Shokufeh is... home

Realizing my goals

Fall of 1999 - I'd finished my masters, recently started working here in New Orleans. I headed to New York City for Halloween. Or, really, I headed to New York City to reconnect with that city I love, and it coincided with Halloween. ...The weekend involved heading down to the Village for the parade, and almost getting crushed by the crowd, all of us penned into some scaffolding. Hmm, I'd forgotten about that.... But, what I started out saying.... I remember telling my friend Mary, whom I was staying with, that I planned to buy a car. A used car. My first car. And that I planned to do so by mid-November. She seemed surprised by the short time frame that I'd set for myself. In some ways, there was no pressure - taking the bus to work was convenient, I was free to use my parents' cars in the evening and on weekends. But I'd set my goal and announced it, not really sure how it would come to fruition. But it did. I found my ideal car - a Honda Civic hatchback - and remember picking Sam up from the airport in it when he came for Thanksgiving a few weeks later.

I'm a big believer in saying it, and it will be so.

November 30, 2007 - In the same vein, I formally announce my goal to find an apartment by the end of the year. Actually, I'd like it to be found in the next two weeks, so that we can use our ten day break between Christmas and New Year's Day to move and settle in. Again, there's not much pressure, as we're still living with my parents and they have not announced plans to kick us out. We have decided not to buy a house at this time, so there is more flexibility in where we choose to live not having to be perfect. But I'd like it be perfect enough that we're happy to stay there for at least a few years. It should have hardwood floors, a yard for MrMan to play in, a washer and drayer, and a den/study/third-bedroom where our non-sleep lives can take place away from the front door to the outside world. One should have to walk up a few stairs to get in it, as basement living is not my goal. Central air and heat would be nice. As would neighbors we get along well with. And all of this will be in a price range and a neighborhood we feel comfortable in. Universe, make it so!

1-check, 2-check, 3-check, 4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30 - check. All days present and accounted for. Thus ends NaBloPoMo.

At least in the arena

Last week, I started telling Sam that, starting the 28th, I'd be back on my game. For the past seven weeks, I've felt very off my game - physically, mentally, emotionally. The seemingly constant trips to the doctor, the underlying discomfort, the goopy head, have all been taking their toll. Probably more than I've been willing to admit. Limiting my carrying of the boy... having to back out of a dinner hosting commitment... taking a multitude of naps... packing on some pounds.... Depression hurts. And hurt depresses.

But I felt a weight lifted on the 27th, after I got the call saying that the pathology report was back and it was clean - this third biopsy was the last. Especially since a few nights before, I had a dream that the doctor called me to say that he was very sorry but he'd have to go in a fourth time. And yesterday, I got my bright blue stitches out. Harder for me to admire this time around, while they were in my scalp, as this was the ooziest incision I've had.

So, it was supposed to mark my being back. A return to normal life. A resumption of exercise, or just normal exertions. But, the head must still be gooped (with antibiotic ointment for now, vaseline in a few days) and I was advised to wait a couple of more weeks before taking up activities at the gym. Especially given my propensity for springing leaks. I do, however, feel like the clouds are slowly blowing away.

Memory lane

Remember Toad the Wet Sprocket and the BoDeans? I was so happy when they came up on Pandora today. It's scary, yet nice, how well these stations get to know you.

Pillows and cake

I'm still feeling out of it. Jet lag? Vacation lag? This is my Monday?
Basically, I'm longing for time in bed, with someone to bring me treats that look like this. I've long been a fan of King Arthur's White Whole Wheat flour. These paper pans give me more reason to love them.

Just under the wire

After more than twelve hours, door to door, we're back home. (Oh, sweet wireless, how I've missed you.)

One of the many things I love about MrMan is that he's someone who will happily share with me a sandwich of fresh mozzarella, pesto, and tomato on french bread. I also love that he was a pretty easygoing traveling companion today.

Not just on the Internet

Did you know Zappos has a storefront?
Yeah, me either.

Reminder to myself: another storefront to visit - Dirty Coast

Vegas so far

Yesterday, MrMan was smitten by his cousins and karaoke.
At 4:00 this morning, when he decided it was time to wake up, he was saying the name of one of his cousins, followed by "song" and "more."
Too bad the cousins, and their parents, left this morning.

