Friday, September 28, 2007

Broncos vs Colts

SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY! hehehe.

The Broncos are heading to Indianapolis this weekend to duel Peyton Manning and the Colts. I read in an article that Peyton Manning has done more television commercials than any other Quarterback in the last 5 years. You can see his face EVERYWHERE, and sadly its not a pretty face.
I know Jay Cutler may look like a sack of potatoes in a helmet, but Manning has that whole "I got kicked in the nose" thing going on. I'm not being mean, but there is still a little feminist in me that is scowling. Britney Spears gets up on stage and people practically scream "GET OFF YOU FAT UNTALENTED COW" and Peyton Manning can endorse every credit card and beer ad with his screwed-up, fugly lookin nose. No one makes a comment.

No one that is, except for the wonderboy that is Tom Brady. Even though Brady is like a walking Calvin Klein ad, he considers the mass self-promotion of Peyton Manning to be cheap and without class. Brady apparently said that the Patriots would throw insults at Manning at the Line of Scrimmage, quoting some of his less flattering TV ads. Well Christ, Tommy Boy, when you don't even have to try to get advertising, life is a little easier for you, isn't it?

Brady, who now is the spokesman for Stetson, has also been nominated for Man of the Year, as well as topping numerous lists in Sports Illustrated and other magazines, plus he's dating Leo Dicaprio's Ex- Giselle....Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Is-Like-Anyone-Really-Cares-When-Shes-Wearing-Those-Wings. Peyton on the other hand is humbly married.

With Brady and Manning both sporting Superbowl bling rings, our little Chandleresque Cutler has a long way to go to compare to each of these celebrities. Brady is the Prom King, Peyton the All-Star, and Cutler the quiet kid in the back of the class who stands up one day and shocks em all. Or at least that's what I'm hoping for. Maybe not this weekend, but I have faith in Cutler. I'm a rookie myself ;)




Go Broncos.



Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Bad Dreams

I had my first experience with a "Death of your Child" dream. I had the usual weird pregnancy dreams when I was knocked up, the most interesting being the one where I dreamed I had LB and she came out a boy, then almost instantly transformed into a girl. Funny cause all along the Ultrasounds kept telling us she was a boy, and she popped out a girl...hmmm?

This dream was different though. I dreamed I was in the middle of a very muddy pond, like the ones we used to catch salamanders in as kids in Vermont. I was on a ship which was almost as big as the pond. As if it were cut from the movie Titanic, the ship RIPS in half and sinks. The weird thing about it was that the pond was so shallow, the top of the thing was sticking out of the water. LB gets stuck under the boat somehow and drowns.

I can remember partially waking up at this point and sobbing, and falling back to sleep. I think I was in that "half awake/half asleep" state, because my dream continued. This was the weird part: One of my friend's twins was sitting on the bank of the pond, covered in dirt. In the dream, I pick her up as if she was my own and take her away, the whole time people telling me "Its ok, at least you still have the other one."

Can we say FULL MOON? What is your perspective on dreams?

Monday, September 24, 2007

G G

My grandma and LB. I can't remember my great grandmother. I think I was 3 when I met her and she died shortly afterwards. My grandma takes care of LB on the days when daycare is closed, or I need to drive to the ER, stuff like that.
She has greatly impressed me with her ability to multitasking an exuberant 16 month old and a neurotic toy poodle (yes, its name is Precious). I'm also happy thinking that maybe she'll be around long enough for LB to remember her for a while. She loves her "Gi Gi"

Friday, September 21, 2007

One day I will have an original blog idea.

I've been on an idea stealing spree obviously. I stole my good friend's car blog idea, then my other blogger friend's breastfeeding rant, so why not go for three and steal another blogger's idea: Meme. What is a Meme by the way?

Here goes: Your middle name meme.

Marie

M- Mama. mostly mature and modest at moments. Hehe. Mama is still a relatively new term for me, even after 15 months of it, but I think I may be starting to get used to it. I kind of like being described as a mama, maybe even a milf? :)

A- Artistic. When I was little I used to paint, draw, sculpt, pretty much create anything I could. My mother hooked me up with every artistic friend she had (being a hippy, she had LOTs) to tutor me. She still has a picture I drew at age 3 of a "witch", consisting mostly of huge circles with ratty-looking sticks coming out of them. She considers it "brilliant." I haven't drawn or painted anything in over 5 years, and it makes a me a little sad sometimes. Does that mean I'm not an artist anymore?

