leaves me in the dust in favor of the colon. Stranger things have happened. It doesn't take much for him to channel Indy. Though this might be the weirdest place he's done so. Hooray! Normal tissue! Boo polyps. As with many strange educational installments, we learned something. UW developed the virtual colonoscopy, which is completely non-invasive. It's not covered by many insurances yet, and you still have to drink the Evil Orange Barium of Doom, but hey, it sounds a lot more comfortable. I'm betting (without knowing anything about the techni...

Spousal Unit is the best. Yesterday started off with me forgetting my lunch. Spousal Unit had told me that he was working a later shift due to some West coast webinars, so we had driven separately. I called to ask him to put my lunch in the fridge, and he volunteered to bring it to me before he had to work. He brought it in, looking quite dapper in his work clothes, and hustled back out the door. Shortly after that, word got around my department that I was taking today off because of my birthday. So people started saying happy birthday and wishing me well and asking what I was doing for my birthday, and because I'm quite an odd duck, I got a little stressed about it. Don't get me wrong - I appreciated all the well wishes and that my coworkers care enough to pry because they want me to feel appreciated. I feel very lucky to have coworkers who pay attention to that kind of thing. But having all the birthday wishes burst forth when I'd almost managed to keep it a secret ...

Over the weekend, I had to do relatively little, and it was wonderful. There was Star Trek to be watched (though not enough), a museum to visit, a devastating Packers game to watch, and a few errands to do. I got to read more than I have in quite a while, and when the TV was on, I managed to quell my desire to multitask - instead, I just sat and enjoyed. Unfortunately, at the end of yesterday night, I was thrown nearly into a panic and rushed around the house tidying like a cyclone in reverse. It was a feeling that if I woke up to a messy apartment, I would turn into a puddle of emotional goo; it was the proverbial straw ready to break my back (...okay, I guess I'm the camel in this metaphor. That's fun.). A clean apartment would keep me sane, and the cleaning process would calm my meltdown from Chernobyl levels to oh-crap-this-cheese-is-moldy levels. The thing is, the apartment wasn't even that messy, and at the end of it, I hadn't crossed off anything on my to-...

July has been rough. I won't be sad to see it go. Nothing terribly big has made me feel this way; it's been the little things, one after the other. At times like this, I'm incredibly grateful for Spousal Unit, and to have the ongoing project of my novel to work on. Knowing that at least one part of my day will be the same has been very helpful and reassuring. On days when I'm upset or discouraged, I've started saying to myself, "Let it be fuel for the fire, but let it be the right fire." I accept whatever I'm feeling and put it to work for me, using that energy toward my plan to become a self-sustaining author. Then I don't waste time endlessly grinding my gears and getting nowhere. (Or I waste less time, anyway.) Which leads me to the update. I've finished reading the whole thing, beginning to end, and taking notes. I wrote down the facts that I included about each individual character, each city, the storyline as a whole, the timeline, ...

It was a busy weekend, but I have some great pictures to show for it! I went to my friend Liz's wedding, and it was gorgeous and fun and full of love. I saw friends I haven't seen in a long time. Spousal Unit rode a tractor. I took artistic photos of random stuff. (Or I tried to be artistic, anyway.) There was a gorgeous moon above a white farmhouse. And there was happiness. All of the greatest things for Liz's wedding. (I include the tractor in that, too.)

On Saturday, Spousal Unit and I were driving home and this song by the National came on. The day had been long. It started out lovely, but something shifted when I went to buy a dress for upcoming weddings. I think it had something to do with my self-consciousness about my body. I didn't terribly feel like putting on different skins, analyzing them, scrutinizing myself. But I did it, because it needed doing. I went to run a few other errands, and there were more of bad drivers out than usual, giving me heart attacks at every turn and making me seethe at their idiocy. I called errands off early and went home, where Spousal Unit reminded me of his need for dress shoes. So we went out again, because it needed doing. Something about the song Runaway speaks to the softest part of me - the part I'm always trying to protect, the part I rarely show. Part of it is the lyrics , but I think more of it is the emotion in the lead singer's voice. Sitting at a stop light, thi...

*Spousal Unit works at a medical supply company. He sent this letter last week to the woman who orders company supplies. He really did.* Hi Michelle, I had a question about the pens that we have. Well, it's really more of an issue. You see, earlier today, I took a pen out of the supply closet for use on an Official Document. This document was not time sensitive, though it could very well have been. I could have had need to write a note on an important certificate for a doctor's signature, or I could have needed a pen to correct an authorization request to Medicaid. What if the patient's house had been on fire and I needed to sign an attestation in order for Medicare to cover replacement equipment, but the patient was cold, hungry, and without their medical equipment until I could do so? I hope I've impressed upon you the gravity of this situation. So I took a pen from the supply closet for use on an Official Document. At this point, I'd like to refer you to ...