The rest of today was filled with adventuring outside in the backyard. Rocks and cacti make for a pretty landscape, but a nervous mother. Followed by a four hour nap for the boy. Four hours! Then we all went to Circus Circus and Caesar's Palace. By 7:00, MrMan was saying "sleep." At first I thought he was saying "tree," but when he realized we were not on the same page, he clarified by saying, "Night night."

Dialing it in

Literally.
We're in Vegas.
That's all I'll say for now, as I'm afraid I'll type more and then lose the connection.

The stories begin

Written at 4:57 am
You'd think I'd be boarding my flight. (It turns out I was exaggerating - the flight was for 5:30 am.)
We got to the airport just before 4 am, which turned out to be perfect, since, as we discovered, everything is closed until 4 am. But at around 3:59, I heard a woman on her cell phone, very upset about the 5:30 am flight being delayed and her plans being ruined. At around 4:02 am, a Continental staff member announced that our flight was delayed. The crew had been delayed, due to weather, on their previous flight. Legally, and perhaps physically, they needed to rest before our flight, which set our flight back several hours.

Our window to change planes in Houston was only 45 minutes, so we were going to miss our connection. We had two options, get on the 6:30 am flight to Houston and hope that, miracoulously three spots opened on the fully booked 9-something flight to Vegas. Or go home and get on a confirmed flight tomorrow. Possibility of 24 hours in the Houston airport with a toddler? Guess which one we picked? Now we're waiting for my poor dad to come pick us up. The stuff of slapstick comedies. I'm picturing Ben Stiller. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Written at 12:59 pm
My dad came for us, but had rushed out the door in response to my phone call, forgetting his cell phone and wallet at home. I'd been keeping an eye for him, but apparently had left my post just when he arrived. As I was coming back from filling MrMan's cup with water, I found my dad at a pay phone about to call me. But it wasn't all lickety-split to the car, since we had to wait for a man to finish using my laptop to email his wife back in Moldova, to let her know he was okay. Yes, a strange morning all around.

We came home and crashed. Unfortunately, it was in shifts, as MrMan was very alert and focused on putting on his helmet and pushing his tricycle around the house. I ended up dialing up the babysitter - the one by the name of PBS - and dozing while he was entranced.

Now we're off to spend Thanksgiving dinner with family friends. Lots of my old friends, the people I grew up with. An unexpected perk associated with the disappointment of not making it to Sam's family as intended.

Waiting for the right time

So. sleepy.... Mustn't lie down.... Must leave for airport....

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

Load lightening

You fellow moms sure know how to come through with tips and assurances. Ask and I shall receive. If any of you haven't read the last post's comments, and have concerns about traveling with kids, check them out. Holly, in particular, has shared a number of tips gathered from extensive experience.

I think we've decided to leave the carseat at home (or, rather, in our car). Sam's parents have one at the other end, and we can do without it on the plane. As far as keeping MrMan calm, my mother presented him with some drugs last night: DVDs! So, we'll be taking the portable DVD player and headphones to tame the savage beast. (Last night, we went to dinner. MrMan circled our table numerous times. He went around to the various empty tables and checked them out, testing their chairs. He practiced walking right next to the wall, ducking under tables as needed. Probably not what he would have wanted to do, or what we would have allowed, if there had been other patrons, but a good indication of how much he likes to move around.)

In other news, this morning's tour of the blogs had me in tears. Holly, Emmy, and Anis, all shared their sadness. And I do share it. I don't know if it lightens their loads, but I share it. And remember how much I have to be thankful for.

AND

Early Thursday morning, we leave for Las Vegas. I don't know which to explain first, that early = a 5am flight, which means getting to the airport at I-don't-know-what-time, since
it's Thanksgiving.
AND we're traveling with a toddler.
AND a coworker showed up at the airport a couple of weeks, along with her toddler, two hours before her flight was scheduled to take off, but the flight was overbooked and they'd already given away her seat, and she had to hang out at the airport for six hours. With her toddler.
AND the damn lines*.

Or should I first explain that Las Vegas = home of Sam's parents, since they retired a few years ago. Yes, MrMan has grandparents in the two US cities with the most sinful reputations. I will be pleased to raise children who keep their clothes on.

Now that MrMan's two, we had to buy him a ticket. Yes, this kills me in so many ways since
he just turned two.
AND will probably spend much of the flight in our laps.
AND flights to Vegas are friggin expensive.
But watching him with his grandparents: priceless. (God bless Mastercard, for helping us put things in perspective.)

