random jobs

Husband did not believe that closet organizer was an actual job. He laughed when I said, yeah, it’s a job with a title like “Organization Management Consultant.” On one hand, I’m with him — we’re sometimes a superfluous species, you feel me? On the other, in a way, it’s very smart to create a need that did not previously exist. Is it not shrewd to target folks with lots of disposable income? Even middle-class folk might participate as clients. Also, it’s fair if you happen to be very good at organizing to charge for your skill. why not?

On the other…yeah, some countries don’t have clean drinking water. I wonder if jobs like these are unique to New York. The other random job I read about was “Artisanal Pencil Sharpener.” I’m not sure if that was the guy’s actual title, but he sharpens pencil by hand for clients, depending on their hand size, their occupation, and the purpose of the pencil. Some clients just requested pencils for display, others requested a mass of No. 2 for their children’s SAT exams.

Some people, like Husband, get a bit rage-y when they hear about these pursuits, but I find it very amusing and like hearing about it.

mindful eating

I love this article in the Times because it strikes me as goofy. What is mindful eating? Is it, as the picture suggests, sitting in front of food and not eating? Pretty much.

And I get the concept and think it’s sound. It’s not like a retreat that promotes heroin use or something, but…I think sometimes, we have too much time on our hands. More on this later.

extreme parenting

…would be the name of the show Husband and I would star in; my parents could be in the spin-off “extreme grandparenting.”

Another dad at day care said raising a child is harder than being in the navy or being a lawyer, two things he has under the belt. Makes me feel better whenever I have to wrestle the ramrod straight-with-anger body of First Son into the stroller.

First Son has entered the terrible twos. He is both a delight and a pain in the arse. A lot of wailing and flailing and mom-only demands (a recent trip to the local supermarket may have turned ALL of my hair white. The local place is more a bodega-style mart with narrow aisles and big dudes wheeling around five heavy boxes of produce. Awesome.), but also is speaking, singing, asking the twins for a high-five, breaking out into a sprint whenever possible.

I’ve told all three kids that I would accept gift certificates of fifty dollars for Mother’s Day, or I could start invoicing them per diaper change, then we could be even. Thank you.

my new name is…

… Jack Bauer, in light of the past six or so weeks.

First, birth: I had several instances of premature contractions, leading to hospitalizations where they poked and prodded in the most personal places. When my water broke anyway at home, I uttered a very profound and kong “frak” (except it wasn’t the word “frak.”) Hardcore, we-mean-business contractions kicked in 20 minutes later; took a long car service ride to the hospital (he had to use GPS to go to the upper west side and took sixth ave until I politely suggested the WEst Side Highway, unless he wanted a back seat birth). Hospital: yay, my scheduled c-section was being bumped up to ASAP. Boo: There was a line for the OR. The night nurse asked me to breathe, to which I sad “No, why don’t you breathe.” (Yes! I am nine!) They shut my door, because I bellowed “owwwwwww” as loudly as possible for the duration of each contraction.

Babies born, preemie and teeny, stayed in NICU for a spell, cared for by Phillipino nurses who had done this for thirty years. They reminded me of gardeners. You could see them, head bent over each intubator, working. I could stick with that prettier image, except for their exceptional guilt-tripping skills. “Where have you been, Mommy?” was the greeting I got every time with stink-eye and crossed arms. “Dude, sorry, been puking from the anesthesia after my operation.” “Sorry, I just moved an hour away and am not supposed to be out of bed but am here every day.” Did not melt them one iota.

Babies come home. Dad’s dementia kicks in high gear. So not ready for homecoming, but eventually, we get through with my parents and the Korean Tooth Fairy’s help. Month goes by. Wonder Twin Boy turns blue, necessitating a trip to the ER, where he receives a spinal tap, catheter, urine test, blood text, EKG, etc. etc., turns out fine after a few days in the PICU, confirmed by several tests that came back negative. In short, he had a cold. Most frightening moment? When he did not respond to initial poking on the exam table and had to be put on oxygen. When the intern apologized about the spinal tap causing tears, I was like, “S’okay, you’re supposed to cry if you get a spinal tap.” I’d be more worried if he just lay there like those first moments on the exam table.

Finally, when things go more to normal-crazy, I went to the doctor for a clogged milk duct issue and was unexpectedly stabbed in the boob with an 18-gauge needle (Whatever that is. Did not care to look.) for testing, I thought, OH MY GOD, I AM JACK BAUER. Thank you.

things i used to know

1) All the elements on the Periodic Table

2) The capital of every U.S. state and every country

3) What “mitochondria” and “flagella’ are

4) Calculus…or pre-calculus anyway

5) Quadratic equations

6) How to scan lines more complicated than iambic pantameter

7) How to say “you are all ilars” in Spanish

8) How to make sourdough bread with a homemade starter

9) Names of people

10) A volume of entertainment trivia that boggled my friends

korean tooth fairy

When it was clear I was having twins, my kind friends and family pooled together some moula to set me up with some help with a Korean maternity/baby professional for a few weeks. Without her, I feel like I would’ve died. Complete chaos ensued as soon as the twins came home….actually, it was chaos even before they arrived, since we had just moved three days prior to their homecoming. Even with the Korean Tooth Fairy’s help, we were not treading water so I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like without her. She is strict and extremely opinionated, but that has not been a bad thing. I think she has forced me to rest and avoid socializing till I heal, which is not natural for me. She also looks fairly constipated whenever we answer her questions like “why did you paint your nails blue” or “why is your husband a vegetarian?” I get the impression she is a traditional, Christian, Korean lady, so a lot of our life choices are weirding her out. She has already said I am too positive. No matter. We need all the help we can get.

the glamorous life

As the apartment has no ventilation, tonight, I smell hot fish and the poop of someone else’s son (Daycare sent home the wrong bag, and Husband didn’t think we could just leave the dirtied underwear there as is. Really? Can’t we?) Can’t help but sing. Husband says “You’re crackin yourself up.” Yes, I’m cracking up!