R- Romantic-turned Realist. I was that girl in high school who watched Titanic 7 times. I was that girl who plastered pictures of a winged Claire Danes in "Romeo and Juliet" all over her locker. I was in musicals. I believed in true love. Then I grew up. My high school (I went to a small charter school) barely employed enough teachers to keep it running. However, after three years of bonding with those amazing teachers, I was told senior year that 75% would not be coming back, and most of my favorite classes (art, music, drama, creative writing) would no longer be offered, due to lack of funds. That was it for me. I no longer wanted to go to college. Working my fast-food job gave me more satisfaction than writing poetry or trying out for a play. A little dramatic I know, but it gave me a dose of reality, and helped me understand that you don't always get what you want in life. I started to value common-sense over intellectual elitism, take pride in my adaptability and durability of spirit. The thing I want to pass on to my daughter the most: Courage- its more valuable than talent.

I- Inquisitive. I am not afraid to try new things, live in new places, meet new people. I like asking questions. My in-laws, (or babydaddy's parents) thought I was nosy and disrespectful when I first met them, telling me to "respect your elders" when I asked them how they met. I respected them (hell, I lived with them for 3 months), but I wouldn't hide my thirst for knowledge just because they thought a girl my age should be "seen and not heard." I don't think curiosity is something one should be ashamed of. Eventually, we saw eye-to-eye and found a mutual respect, and I didn't have to dumb myself down or violate their need for privacy.

E- Empathic. I think one of the hardest things to teach your child is to find the delicate balance between understanding others and preserving your sense of self. As a teenager, I justified everyone else's actions before my own, even if they were in the process of damaging me. I defended the bullies who harassed me daily, wondering if they were driven by some unfortunate event in their lives. Instead of being able to empathize with them, as well as separating myself from their actions, I minimized my feelings to the point where I felt guilty to even being having them. I want my daughter to have enough strength to stand up for herself, as well as understand that injustice is in the world and you can survive it without making yourself a victim. I want her to know humanity is a rare and wonderful thing, and you can wield it with courage, helping others but not diminishing your own sense of worth in the process.

What's your middle name meme?

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Taboob

Since a lot of other blogger-mamas have addressed this issue, I would like to add my two cents as well.

Being a young, 1st-time, single mom, I know I was in the minority when I chose to breastfed for the first 12 months. A couple of my friends wanted to do, a few made valiant attempts, and many didn't even want to think about it.

Most of the young moms I knew (under 20) thought the idea was disgusting and made it clear that in NO WAY were they going to let a baby suck on their precious titty. It just was to gross for them to comprehend. I didn't want to judge because, I myself, HATE being judged, and when you become a mom, the judgements seem a thousand times harsher and more personal.

When I went into my WIC appointments, I felt like breastfeeding was a matter of life and death. They PUSHED and PUSHED and PUSHED me to keep on doing it. When I finally tapered off near LB's first birthday, I got hell. I know it was rare to see a young mom keep up with the breastfeeding, but it made me feel guilty to have so much attention brought on me. It was my decision, no big deal. I wasn't a better or worse mother because of it.

My very close friend gave birth to twins about 2 weeks after I had LB, and she tried and tried and tried to breastfeed them. One had a milk allergy, the other had no suck reflex, but she didn't give up. Her milk dried up THREE TIMES before she finally quit. That means she RE-LACTATED three times. For those of you who don't understand what it means for your breasts to fill-up, drain and re-fill up, let me enlighten you. It is a hard, painful and frustrating process, and we do it all for the benefit of our children. How is this a disgusting or offensive process? I think it is heroic.

When the woman (a Durango graduate, by the way) got kicked off the Delta flight back in November of last year, I was shocked like every other nursing mom out there. It just brought back so many memories of the fear and shame you feel the first time you nurse in public. Like it's a dirty act! Like you have something to hide!

I can remember nursing LB in a disgusting, dirty public restroom at a local grocery story because I was petrified to nurse her in the cafeteria area, where people were eating lunch. I sobbed, alone in the bathroom, my groceries sitting outside in the cart, feeling guilty for letting my 2 week old daughter be exposed to such filth, and angry for not having the guts to sit outside.

