Birth-love-sisterhood-support

Last night we (meaning myself and the wonderful women I am privileged to have as friends) held a Blessing Way for Earthy Birthy Mama, who is having a baby boy in mid-August, if she holds out that long. Her husband has started a major home improvement project and has to go out of town this weekend for work, so we're thinking we can expect a call from her either today or tomorrow telling us that the baby is on his way.

Anyway, for those of you who don't know what a Blessing Way is...

A Blessingway is a wonderful ritual for the mother-to-be. It celebrates her step in motherhood (or motherhood again!) Baby showers are a lot of fun and they are a wonderful way to gift new parents things they need for the baby. A blessingway, however, is a unique way to honor the mother.

During the gathering, friends of the mother come together to give her support and encouragement as she waits for labor to begin. It is a wonderful and affirming time for her.

Oftentimes the friends at the ceremony agree that as soon as they receive word labor has begun they will say a prayer and light a candle for the mother. This support can mean so much to a laboring woman.

Many believe that the blessingway tradition was begun by Native Americans. It was a ritual to offer blessing at many life passages, not just pregnancy. But it is commonly thought to be the origin of the pregnancy blessingway.

A blessingway is usually a spiritual event on some level. It can purposely hold elements sacred to the mother's religion or it can simply be spiritual in the sense that all present are giving their spiritual and emotional support to the mother-in-waiting.

Our Blessing Ways aren't particularly ceremonial in any way. We don't do any chanting, we don't make the mom-to-be a wreath of flowers to wear, we don't do belly-casting or painting, we don't wash her feet. Instead, we try to pick a night near the mother's due date when the majority of us can gather together and we honor her in our own way...by drinking wine in front of her, stuffing our faces with yummy treats and talking shit about our husbands. However, we also give the mom-to-be a gift of some kind and everyone presents a bead to be strung together to make a birthing bracelet...something the mother can focus on during labor, drawing energy from each friend represented by a bead. I still have mine from the Blessing Way my friends held when I was pregnant with Little M. It really did help me to focus during labor and it's something I will always cherish. We were all already moms when we starting hanging out together, so we'd all already done the standard baby shower thing. When our subsequent pregnancies happened, we didn't really need much in the way of baby supplies, but we did need to know that our friends were there to support us before, during and after the arrival of our babies. A Blessing Way seemed like the great way to show that support. And we do pledge to the mother that when we receive word that she's in labor, we'll light a candle and think positive, peaceful thoughts for her until we hear that her baby is safely in her arms and at her breast. So it really is a warm-fuzzy occasion for us.

Last night was a good turn-out with many laughs, good food and only a couple bottles of wine. I got creative and decorated the cupcakes...


I should have taken the picture before anyone ate them. There was also a peace sign, a smiley face and a couple of "boy" symbols. The one in the upper left corner is supposed to be a pregnant belly with a heart inside, but it looks like a 3 or a B instead. Oh well.

Here's a picture of her beads...


That's going to be one unique bracelet, no? (Do you see your bead, Jill? It got lots of compliments. Way to represent!)

As a gift, we gave her a new Magic Sling, hand-crafted by another mama-friend who was unable to attend. You can't see it very well in the picture, but it has the cutest striped pocket on it and it's a lovely shade of baby-blue. We also gave her the book Forever Young, which has the lyrics to the Bob Dylan song illustrated with some beautiful pictures. He wrote that song for his son, Jakob, so it seemed fitting to present it to EBM for her son. Not to mention we're all Dylan fans, which made it more special. We all wrote some sappy words for her and her baby inside the front cover.


(That's one of her mom's maternity tops she's wearing. Cool, huh?)

But, like I said, the main purpose of a Blessing Way is the support garnered from the mother's friends...


Earth Muffin, Earthy Birthy Mama, Aunt Katie


Baker, Marshmallow Bunny and Mrs. Granola laying their hands on EBM's belly, hoping for a peaceful birth experience. (Too bad Mr. EM's Frank Zappa poster is looming over them in the background. Looks a little ominous, but maybe that's just me.)