So, the real question is - for people like us, who don't fly that frequently with a toddler, so don't have one of those seats that rolls, what is the best way to manage the car seat? Did I mention we're changing planes in both directions? And have three hours to suffer spend in Dallas on the way back? And that I'm afraid my oozing head will bust a stitch?

*This one's for Pop.

Unconditional love

Most days, my mom picks MrMan up from school, as she gets off work earlier than me and Sam. But, today, we went to pick him up. I was so glad it was I who went in to get him. He was huddled with his classmates, but when I came in, he walked over to me, beaming. It was such a nice smile - very apparent, yet enigmatic, almost mischievous. And he just stood there, gazing at me, smiling, not saying anything. His happiness was so radiant, it made me laugh.
It's so nice to have someone in my life who is pleased just by the fact of my showing up. And lets me know it.

Speaking of MrMan and laughing, this weekend, while we were in Target, he was walking along, holding Sam's hand. And kicking to the back and mooing, doing his best impression of one of his favorite videos.

Highlights of the day

Before he's learned the rules

This morning, I woke up around 6:30, after having been in bed for twelve hours. With only a brief break to eat dinner, and get MrMan ready for bed. I'd say this week wiped me out. I probably overdid today, too - going in to work for a couple of hours, doing various errands, trying to comfort MrMan as he got his first haircut from someone other than me....

One of the things we bought was a helmet for MrMan, just in case he... I don't know... happens to get a tricycle for his birthday. His first choice was a pink one. Cotton candy pink. To be honest, I wasn't so on board with that one, but was talking myself into it. (It's true that pink is traditionally for girls in this country, but do you really want to buy into that? This is the color your son is choosing. Why teach him the "rules" if you think they're silly?) But Sam was never going to be okay with it. MrMan was not interested in the helmet with ducks. Or the outer space theme. We all finally settled on one that is dark purple and magenta.

Do, doing, done

It's Friday afternoon, so I should be psyched. A part of me is. But mostly, I'm feeling overwhelmed. By all the things I didn't get done but need to get done, all the things I did but wasted time doing, all the things I feel I should do, all the things I want to do....
I like to think this is a normal way to feel when a three-day-work-week is ahead, but more than five days of work need doing. Not to mention the various things that need to be done at home before leaving town.

Shuffling toward normalcy

I enjoyed my day in bed yesterday. Is that weird to say? Considering I had a pretty bad headache, was lightheaded and nauseated and tired, and even threw up. (Not in the bed, thank goodness.) I think I say it because it was the first time in over two years that I felt bad enough to lie in bed without guilt and didn't have to worry about taking care of anyone else (or worry about anyone else taking care of me). I dozed, read, dozed some more, ate, watched tv on my laptop, dozed yet some more. A perfect sick day.

I'm back at work. I've still got the headache. Despite the Vicodin. Which tells me it could be a whole lot worse without the controlled substances. But I'm back at work. And reasonably functional. I even was bold enough to unwrap my head. I figured that if I did it now, and started to swell, I could go across the street to get re-wrapped. So far, so good.

Still in bed

Can't work. Hurts too much. Awaiting Vicodin. Am drama queen.

Red head, bed head

So that was my last apple for a couple of days. I've had my head cut and preemptively wrapped in red. Festive. Let's hope the third time's a charm. It aches and stings a bit, but if my numerous visits to the cancer center have taught me anything (other than the things I wrote about here), it's that I'm thankful for my health. I've been there frequently, but I'm in and out quickly and this headache will be gone soon. I've got my hair (and a red hat, as described by MrMan), I can walk on my own, I don't carry a tank of oxygen, I've got energy, and for all of that (and more), I'm thankful.

MrMan's a fan, too

The season for them seems to be coming to an end, but I'm really enjoying the Jonagold lately. The perfect ratio of tart to sweet, in my opinion.

The grayness

This time change thing, and this whole fall fading to winter thing, isn't working for me. It seems wrong that it's only 3:30 in the afternoon and I've got a wall of windows next to me, yet I feel the grayness.

I haven't really had to deal with transition for six years. Hawaii's ratio of day to night is pretty consistent through the year (the down side of that is that you don't get the awesomeness of long summer days), and the time doesn't change. Last fall I was back on the mainland, but my only job outside of the house was at a school. I was out the door about now.

Such is life. And really I can't complain too much, because when I step out of the door later, it will be gray, but it will also still be warm.