Last night, Spousal Unit and I went on a date to see Shen Yun. With a trailer like this, we were really excited, and have been since we bought the tickets. Which was in March. That's a long time to sustain such excitement. We went out to dinner at Gino's on State Street. It's basically Spousal Unit's favorite place ever, and they made us yet another stellar Chicago-style pizza. After dinner, we headed back to the car (parked across from the fire department) so I could put on fancy shoes for the performance. Across the street at the fire department, we noticed a pink hardhat on the other side of the window that had a smiley face on top. I was about to take a picture when an ambulance pulled up. "You're going to get run over," Spousal Unit pointed out. I quickly moved, and we were about to go on our way without a picture when... "You're welcome to come inside, if you'd like!" one of the fire-guys said enthusiatically. ...

Please to enjoy this picture of Spousal Unit. He is wearing the latest fashion in facial hair (yes, you read that right - you're behind the times). His mustache has reached the point where it's starting to curl up on the ends a little bit. The whole of it is called the McClellan , though Spousal Unit wishes me to say that he's "not emulating that jackass." In his hand, we see a frosty beverage known as beer. But this is not just any beer; it is a Mr. Beer beverage, lovingly brewed by this mustachioed man two to three months ago. Have a lovely Monday; I'm off to be a mover and a shaker. (Quite literally a mover - we're out of the temp office and work and back into the remodeled acid trip of a space. Hooray.)

 Last night, I bought Spousal Unit two new ties. The one on the left below says "Love Your Kidneys" in many different languages. At a minimum, I was able to identify English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Japanese, Arabic, and Norwegian. There are many others. The other tie is almost weirder. It's a diver in an old-school diving suit . And fish. As Spousal Unit and I said, it makes perfect sense for those things to be together. But not on a tie. These two will go well with his Internet/e-mail tie. He's developing the most bizarre tie collection. This tie is like Bill Gates , " 1999 " by Prince, and a windbreaker suit had a really weird nylon baby.

Today is my second married anniversary with Spousal Unit. Tonight, we're just having a quiet evening with Harry Potter and a bottle of wine. In ten days, we'll celebrate our eighth anniversary together. So far, it's been nice having two of them; we get to choose which one is more convenient to make a big deal out of, but we can still celebrate both. This picture is from before we had anniversaries together, but turned out to be the first big thing we celebrated (aside from our month-aversaries). We're sitting in an old phone booth in my college dorm - the pink fluff sticking out of the wall is where the phone used to hang, presumably. Spousal Unit (then Boy I Liked in the Spring) wasn't even expected to show up that semester - it was September, and he was supposedly in France for four months. But this day, he showed up at the car wash fundraiser my sorority was hosting. I didn't recognize him from the back, with his new haircut, but when he turned, so...

Spousal Unit and I have kitties! Cats, to be precise. We found them at a shelter, about a week ago, and when we finally decided which ones we wanted (two of the shyest), I went nuts with some kind of weird maternal nesting. It was bizarre. I even made these toys. I'm glad the mouse turned out well; at first, it looked like a snake that had just eaten  a mouse. When our library was finally cat-proofed, bedded, and litterful, we went to pick them up. The ladies at the shelter had rather intense cases of "crazy cat lady," to the extent that, when Spousal Unit asked if the cats came with collars, one snipped, " Why do you want collars? Are they going to be outside? You don't need collars. They're microchipped. You're not going to let them outside, are you?" Talk about freak-out. The ride home was kind of nerve-wracking for the poor things (though the boy cat didn't move and didn't make a peep), but kind of exciting for us. They...

This weekend, we went to Chicago for the veterans' parade. I was amazed at how many floats, bands, and families marched in this thing. In the rain. The gentleman in the motorized chair, following the motorcycle brigade, is carrying a hand-colored American flag on a piece of computer paper. It was neat to see them take down the gigantic flag at the end of the parade. They put it straight in the clear bucket so it wouldn't touch the ground. But the man who totally won at parade watching was the Puerto Rican guy. He has a Puerto Rican flag around his neck like a cape, and he said thank you to every person who marched by. Many soldiers (who I'm guessing were either friends or also Puerto Rican) stopped to take pictures with him. After, we went to a delightful little bakery called Toni's . They had awesome cookies.