All in all it was a wonderful evening and I hope that EBM left feeling loved and supported by her friends. I look forward to that phone call that says, "Light a candle, I'm in labor!", but more than that, I look forward to meeting that new baby boy, holding him close and telling him what a lucky guy he is to have such a loving mama.

I'm being held hostage...

...by my 4 year old.

He demands that I play with army guys and tech decks. He asks me to write my name and his name and Daddy's name and Big M.'s name and the dog's name and the hamster's name over and over and over again, so he can "practice" writing them himself. He eats roughly 17 meals a day, mainly composed of fresh fruit, yogurt, Ramen noodles, peanut butter sandwiches ("NO JELLY!"), Goldfish crackers, waffels and, since our garden pick-up yesterday, cherry tomatoes. He makes me watch Franny's Feet, The Berenstain Bears, Mama Mirabelle's Home Movies and various Power Ranger videos. I have read "Llama Llama Red Pajama" a total of 250 times in the last three days (and I have a sneaking suspicion that author placed a bug in my house in order to come up with the plot-line for that book). He is tireless in spite of visits to the park and the pool and countless hours of basketball and hitting a wiffle-ball outside. He has taken to serenading me with "Eye of the Tiger", Mofro's "Orange Blossoms" and, most recently, the Violent Femmes' "Gone Daddy Gone". He seems able to get by on a mere 10 minutes of sleep each night.

HELP ME!!!

Ok, maybe it's not as bad as all that, but DAMN.

Big M. is spending the week with MIL, so I'm flying solo with Little M. this week. It's funny, I don't realize how well Big M. occupies his little brother until he's no longer here to do it. That kid deserves a freakin' medal. Mr. EM drove him up there on Saturday afternoon and we're all going up to get him on Sunday. That's a long time for me to be the sole source of entertainment and here we are at mid-week and I'm tired, gentle readers.

Little M. misses his big brother, but not quite as desperately as I thought he would. Mr. EM commented last night, "He sure has slipped into the role of 'only child' pretty effortlessly, hasn't he?" Yes, he has. Little M. relishes the attention he's receiving these days. We are joined at the hip from the moment he wakes up in the morning until I can coax him into bed each night. He tells me knock-knock jokes, we put together puzzles, we discuss the fact that he does not live in Africa and we play with his Little People parking garage...all before he even changes out of his pajamas and eat breakfast, EVERY MORNING. (Yes, every day we have a discussion about the fact that he does not live in Africa. Thank you, Mama Mirabelle.)

When Big M. was four, I was his sole companion most of the time too. However, Big M. was of a different species. He was quite content to quietly build towers with his blocks while I cooked dinner. He was content to paint and color while I did a little cleaning. He loved to visit the park and the pool, but I was allowed to be a silent observer, blissfully reading on a nearby bench, while he dreamed up make-believe adventures to play out, either by himself or with other little kids he could coax into his games. Little M. likes to pretend his blocks are hockey pucks and he'd prefer to "help" me cook dinner. When he paints, he tends to call upon his inner Jackson Pollock and crayons don't usually last long in his presence. When I try to do any cleaning, he functions like a tornado in my wake. He certainly picks up plenty of playmates at the park and the pool, but he also expects me to be part of the action...or at least to watch what he's doing, rather than sticking my nose in my book. "Hey, Mom! Mom! Quit reading, Mom! Watch this!"

I love how different my boys are. I love that Big M. is, and always has been, a very cerebral, dreamy Pisces, content to do his own thing in his own time. And I love that Little M. has a lust for life and is a take-charge, center-stage, stubborn Taurus. And it's not as though I just shove Little M. on his big brother all the time while I avoid interacting with either of them. I do, however, love that they get along so well, in spite of their age difference, and that I can say, "Hey, keep an eye on your brother for a little while so I can exercise/pay bills/clean the bathrooms", or whatever else I might need to get done through the course of any given day. I haven't been able to do that this week and shit's been piling up here in the Land of Earth Muffin.