Thinking about...

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the inequities of life. For a long while, I've been meaning to write about entitlement and how I think it's a good thing, but that will continue to simmer on the back burner. And this current entry is not really going to go anywhere, as MrMan is on the prowl and I'd like to direct the prowling toward fun rather than trouble. So I guess the short version is that I need to spend some time with The Prosperity of Humankind and Century of Light.

But, since MrMan is currently distracted, I will add that today's front page article is about the prospect of using public-private financing to partner the City Park golf courses and the currently closed St. Bernard housing project. The article mostly focuses on a similar project in Atlanta that is touted as successful. But it's hard for me to see as successful a transformation of an complex if it started out with 425 families and only 78 of them returned after the doors reopened. Where did the other families go? On the surface, I don't disagree with the concept of requiring jobs and banning drugs and criminal records. But, it doesn't sound like there were any tools developed to deal with such, or that the occupants of the complex had any say in these rules. Is it really addressing the problem of drugs and violence to simply ban them from a particular area? While there are a number of things in this complex that benefit the families that live there, the skeptical side of me focuses on the benefits for the people playing golf at the private club across the street from the complex. What message does it send that only those who follow the rules (and culture) of the people with the money get to stay? But even they do not get to play on the same greens.

Back on track

Today - two years, two months, and two weeks, minus two days, after the storm - the streetcar is once again running on St. Charles between Lee Circle and Napoleon Avenue.

When I first moved back here last year, I always checked for streetcars before driving across the neutral ground. Even though it had been six years since the last time I'd lived here. Even though the streetcars weren't running. Old habits, including the good ones, die hard. Unfortunately, I would say that's one habit that finally died, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who would say that. So, wish me, and all the other drivers on the roads that cross St. Charles, luck.

Driving hazards aside, I am so happy that this piece of New Orleans is once again functioning. It's one of our symbols. It's part of our transportation system. It's one of our tourist attractions. It's a source of revenue. It's back on track.

Next stop: the rest of the line.

Magnifeye

A couple... make that four... years ago, we here at the fam-lay, had a group blog. One dedicated to all things girlie. It was a blog that kind of fizzled out. But if it was still going, this entry is one I would put there.

Something I've recently discovered is the Revlon Magnifeye. This mirror rocks! It's like it's tweezing your eyebrows for you. Something about your eye seeing everything at ten times its normal size allows your hand to guide the tweezers to just the right hair. What makes it better is its great price, and its suction cups on the back. This way, you can stick it to a window and capitalize on the natural light that somehow has a way of highlighting every stray hair.
Warnings:
1) Make sure you keep a regular mirror nearby, so you don't lose the forest due to overharvesting the trees.
2) This mirror is not for the faint of heart - it really does show you your face very close up.

Here we go again

I just got my stitches removed. Yay! I was afraid it would hurt, but it was painless. I was hoping this would be the last I would write about my head saga. Except maybe to say that maybe I'll miss my bright blue stitches a little.

On the bright side, I'll be sporting bright blue stitches again in less than a week. On the not-so-excited-about side, they're not just a fashion statement: pathology says more of my scalp needs to be removed. Again, not cancer, just not normal.

I've learned a couple of things about medical care in the past month. After all, I have visited this clinic at the cancer center seven times in that time. And the primary clinic once. First of all, it's so important to look at yourself as a partner in the process. So often, I think, people look at themselves as the recepients of care. They forget that they have a role to play in ensuring that they get the best care they can get. Not just a role as an advocate, but also as an informed caretaker and information collector and sharer. I recognize that, unfortunately, this requires a modicum of health literacy - something that the medical system, and our society in general, doesn't always facilitate. (Just the fact that, so often, someone takes your blood pressure and doesn't tell you what it is, or what it means.)

For example, part of the decision-making process over the past month has relied on the fact that I shared with my doctors and nurses that I would like to get pregnant soon. If that wasn't a factor, they might have delayed the process. Worse, if I had chosen not to share that fact, they would have no reason to specifically tell me not to get pregnant until we're done with this. Then we'd be dealing with the possible effects of anesthesia on a developing embryo. In contrast, when I went the primary care clinic recently, I mentioned visiting the cancer center, but didn't really elaborate, and the physician didn't probe. Her suggestions for the pains in my chest included Advil. Not a good idea, since I'd recently been cut into. But part of that responsibility rests on me, because I didn't elaborate on what I'd had done. Luckily, I knew enough to ignore her suggestion. (Which I likely would have done anyway, since the chest pain is very mild and I'm not a big fan of unneccessary meds.)