I breastfed in my car once and awhile after that, but it wasn't until LB was about 6 months old that I finally had enough courage to feed my daughter in a restaurant, huddled in a corner booth. I wish I had more pride, I wish I was braver, looking back. But honestly, with so much public scrutiny, and my being the ONLY person I knew breastfeeding at the time, its no wonder I was so timid about it.

I mean, I breastfed in front my father, 85 yr old grandmother, babyless friends (male and female, gay & straight), all in the privacy of our residences, but as soon as I was in the public eye, I was shakin in my boobs...hehe.

Even given my hippy upbringing, where I've seen 3 yr old children hanging off their mama's tit during potlucks, circle dances, Sunday Quaker worship. Hell, I've seen the moms walk around topless at Hippy Communes for Christ's sake. It never bothered me.

Now that I have my own child, I want so very much to do what's best for her. And when someone compares breastfeeding to masturbation, it makes me feel so violated. Public masturbation is what got Pee-Wee Herman busted , and in NO WAY compares to the growth and nourishment of a child.

Some may argue that masturbation is the "growth and nourishment" of their sex lives, but I don't buy that. I don't pat myself on the back and say "wow you've really done something selfless and worth-while today" every time I get off.

So that's my story. I even flew on a plane after the dreaded boob incident, and YES I exposed my boob after 3 layovers and 2 hrs of a crying baby. And believe me, it wasn't at all like a scene from Showgirls...which I hear lots of people masturbate to.

Word to ya mutha.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

POS

This is the car I inherited from my mother. Well....it's a long story. A dramatic tale of trepidation and intrigue...Ok not really. Here goes:


I used to drive one of these:


Oh La La I know. I had landed my first real job outside of college, and thus acquired my first car loan on my sweet little Honda Civic. Its fate, however was doomed from the beginning. Mostly due to my post-college-life crisis, I let too many people borrow it and most of those people wrecked it in some manner (myself included).


Wreck #1
The Culprit: My Gay Roommate
Date: Summer 2005
Time: 7:30 am
Location: In front of Durango High School


After being up all night on random pills and using my car for his newspaper delivery, my roommate apparently "fell asleep" at the wheel and was involved in a 3-car pile-up during morning traffic. The hood of my car was thus "repaired" by bailing twine and never fully recovered from it since.


Wreck #2
The Culprit: My Baby Daddy
Date: November, 2005
Time: 5:30 pm
Location: Pearl River, Louisiana

2 Months Pregnant, I was sitting in the passenger seat arguing with my sperm donor (fiance). He was turning to yell at me when the post-Katrina, bumper-to-bumper traffic came to a complete stop and he subsequently rear-ended the car in front of him, and we slammed to a stop. Boy was I pissed.


Wreck # 3
The Culprit: Me
Date: December, 2005
Time: 8:00 pm
Location: Mandeville, Louisiana

Now almost 5 months pregnant, I was driving home from my shift at Target. I was trying to enter the freeway, picking up speed, looking over my shoulder to merge, when I look back I see the woman in front of me is stopped at the end of the on-ramp WAITING. Now I was pissed about the first two wrecks, but this was the kicker. I've driven in some pretty Hellish places (LA, Boston, Miami, POST-KATRINA South) but I have NEVER seen someone STOP at the end of an On-Ramp, and just twiddle their happy fingers, waiting for someone to let them in.
OOOHHH needless to say, I was not very friendly with the swamp queen who emerged from the car. Lets just say I was "colorful" in my description of her southern ass.


Wreck # 4
Culprit: ELK
Date: April, 2006
Time: 10:45 pm
Location: Hesperus, Colorado

This was the kiss of death for the Honda. Now, 7 months pregnant, I was driving home from my shift as a driver at Pizza Hut, when I passed 3 cars coming from the other direction. There was that split second of high-beam blindness, and in that second, I ran head on into one of these:


For those of you who have never seen an Elk, (let alone had a mouthful of hair and blood) they are NOT cute little Bambi Mamas. They are as big as a horse and my Honda was left in a crumpled heap. I had squeezed my pregnant belly through the crushed door somehow and waited for the ambulance to come. But I never saw my car again after that night. Those who DID see it, wondered how I got out of it alive. I wish I had a picture to post, but my mom said that I probably wouldn't have been able to look at it without puking. There was an elk ear in the back of my seat, she said.
So after all this drama happened, my baby daddy and I carpooled in his truck until after LB was born, and my mom decided to upgrade to a hippy-hybrid. She never actually got the car, cause she's an impatient old biddy who doesn't like to wait for manufacturers to ship the trendy cars out to the middle of nowhere.
___________________________________________________________________
The insurance money from my Elk Incident paid for the rest of my loan and then some, so I basically handed the check over to my mom and she handed over the keys to the car I took (and failed 3 times) my driver's test on. God I hate that car.
Yes, I drive a station wagon. I have a car seat in the back, and a stroller in the trunk (or whatever you call the inside of a hatchback). Yes, its an ugly drunken champagne color. And soon the clutch will be nothing more than a useless stick of metal. But I can't shake my head at it completely. I have not gotten in a You-Know-What since I acquired it, and have not been pulled over by a You-Know-Who either ( I AM NOT JINXING MYSELF DAMMIT).
So I guess the moral to the story is: some cars are simply cursed, or maybe you should never let a pregnant woman (like me) drive.
What is your car story?

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Transplanted Local

Sometimes I think we (meaning Durangatangs) are living in some disconnected slice of heaven: a place that is so beautiful, so serene, that we forget that its only a town in a big ugly country with some big ugly problems.


For someone who has lived in some pretty ugly places (Costa Mesa & Hollywood, CA, Wynnedotte, OK, Bennington, VT), I can say Durango really is special, and we are damn lucky to be here. When the clutch goes out of my car in morning rush hour, or LB comes home from daycare with little toothmarks on her arms, or the dog tears his ACL and we can't afford surgery, its hard not to let some of that stress go just by looking up at Sharkstooth or Hog's Back, or walking through McElmo Canyon.

When I had a bad day in my hole-in-the-wall apartment in Hollywood, I looked outside and could see graffiti and crack-whores. When I was feeling ugly and fat, I had celebrity billboards staring back at me. Mountains never make you feel fat.

To be surrounded by constant natural beauty, lots of sunshine and fresh air, it really is no surprise why so many Southern Californians, Urban & Rural Texans, Seattlites, East Coasters, Midwesterners (well pretty much everyone who visits) are trickling into Durango more and more every year.

I have lived here for 13 years, which is not exactly a local (to the people who have been here for generations) but more people I meet, I find that I am no longer the one who has lived here the shortest time. Being part of a traveling family of vagabonds, I was always the kid who never knew my address on the first day of school, or my phone number, and got respective hell for it. But I think I've paid my dues to a certain extent, pumped money into the Durango service industry since I was 15, and I finally feel like a local. It's home to me.

After high school, as we watched people leave Durango for college, military, conservation corps, and general travel and job opportunities, the running joke was "Oh, they'll be back. Everyone comes back." Durango is kind of like crack in itself. People are addicted to it. They HAVE to have it. That's why so many people have $6 million 2nd homes and only spend 3 months out of the year there. THEY NEED those 3 months or else they go into Durango Withdrawl. Whatever.

Recently, I rode shotgun with my sister to Bellingham, WA for her ferry ride to Alaska. We stopped at my cousin's apartment in what they call the "Vail Valley." She works at the Marriot at Vail in Food Service, and lives in a 3 bedroom "Condo" with 2 other guys. What she pays for rent is NOT even funny (and I thought it was bad here), but the most disturbing thing about where she lives is that I could see a glimpse of Durango's future:
It's true we don't live right off the interstate the way they do, but with Telluride so close, and the celebrity run-off we acquire from them, I think in the next few decades, Durango is going to be one of "The places to be" in the country.

It's sad cause I love my town. And I don't feel completely validated in loving it cause I wasn't born here. And the hatred I feel towards developers, rich 2nd and 3rd home buyers, private-jet flying Texas Ski-Bunnies, is slightly hypocritical, isn't it? I mean, I was a transplant too, at one point. There is only so much natural beauty to go around, and who deserves to appreciate that? I'm afraid one day it will be a privilege for only those who can afford it.
After driving over 800 miles to Washington, I told my sister, "I don't that I saw any place as incredible as the drive from Durango to Vail."
My sister is a geology student, and her definition of "incredible" is based mostly on how rocks are formed. My opinion I know is biased.
She simply replied "Yeah, Colorado is a pretty special place."