So, today Little M. is going to Super Sitter's for a while. I have company coming over tomorrow night and desperately need to get the house cleaned up. He's pretty excited to go over there too, so it's a win-win situation. I'll pick him up this afternoon...

...and the chaos that is Little M. will start all over again. How many moms does it take to keep a house clean for 24 hours in the presence of a relentless four year old?

I'll have to let you know, if he allows me time on the computer in the next couple of days.

Sometimes even 2 or 3 or 4 is the loneliest number.

Mr. EM is an elementary school custodian. During the school year, he works similar hours to mine and that's nice. He gets the same 3-day weekends that I do and that's nice. He has to work over Christmas and spring break, but he does get some time off during those breaks as well and that's nice too.

In the summer for as long as he's had this job, they have worked 4 ten-hour days and had Fridays off. That used to be nice. They would work from 7:00 to 5:00 every day and have a paid lunch. Their summer work is much more physically demanding than the during-the-year work. They focus on big repairs that can't be taken care of when school is in session, they move classrooms from building to building, they unload truckloads of paper and non-perishable cafeteria food, they pull all the furniture out of every classroom to clean the carpets and touch up paint and then move it all back into the rooms. In the past they have put up fences around playgrounds and built new playground equipment. Much of this gets done without air-conditioning because of the way the cooling system is...just one part of the building can't be air-conditioned and it's not cost-effective to A/C a whole building when the guys will only be in one part of it for a couple of hours before moving. So, Mr. EM would be hot, tired and sore every day when he came home from work, but it was a small price to pay for those blessed Fridays off.

Well, then Attilla the Superintendent took over. Attilla treated the maintenance staff like disposable help. In his previous district he had a hand in switching the maintenance over to a contracted company to "save money" and doesn't believe that the maintenance staff has any place in the teachers' union. Fortunately, not only would it not be cost-effective for our small district to contract out maintenance, but our union is very tight-knit and didn't share his narrow-minded opinions. Anyway, Attilla saw no reason for the guys to have their Fridays off...never mind that he usually didn't work Fridays, nor did his secretary or the district bookkeeper. Mr. EM's boss finally talked him into it last year and he relented but didn't make it pleasant. Their summer hours under his tyranical reign have been 6:00 to 4:30, with a half-hour, unpaid lunch. And "6:00 means work begins at 6:00, not 6:05. Breaks are 15 minutes long, not 20. Lunch is a half hour not forty-five minutes." Previous superintendents have paid an outside person to take care of lawn maintenance over the summers so the guys could concentrate on more pressing work to be done for the new school year. Not Attilla...so in addition to the regular summer work they have to do, each is responsible for mowing and weed-eating his own playground as well. That means that on the days they aren't working inside an un-air-conditioned building, they are out mowing in the usually sweltering heat. Good times, gentle readers, good times.

Needing to be at work at 6:00 means that Mr. EM has to get up at 5:00. Getting up at 5:00 am and then working in the heat, either directly or indirectly, makes for a tired, crabby and sore Mr. EM. He comes home from work around 4:45, futzes around on the internet for a while, reads or hangs out with the kids until I get dinner ready around 6:30ish, eats and then falls asleep on the couch around 8:00ish. The boys don't go to bed until around 9:00 in the summer which means I don't get to spend two shits worth of time alone with my husband during his work week. On his earned three-day weekends it's hard for him to sleep in because he's so accustomed to getting up early and he spends much of his awake time doing things around here that he can't get to during the week, so again he's asleep on the couch pretty early in the evening. We haven't gone out alone together since we went to North Carolina, partly because we haven't had the time and partly because we've been putting extra spending money towards other things that need our attention right now. It sucks, even though he's here, I miss him.