The other thing I've learned is that it's the little things that make a big difference in how you perceive your quality of care. I have been SO pleased with the care I've gotten in the past month. The main reason: I've been treated with respect, as a person. For example, at the primary care clinic, I left my insurance card at the front desk so that the receptionist could make a copy. So often, the receptionist will then call your name out, and you get up from your seat to go get your card. But, in this case, she came out from behind the counter to give me my card. And when the billing person met with me, rather than just calling out my name, she came over to me to get me. Not a huge thing to do, but a very meaningful action. At the cancer center, there is that same courtesy and respect - remembering that I'm coming from a meeting, or just the fact that they frame decisions within the context of my anticipated pregnancy.

So, I'm bummed about having to get cut again. And delaying a baby. But I'm happy to have be part of such a great healthcare team.

Minor frustrations

I've been having some connection issues. One of the (minor) reasons to look forward to going home. Tonight! I get to see my MrMan!
I'll have to tidy things up around here later.

Something to look forward to

One thing that's been mentioned several times at this meeting is a series on PBS, to air starting in March 2008. I've seen the preview, and can't wait to see the series.
Unnatural Causes: Is Inequality Making Us Sick?

The easy version of long-term effects

Every day, per doctor's (and, maybe more importantly, the nurse's) orders, I've been cleaning the site of my stitches with hydrogen peroxide and water. I recall, in my teen years, unsuccessfully trying to bleach my hair with hydrogen peroxide. And that wasn't even halved with water. But, I guess if I'd applied hydrogen peroxide every day for two weeks, as I've done now, I would have achieved the brassy look I'm sporting in the front of my hair.

I'm beat

My place of employment got its money's worth out of me today, I would say. I started with my first session at 8:30 this morning and went straight through until 4:00, just grabbing breakfast and lunch and eating them in the sessions. At 4:00, I headed over to the exhibition hall to man our institution's booth. More fun than I expected - saw various people I knew. Had a little "down time," which I used to review what I want to attend tomorrow. Then headed to our alumni reception. I think I got a little high, connecting with people I hadn't seen in years. I loved my time in public health school and a huge part of that experience was my classmates. Many of whom are, and have been, doing great things around the globe.

Just to test my mettle, at 8:30 pm, I headed from the reception to another scientific session. I lasted only through the first two presenters.

Highlights of / interesting things learned during today's sessions:

My favorite session of the day, which I unfortunately missed the last part of was about race. Very exciting! Including:

Part of why I do this

Yesterday, as we taxied for take-off, I reached for the barf bag. I wondered if my seat mates were worried. No need, I just needed something to write on....

In general, I view flying as a necessary evil. I love experiencing new places, I just hate the journey. That concept well applies to many aspects of my life.
But today, as we pulled away from the gate, instead of anxiety, I felt warmth. Part of it was physical, from the glorious sunshine. But I was also reflecting on how nice the airport looked and how busy it was. Lacking the largeness and volume, but it seemed on the activity scale of O'Hare or Hartsfield. Planes pulling out, others turning in.... How I love a good system.

I was also thinking about the fact that this is the first time I've flown by myself in forever - sans child, sans husband. Probably since my trip to San Jose in February 2005. Note to self: check archives.

The cool thing is - I have those archives to check. Granted, I don't write about everything. Much of what I've written about is filtered. Or some experiences never got documented because I was too busy living them. Like pilgrimage, also in February/March 2005. Most of what I write is mundane. Much of it will serve of interest only to me. But every once in a while, through the lens of time, something I've written gains a little more significance.

I just started reading Bold Spirit. I've been excited about reading this book, about a woman who walked across America. In the late 1800s. Why had I never heard of Helga Estby? In her forward, which made me choke up a bit, Sue Armitage addresses this.

...Every day we make decisions about which events are important and which are not. In fact, our historical record begins right now in the present in this daily process of inclusion and omission.
...We expect the already great and famous to do great things, but we easily overlook the achievements of the more humble among us.
...We prefer predictable stories with easily understood motivations; unexpected actions undertaken for uncertain reasons make us uncomfortable.
...People who act too far from their expected norms are embarrassments to those around them.
How much truer is this likely to be when the historical actor is poor and female?