Monday, September 17, 2007

Colorado Hippies

Grandma and Grandpa "Hippy." My dad loves to wear lime green, and my mom still refuses to cut her hair. But they do make a great Colorado pair, and LB couldn't have more doting Grandparents. Right now she calls them "Nani" and "Ba-Pa". I'm trying to get her to call my dad "Tom Tom" but she's not havin' any of it.

I love you mom and dad! Thanks for slathering the adoration on your granddaughter like gravy :)

Friday, September 14, 2007

Doctor by default

I don't really have a doctor right now. All of the medical professionals I've seen over the last 2 years have been by default somehow.

I didn't want a doctor when I was pregnant, so I opted to go with a midwife. The midwife turned out to be a complete moron, and instead of getting the warm and fuzzy hippy water birth I had been planning for, I got an emergency C-Section instead. For some reason, the midwife who checked me at 36 weeks thought that she could feet "hands" pressing up against my cervix. Those hands eventually presented themselves as "feet" a week later, much to everyone in L&D's surprise, and at midnight, the OB on call was paged for surgery.

Once I upgraded from Medicaid, I decided to ditch the health clinic who had been doing my Post-Natal care and since I had no other contact with any doctors at that point, I went back to the OBGYN who did my c-section.

Then when I sprained my wrist, I went to the ER. Realizing that I technically STILL did not have a primary physician, I left the space blank. I have been leaving that space blank since I graduated from College, and was no longer covered by my parent's health plan.

Maybe this isn't such a good thing.

I was referred by the hospital to the left-overs from health services (the big medicaid acceptor in my county). I was told to go there if my wrist continued to hurt. There I saw a Nurse Practitioner who ordered an x-ray but really could not give me any advice as far as what I could do to prevent myself from injuring my wrist in the future.

Now, a month later, it still hurts. I know its not broken, and I highly doubt its still sprained. All I know is that about 6 weeks ago something tweaked inside my wrist, and it hasn't felt the same since.

I want it to get better. I don't want to have to wear a brace for the rest of my life because I've permanently weakened my body. I hate that some days it will be fine, and other days I will wake up in the middle of the night with a grating THROB inside my wrist. And the bad part? My other wrist is starting to act the same way. I haven't told the Nurse Practitioner this because I've been guilty of putting extra pressure on my other wrist while the the gimpy one is in the splint. I also haven't been icing or keeping the splint on as long as I should be.

I've now been referred to Durango Orthopedics for an MRI. I don't really know what an MRI is, but I think it has something to do with muscles and tendons instead of bones. I really am clueless. I never had the whole "sports injury" experience like so many of my more athletic peers. I got shin splints when I played basketball, but that's nothing, really.

So I hope I can figure out a way to be a smarter, stronger mama. I know most of this is my responsibility to take care of myself. Maybe I've been spoiled my whole life by having a strong (or maybe just lucky) physique. Maybe now that I'm pushing 26, maybe I should come to the realization that I'm getting older and can't push myself as hard as I used to. Sad, cause 26 really isn't all that old.

Do I really have THAT delicate of a wrist? Now that I'm looking at them, they do look kind of flimsy compared to the rest of my sturdy, Gaelic-Germanic body. Maybe I should just take it easy before I really get myself into trouble.

Or maybe I should just get a nice family doctor who I can regularly visit when I'm healthy instead of waiting till I am driving to the ER with one hand on the stick, and the other elevated above my head while steering with my elbow.

What do you think?

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

I GOT IT!


So. Drum roll please. I am now the newest resident of the Piñon Terrace Apartments, opening November, 2007. Yes. I did it. I found housing. WOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOO!


After only 6 months of being on a waiting list, they informed me that I was approved for a 2 bedroom, 1 1/2 bathroom, 2 story TOWNHOUSE! This is one of the apartments that everyone wanted, and I GOT IT! I don't know how I got so lucky.

For those of you who don't know, Three Springs is one of the newest, nicest little neighborhoods in La Plata county. Only 5 minutes to town, and TONS Of open space. Being a Coloradan, we are kind of like horses, and we can't live without our open space (snobs, I know).

There are also gonna open up lots of little shops right by the hospital, all within walking distance. There are bike trails, jogging trails, stroller trails, whatever you may call them, running through the entire neighborhood. In the distance you can see the La Plata Mountains (sigh).