And I really don't want to complain to him about this because it's not as though he's not spending time with me because he's out boozing it up with his buddies every night. He's working his butt off every day and he's exhausted and I feel for him, I really do. What do I have to complain about? I get to sleep in every day and have the freedom to decide most days what I feel like doing, whether it's cleaning the house, taking the M.'s to the pool or park or sitting around reading. Because of his work schedule, I try to make it so that he has very little to do around here. I do all of the cooking, cleaning and errand-running in the summers, while during the school year we share those duties pretty equally. I do a little yard work, weeding and watering, keeping outdoor toys and things picked up. And I don't mind any of this because it keeps me from becoming a big fat slug on my couch. And don't get me wrong, I love that I have the opportunity to be at home with my kids during the summer and I enjoy it. If a parent has to work full-time, the education field is a great one to get into and I'm grateful to have a job in that field.

But...

I could use a small break from the M.'s every once in a while...one that doesn't involve paying someone to watch them while I get things done that I can't do with them around. Instead maybe someone else, like maybe my husband, could give Little M. a bath or put him to bed or referee an argument between the two boys while I kick back on the couch with a book and a glass of wine. I could also stand to have some adult conversation or just watch a movie or even some mindless TV show with my husband every once in a while, rather than spend every single night on the couch with his head in my lap snoring over the TV. And just when I think maybe we'll get to spend some time together or even (dare I say?) go out together, something comes up. We can't get a sitter or one of us ends up with something we have to do on the night we planned or one of the kids wakes up from a bad dream and has a hard time going back to sleep or the money really could be better spent fixing this or paying off that or any other plethora of things beyond our control. Right now he's over at Dr. Student's parents' house helping him paint their living room because Dr. Student is going to help him do some work on our fence. Tomorrow he's taking Big M. up to MIL's to spend the week. He's making a day trip out of it, so that's another whole day of this weekend shot to hell. Again, he's not off doing something frivolous and choosing to ignore me, but that doesn't do much to ease the loneliness I'm feeling.

I know...quit whining Earth Muffin. Be glad your husband is employed, as there are a lot of people out there who aren't. I know that and I am grateful that we both have jobs that aren't affected by this recession. Be glad that he's at home with you every night, as there are a lot of married people out there whose spouses are in Iraq, Iran, Korea and Afghanistan, and there are a lot of married people out there whose spouses just don't bother coming home after work at all, who prefer to spend their nights with someone else or gambling or drinking or drugging their paychecks away. I know that and I'm grateful that I'm married to a devoted man who can and wants to be at home with his family every night after work. I know, I know, I know. Just let me have my pity party here, ok? Well, that's fine, Earth Muffin, but a pity party doesn't make anything better now, does it? No, it doesn't. Shut up, voice in my head.

Sigh.

I guess this post is really going nowhere. I just needed to get this stuff off my chest and this is the best outlet I have to do it. Pity party or not, there's still laundry that needs to be folded sitting in the living room and there's still dishes that need to be done sitting in the sink and I still have to try to get a half hour of exercise in today and there are still two boys here to keep fed and entertained. A pity party will not make a free baby-sitter magically appear on my doorstep with a handful of restaurant and movie gift certificates, nor will it make Mr. EM any less tired and sore after working hard all week long. All a pity party does is make me feel worse and that's not doing anyone any good.

And there is a little light at the end of the tunnel. Attilla the Superintendent resigned in January and his last day was June 30th. The new guy is already proving to be a bit more realistic about the summer work load and maybe he'll be a little more flexible about their summer hours next year. In a couple of weeks Mr. EM is taking a week of vacation. Part of that time we will be taking the M.'s to Chicago, but I would imagine we can find some time to go out by ourselves during that week as well. The M.'s seem to be getting along well enough today that I can squeeze in an episode of True Blood before it has to go back to the rental store.

Things could be worse. And I know that. And my pity party is officially over now. Thanks for listening, gentle readers...if there are any of you left out there after my angsty, little, teenage, nobody's-paying-attention-to-me fit.

WTF Wednesday on a Thursday...better late than never, right?