I feel like a Skyscraper just fell off my back. Soon I will be truly an independent mama, living life without my mother's watchful eye constantly asking me "Are you sure you cooked those carrots long enough? She could choke." or "You need to get a rag to wipe her nose, its grossing me out."


CAN YOU FEEL MY JOY NOW?!!


House Party in NOVEMBER YALL!!

Friday, September 7, 2007

Bronco Country

I was raised to hate football. My mother the Feministo Exdrodanaire made it very clear what a consumer driven, ego-centric, chauvinist piggy, testosterone-fest the whole thing was. My father, a musician and an Aqaurius, had little interest in sports, beyond surfing ( living in Vermont, this made my parents the Odd-Couple de-luxe).

The closest thing we had to an interest in sports, was watching my little sister play soccer ( girl power was acceptable, but machismo was definitely NOT). I ran cross country in elementary school, but it wasn't until college that I finally dove into the sports world.

I went to an elitist communication/arts college in Boston, called Emerson College. The sports atmosphere there was not unlike my hippie upbringing: COMPLETE AND UTTER DISDAIN. These were the kids who were tormented by jocks in high school, had thier faces beaten in, clothes urinated on in the locker room. My classmates pretty much had been the center of all things "wierd" in high school and had finally come to College to flourish in each other's artistic glow.


Since I was an artsy kid too, I tried to like my peers. After about a week of going to classes with other creative thinkers, I was done. I HATED ALL OF THEM. Ok, maybe not all. I found a few soul mates, but for the most part I dispised my ultra trendy, ultra intellectual, super snobby, and most of all disgustingly RICH co-eds.


So what did I do? I went out and joined the basketball team. Having never played basketball, I thought there was no way I'd even be considered for an NCAA team, even if it was division III. As I mentioned before, however, the athletic interest at my school was close to nil, and I think barely 8 girls showed up to the try-outs. Lucky for me, the coach would have been out of the job, had I not showed up to make a 5 person team.

My basketball career ended after my Junior year, and I came away with a huge self-improvement to which I am eternally grateful for. I had always been the painter, the singer, the writer, the actor, and had been fearful of eveything else. My philosophy was "Stick to what you're good at, and you'll never fail at anything." How gutless huh? Playing basketball threw that mantra right out the door for me, and THANK GOD.


I love sports now. After living in Boston and being surrounded by Red Sox Insanity, I could not get enough of the culture. My basketball coach came to practice every day wearing an "El Guapo" Red Sox Jersey, screaming "NO-MAH" to everyone's delight. When my Emo study buddies would curl their noses in disgust at the drunk sox fans who boarded the T at Fenway, I would RELISH in it.


When the Patriots won Super Bowl XXXVI, I was living on Boylston St in downtown Boston. Most of my night was spent hanging out the window of my 6th floor dorm room and watching streakers burn rubber up and down the one-way streets. It was utter and complete chaos, and I loved every minute of it.


Now, back in Colorado, its all about football, and I'm ready to watch some. I don't think you could call me "hard core" like some of the fans down here. I don't have Bronco stickers on my car, or wear starter jackets, but I'm thinking about buyin a Champ Bailey Jersey this year. Damn I love that man. Best Cornerback in the league as far as I'm concerned.


The Broncos will be interesting to watch this year. With all the drama surrounding the shooting of Darrant Williams, and the hype surrounding the rookie QB ( SO GLAD THEY DITCHED PLUMMER'S CRACK), I think the Broncos have a lot of energy and anticipation going into their first game. Its funny, cause Jay Cutler is seriously the saddest looking Quarterback in the NFL. He looks a little like a stressed-out Mathew Perry right now, right after he came back from rehab.

















I'm wicked intriuged by him though. Its always the quiet ones that shock and surprise, right? If I can swing it, I'm watching the game on sunday. I just have to find a TV where my mom can't see it.

Peace :)

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Got a light?

I was too busy bitching about my week from hell (ok, more like de-stressing) that I forgot to mention some potentially awesome news.

On Friday I got a call back from Piñon Terrace. They asked if I could come in and go over the finishing touches of my application before the big-wigs come down from Denver to look over everyone who is applying.

At this point, I had not heard back from the housing project since I faxed my "alternative references" in about 3 weeks ago. I wanted alternative references because I was terrified they might find some dark cloud looming in my financial past, or my lack of good rental history. So in a state of deep paranoia, I got my boss and co-workers to fill out these reference sheets and sent them in ASAP. Honestly, Could I look more desperate, and/or guilty?