WTF, parents who signed their kids up for today's library activity? Or any of the library's activities for that matter. If the activity starts at 10:00, that means 10:00. Not 10:10 or 10:20 or 10:30. And when the activity starts at 6:00, show up at 6:00, not 6:15. If you show up late, there is a very good chance that there will not be enough seats for your kids and not as much variety in craft supplies and they may have already put the snacks away. Don't complain under your breath about the "poor quality" of the activity...the quality of the activity is just fine, IF YOU ARRIVE ON TIME FOR IT. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the library staff was mumbling under their breath about your rudeness in being late and then demanding your kids get the same things all the kids who arrived on time got.

WTF, Family Video? When restocking your shelves, do you regularly put the wrong DVD's behind their boxes? I was so very much looking forward to episodes 3 and 4 of True Blood last night, but when I put the DVD in I realized, much to my dismay, that I had inadvertantly rented episodes 11 and 12. And that just won't do, now will it? No, it will not. And yes, I realize that it's possible some random customer may have placed that DVD behind the wrong box. And yes, I realize that technically it's my own fault for not checking that it was the right DVD before paying for it, walking out of the store with it and driving it all the way home. Still...

WTF, cute clothes sold cheaply at Good Will? Why must you only fit tiny little skinny people? A size 2, really? Who wears that? I don't care that I went in there intending to only buy pants for Little M. The big sign in your store says that the more I buy, the more I benefit your training programs...I'm trying to do you all a favor! So, plenty of new pants for Little M. and a great pair of shorts for Mr. EM, but no cute tops for Earth Muffin. Sigh...(And if any of you gentle readers out there actually wear a size 2, shut up. I don't want to hear about it.)

WTF, children of mine? Why on earth do you behave like obnoxious baboons who were raised by wolves when we go out in public? I was nothing short of appalled at how loud you were visiting your great-grandmother in the hospital yesterday and you were disciplined for it when we got home. Then you turn around the pull the same crap ten-fold in Good Will today...to the point that I hear one of the employees call over the loudspeaker, "For the safety of our customers, please keep your children at your side at all times." Now, she SAID she wasn't talking about you guys when she saw me threatening you with your lives, but I suspect otherwise. For crying out loud! You're both FINE all day long at home, then the minute I take you out of the house and it's nothing but poop and fart jokes and wrestling matches. Just stop it!

WTF, parents of mine? I don't live with you any more. As a result, I am not privy to the same information you are at the same time. You actually have to call or email me...or leave me a comment on Facebook...to let me know when relatives are in town for a visit, when relatives who live in St. Louis are considering buying houses in Small Town, when you are going out of town, and, most importantly, WHEN MY GRANDMOTHER BREAKS HER HIP. I had just uttered the words, "You guys never tell me anything," on Father's Day in response to, "You didn't know that?" about Aunt S. and Uncle B. buying a house in town. Exactly three days after that Grandma falls, breaks her hip, is helicoptered to St. Louis where she undergoes surgery to have a pin put in and I hear nothing of it until I call you five days later about a different matter entirely. "Didn't Dad call you?" No, Dad didn't call me, no one did, and it pisses me off.

WTF, summer? Quit flying by so quickly! I'm nowhere near ready to start thinking about work yet. Just. Slow. Down. Already. Thank you.

Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills.

So, as I stated in my previous post, my brother has a girlfriend...a serious one, it seems. He's never been one for the whole "serious relationship thing", so this is somewhat of a big deal.

As you could tell from the occasional pictures I've posted of him, he's not an ugly person. Some people would even call him attractive which grosses me out, but whatever. He's certainly never been at a loss for women to date and he's even had some relationships over the years that I'm sure the girls he was seeing at the time deemed "serious". He, however, did not.

There was "Barbie" in high school...the one I think actually first broke his heart, therefore instilling a major sense of commitment-phobia. She actually looked just like a Barbie doll and when they went to prom together, he looked like Ken in his tuxedo. It had a certain sick humor to it. Anyway, it didn't last. She was a year younger than him (and a bit of a snob) and he was leaving in a month for West Point. It was not meant to be.