I even went to the extreme of asking them if they needed MORE references, only to be cut off by the case worker's- "Um, NO. Your file is getting quite thick, actually."

Gotcha.

Didn't expect to hear back from them after that,

To my joy and surprise though, I was asked to come in for further information.

Apparently, my income is now at the 60th percentile instead of the 50th. The project is only allowing 10% of units in the entire complex to be rented to 60th percentile families.
With my contract's extension to a 12 month employee, I technically am making more a month. Before, when I was an 11th month employee, I was only contractually paid for 11 months, but I asked that to be spread across 12 months, so I would not be left with empty pockets next June.

Luckily, my case worker told me that I am at the top of the list for one of the 2-bedroom apartments for the 60th percentile bracket. The rent would be $730 a month plus utilities (more than I had originally planned on spending) and they told me that they can guarantee that utilities won't be higher than $60 a month. Even in the winter!

So $800 a month is a little scary, but I think I can make it work. My paycheck last month was significantly higher than I thought it would be, and if I can keep pulling similar income, then rent should be doable. And as scary as all that may be, I keep coming back to these warm and fuzzy thoughts:

  • LB will have her own room.
  • I will have my own room.
  • I will be living in an apartment that is mine.
  • I will no longer be living with my mother.

I know all of this may sound a tad selfish and materialistic, but after 6 months of returning to my high school life (this time with a baby attached), these thoughts bring me more happiness than if I had just won the lottery.

I know that this is not for sure. But its a hope that was NOT presently in my life before. This hope is making all my worries a little less worrisome, LB's teething a little less grating, job issues a little less stressful, and making the ends of my mouth perk up just a little bit more.

I drove out to the jobsite where they should be finishing the apartments by October, and got a slight adrenaline rush. I REALLY want to live there now.

I hope I haven't jinxed it.

Cross your fingers for me.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Finally a moment

So this week has been hell to say the least. My daycare is a state-run program that technically has to begin a new "semester"every September. So in preparation for the new semester, they conveniently close their doors for 2 weeks.

Now I don't know how popular all of you working mommies and daddies are out there, but I was one of those artsy, hippie kids in high school who had a core group of about 5-7 companions and never really stretched beyond those boundaries.

The upside: I still am very close with those 5-7 friends (which I think I can say, is very rare nowadays when you are pushing 25.5 years old) . I love those friends dearly.

The downside: It leaves very few options when your daycare closes and corners you with your thumb up your bum. Also, I don't know anyone under the age of 35 who is NOT working a full time job, unless they have a very special significant other who supports them.

What about dropping in on other daycares, you ask? Don't get me started. I've covered this topic in depth.

So I have my grandmother and my mother-in-law, the two beacons of light in my workweek dilemma. This leaves 3 days of non-coverage. I ended up working from home these three days, mostly after LB went to bed, and believe me, she did NOT go to bed early all week.

So, while trying to type a 26 page preschool evaluation worksheet while entertaining a teething 15 month old, I started getting a familiar throb in my wrist. Yes. Hand went back in the splint, dummy went back to the doctor.

About 7 months ago, Durango went through a serious health care crisis when the largest health care provider shut its doors. One of the only providers who accepted medicaid, medicare and CHP+ (which is the Colorado version of a step up from medicaid) shut its doors and left a huge number of people without doctors.

At the time I did not have to beau coup benefits package I now am receiving from the school district, so I technically did not have a primary care physician, and had not been to the doctor since my follow-up from my c-section in 2006.

This led to my referral to the leftover clinic that remained after Valley-Wide shut down. This doctor told me that I needed an x-ray when I came in about my wrist. I told her the doctor at the hospital had said I did NOT have a fracture and did not need an x-ray, but this doc insisted.

All I really wanted was to get some advice on how to prevent my wrist from giving out in the future, and still be able to pick up my daughter. I wanted strengthening tips, exercises I could do, etc...

What I got instead was a useless x-ray and a bottle of painkillers. How disappointed I am in our health care system. But what else is new?

So now its Saturday, I'm high on lortabs and still clueless on how to be a smarter, less-stressed wrist-flailer.

Hey, I guess that's why I have the Internet. WebMD is free and sadly, I think I might get better information from it than this sad excuse for a doctor. (No offense to all the lovely docs I have linked on my page.)