There was the carny...but she wasn't really a carny. Mr. EM and I called her that because she told us that one summer in high school she worked for the carnival on Long Island and we found it amusing that he was dating a former carnival worker, so we still call her that. And after all these years, they dated in 1999, we still carry a torch for her. She was cool, friendly, pretty in an unaffected way and totally unpretentious. She lived on Long Island, which was about an hour from West Point, so they spent a lot of time together. According to him, they broke up because "in another year we'd be dealing with a long-distance relationship and neither of us wants that". Whatever...

Immediately after breaking up with the carny, he took up with a girl from Chicago...so much for not wanting a long-distance relationship! I don't know how they met, but it was obvious to everyone but them that she was clearly a rebound so that's what I'll call her. Rebound was nice enough and she certainly tolerated the rest of our family very well but every time I saw them together I just wanted to yell to her, "Run!" And in typical Uncle Rico fashion, he used his perfect-timing skills and broke up with her about a week after he graduated from West Point...the graduation she flew out for, where the airline lost her luggage and when she got it back there was a big burn-hole in it so she had nothing to wear to the graduation, not to mention the formal dance the night before the ceremony, so my parents had to take her shopping for some clothes to wear. Poor, poor Rebound...

Then there was Anchorwoman (I call her that because she was a broadcast journalism major who aspired to be like Katie Couric)...who certainly did her time with him, they dated for over two years and I think he actually took that relationship seriously for a while. She was a Southern belle from Alabama and for a long time she led him around by his nose. However, she had an overbearing mother and a crazy-strict military father who began interfering, pretty much wanting to know exactly what my brother's intentions towards Anchorwoman were. He really couldn't say for certain. He was in his early 20's at the time and heading off to Afghanistan for a year. That was not the best time for him to settling down, but that's what she and her parents were expecting. Many of their friends were getting married at the time and I'm sure it was wearing on her to attend all these lovely destination weddings with no ring on her very important finger. Anchorwoman hung in there during his time in Afghanistan, but when a ring didn't come home with him, she grew impatient. They continued to date, but it was strained, and then he was sent to Iraq for a year. She freaked out, calling my parents all the time to see if they'd heard from him, calling his friends "just to talk", it was all a little creepy. He came home for Christmas and suddenly she refused to see him. Next thing we're told, they'd decided to "take a break" and about three months after that he got an invitation to her wedding. Dammit, that girl was getting married one way or the other! When he told me, in a thinly-veiled non-chalant kind of way, about her getting married, all I said was, "Good riddance." He nodded, but didn't respond...so unlike him. Another nail in his commitment coffin.

He stayed single for quite a while after that. I'm sure he dated plenty, but we certainly didn't hear anything about it. Anchorwoman had done quite a number on him. But then on Easter 2006, he brought a girl with him to my grandma's...with her 6 year old son. She was very nice, her son was very sweet and my parents were very worried. "I hope he doesn't saddle himself with too much responsibility, taking on that boy. I hope that little boy doesn't get too attached to him." I told them to take it down a notch, Uncle Rico clearly had no intentions of becoming a step-dad. I was right. A few months after that he shipped off to Korea and never spoke to that girl again.

He was in Korea for two years. While there he dated many lovely young ladies, but one stood out. He brought her home to meet the family on his leave in '07. At Christmas that year I asked him if he was still seeing her. "No," he said. "That one was just getting to be too much." Whatever that meant. But then last summer when my parents went to Korea to see him, it was this girl who showed them around while he was working and who made sure they weren't being gouged when buying from the street vendors. It was obvious that they were more than friends, but when my mom tried to ask him about it that's all he'd own up to.

When he was preparing to leave Korea, he emailed me to ask if I minded if he gave her my email address and if I'd request her as a friend on Facebook and Myspace. I consented and tried asking what was going on there. "Nothing, Earth Muffin, GOD! We're just friends." When I said that he didn't pass my email address on to any of his other "friends" and I wasn't Facebook friends with any of them, he only grunted in reply. I let it go, knowing how he is. When he felt like spilling the beans on what she meant to him, he would.

And he did...but only to me, so don't tell my parents about this blog, ok? He got an iPhone and has been claiming that it's pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to him, so I've been teasing him about it, asking, "Is there an App for that?" in reply to everything he says. Not too long ago, I emailed him just to ask how his iPhone was doing. He replied, "My iPhone is great. Thanks for asking. Aside from [girlfriend], it's pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to me." So, I replied with just two words, "Spill it."

And so he did. He raved about her. She's great, a slice of heaven, they have a lot in common and love spending time together, and she's been very patient and understanding about his commitment issues, which he totally realizes he has. He doesn't feel pressured or stifled when they're together and he doesn't count the seconds until he can get away from her. She's smart and has a great sense of humor...a must for anyone who spends frequent time with my brother. The last line of this gushing email was, "I don't have a timeline for this and please to blab about it to Mom and Dad, but I think I've found your future sister-in-law."

That's a big deal, gentle readers. The men on my dad's side of the family have a long history of pushing 40 before considering marriage and I always thought that Uncle Rico would hold the record for waiting the longest. For him to even entertain the notion of possibly, someday, maybe getting married means that this girl is something pretty special.

Now, she's Korean and while I wanted to give her a cute bloggy nickname, the only ones I could come up with were on the racist side and that just won't do. So, instead I shall christen her "The Saint", because to tolerate my brother for as long as she has, she must be one.

They are still separated by an ocean. She lives in Seoul and he is currently stationed at Fort Ord in California. They still list their relationship status on their respective Facebook pages as "single", so who knows how they classify themselves. What I saw when they were together recently is that they compliment each other wonderfully and she can dish it out as well as she can take it when it comes to his relentless teasing and silliness. This one just may be a keeper...heaven help her.


Uncle Rico, the M.'s and The Saint at the zoo last week

Lions and tigers and bears

Today the M.'s and I visited the St. Louis Zoo with my brother, his girlfriend (more on that later) and my mom. The weather was great, all of the animals were out and the boys behaved well. A good time was had by all...


Of course, when you take two little boys to the zoo you visit the herpetarium first. The Kimodo dragon was Little M.'s favorite.


Uncle Rico (he's obsessed with Napolean Dynomite, I don't know how she stands him) and the M.'s at lunch.


Penguin and Puffin Coast is always one of my favorite exhibits!


Along with the Butterfly Dome...and Hippo Harbor, but it's hard to get good pictures there since they're behind glass, in water and surrounded by fish. Trust me, it's awesome.


I did get a good shot of the rhinocerous, if I do say so myself.


And a decent one of the cheetah being playful...


But I think the best picture of the day is this one...look how Little M. idolizes his big brother. Sweet!

The St. Louis Zoo is one of the last remaining free zoos in the country, it's open year-round and it's a lot of fun. I highly recommend visiting it if you're ever in the area. And if are you, let me know. We'd love to come with you!!


You can handle this for a whole day, right?

Unfortunately, colleges don't offer degrees in common sense.

Dr. Student is an idiot.

Well, not in the IQ sense...he's actually quite smart. He's a self-made intellectual. He dropped out of high school at 17, moved out of his parents' house, got a job and GED, and worked full-time until he felt ready to attend college. Once he was ready, he took his education very seriously. He first got an associate's degree at the local community college, then a bachelor's and a master's from a university in a nearby town. His grades have always been very good and a project he's done with some peers has been published in some psychology journal or other. He and this group have presented research findings at a convention in Chicago. He's no slacker in regards to furthering his education.

So, last spring he started applying to doctorate programs and was interviewed and consequently accepted by the University of Albany. The semester starts there on August 31st. He planned on leaving yesterday so he could get a job and get to know the area a little bit before he was entrenched in school. Good idea, right?

Now he's known about this move since April, so this would lead one to believe that he's been preparing for this move since then. You know, finding a place to live, looking for potential employment, getting rid of clutter he's accumulated, packing things he wants to take but doesn't need at the moment, saving money, selling his crappy car, that kind of stuff. His final semester in the master's program ended in early May, he only works two days a week, that whole list should have been totally doable, right?

Nope.

Dr. Student didn't see fit to eliminate any clutter or pack any non-essentials until he set to the task of packing everything. Why break it up into two (or more) separate tasks? He'd rather just get it all done and over with at once. Well, ok, I guess I can see his logic there.

He half-heartedly looked around online for apartments near the school in Albany, got a general idea of how much he'd be spending in rent, then decided that since he didn't know anyone up there who could look at places for him that he would just stay in a hotel for a few days once he got up there and find a place then. Never mind that he'd only have the U-Haul for a short time and all of his furniture and everything would have to go somewhere while he looked for an apartment. When Mr. EM brought up this little glitch in his plan he said he'd "figure something out".

You see where this is going, don't you?

He hasn't saved hardly any money at all because...get this...well, he only works two days a week right now. The possibility of getting another part-time job either hasn't occurred to him or revolts him, I'm guessing the latter. And don't get him started on all the reasons he has to not look for a job in Albany yet because, trust me, you don't have enough time to hear them.

He hasn't sold his crappy car because...well, he needs it. How's he going to get around until he leaves? Apparently he thinks there's a huge market out there for people who want to buy a shitty '98 Saturn because he planned to throw a "For Sale" sign on it about a week before he left. According to his logic, he lives in a college town and college kids need cheap cars and it shouldn't take long for him to sell it.

I don't have a master's degree in psychology, like Dr. Student, but it's not hard to see what's going on here...Dr. Student is in denial. He's never done something this drastic and life-changing. He's leavning his entire support system behind and that's scary.

Not the mention the bat-shit crazy on-again/off-again girlfriend...

As long as I've known Dr. Student, Nurse Crazypants has been in the picture, if only on the edges of the picture. They've broken up and gotten back together more times than every relationship I've ever had. They're totally wrong for each other and totally co-dependent. She completed nursing school this spring and I guess there was talk of her heading out to Albany with him, seeing as how the odds of her getting a job anywhere she goes are high, nurses are in high demand these days.

Mr. EM hates her. He's had many a talk with Dr. Student about her, to no avail. When he heard that she was planning on going out to Albany, he offered up one final bit of advice in regards to the insanity of that idea. "Dude, you're always saying that you need a change. You don't want to be here any more, you're stuck in a rut. The thing is, it's all just geography. If she follows you out there, you're taking 95% of your problems with you. Go alone, start fresh. It'll be hard at first, but so much better in the long run." Good advice, right?

In one highly educated ear and out the other.

So, anyway, the U-Haul was rented for this week and Dr. Student was to set off for the East Coast. Apparently the reality of the situation finally came to him last Thursday when he called and said, "I can't leave yet. I don't have anywhere to live and I don't have enough money to pay rent and a deposit." His new plan is to rent a storage locker and live with his parents for a month while he...well, more than likely while he wastes another month working only two days a week, not looking for a place to live, not selling his car and continuing to believe that it's a good idea to bring Nurse Crazypants out there with him. Unless they get in another fight about chopsticks or the cat or something equally important.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that the two day a week job Dr. Student has is being a RELATIONSHIP COUNSELOR at a St. Louis hospital. Do you see the irony, gentle readers? After he gets his doctorate, Mr. EM plans to print up a few business cards for our circle of friends that say, "Dr. Student, relationship counselor. Since I can't help myself, I might as well help you."

Yesterday Mr. EM helped him move his stuff into the storage facility and get his bed into his parents' basement. While they were scooting the mattress down the stairs, Mr. EM couldn't help but ask, "So, how's that master's degree working out for you?" Dr. Student to him to shut up. As he carried in a bag with his toiletries in it, the handle on it broke and they all spilled out. Mr. EM noticed that Dr. Student uses the same scent of Axe deoderant that Big M. uses.

So, a 32 year old soon-to-be doctorate student has a few things in common with a 9 year old boy...they both like to play video games, they both like Axe Kilo deoderant and they both live with their parents. Mr. EM had the sense not to point out those parallels to his buddy...yet.

Something tells us he wouldn't find it as funny as we do.