I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of this book.

And back to the plane ride - it was perfect. Beautiful weather in New Orleans. Beautiful weather in DC. And everywhere in between.

My fashion plate

Tonight, I came home to find MrMan asleep on the floor*, diapered butt in the air, clothes strewn around him. It was immediately apparent what kind of evening it had been. Lately, he's been quite obsessed with what he's wearing. Weekday mornings, there's not much compromising, since he has to wear a plain white shirt and navy bottoms to school. But, in the evenings and on the weekends, it's like he's making up for lost time.
We have to go through multiple wardrobe changes. The shirt with the crab on it. The beans and rice shirt. The tan shorts. The olive shorts. This pajama top. Those pajama bottoms. No, that shirt. The funny thing is that he is the one choosing what he wants to wear. Within split seconds of our helping him put it on, he starts screaming as if we've placed a shawl of nettles on him. And we have to take it off and move on to something else.
Apparently, this evening, he asked for a bath as soon as Sam got home from work. And then came to the dinner table wearing a pajama shirt and a diaper and clutching at least two pieces of clothing.

*This sounds more extreme than it is. Next to his bed, MrMan has a folded up comforter. It started out as a buffer in case he rolled off the bed on the floor. But over time, he's adopted it as his sleeping pallet. Sam thinks it's weird. But since I'm a fan of floor-sleeping, I think it's great.

I succumbed

Last night, I had grand plans. Grand in number, if not importance. I even proposed ordering dinner out, to help me along in accomplishing these plans. But, as we got MrMan ready for bed, I made the critical mistake of putting on my pajama pants. The better to relax in (and accomplish my plans), my dear, I told myself. The only thing I have to show for that critical mistake (besides a very full night of rest) is a clean body and head of hair, the latter which I even managed to blow dry, after I got up on the early side this morning. Woe is me.

I hope the whole year of two doesn't go this way

Remember how I said I don't thrive on lack of sleep? Remember how I said I wanted to squeeze in time with MrMan? I think he really wanted to test both of those things. After I put myself to bed at 2:00 this morning, I was awakened a mere few hours later. At the latest, it was 5 am. By a boy who usually sleeps until 7 am.

Here, Mee, let me whine about my pajama pants - on! off! midway! Push! I know I've joined you here in your bed, that I'm your guest, but I don't know how I feel about actually sharing the space with you. Let me stick my toes up your nose. Dee, do you need to be kicked in the back? Light! We must have light in here! I will not stop whining until the light is turned on! Let me play with the CD player. Oh, the music is a bit relaxing. But not relaxing enough! I am no longer pleased with the dinosaur pajama pants I chose last night. You must open the chest of drawers and get my car pajama pants. I will lie on my pallet on the floor. I will whine as I climb in my own bed. It's mine, you know! I will now escape into the bathroom, carrying the car pajama pants and two stuffed bears. Oh, no, it's the end of the world - the pajama pants have fallen to the floor! I am fearless, I have now kept myself, and my parents, awake for an hour. Let me wander farther. Oh, MamanJan is awake and in the den. I will stumble into the den and climb onto this chair, curl up and stick my bottom, still with no pants, in the air. Okay, done with that! Feed me! Yes, I will wait a little longer. I will pretend to snuggle with you, let you start to fall asleep again. Just kidding! I cannot wait!

And so it went. Wait, did I say I wasn't looking forward to the time away?

Number 15!

It's 12:45 in the morning. I should be sleeping. Or doing some work. But, instead, I'm blogging.

You know why? Because it's November 1, the first day of NaBloPoMo. I'm wondering why the flip I signed up for it again this year. Especially since I'm traveling 10 of the 30 days of the month. What was I thinking?! But there's no backing out now. Sure, I've yet to put the NaBloPoMo badge on my sidebar. But, people, I am member #15 of NaBloPoMo! Out of more than 3000! As I said, there's no backing out now.

The other reason I'm blogging: procrastination, stress, wondering how I'll get it all done. I'm not one of those people who thrives on lack of sleep. Saturday, I leave for DC. Between now and then, I need to fix the lapel on my coat, hem my pants, take care of a buttload of correspondence for LSA (is it disrespectful to use such a word in this context? what is it about leaving town that compels me to take care of things I've dragged out for a while already? in my defense, I spent much of last week in a fog), figure out what I'm wearing to a fancy work-related function Friday night, figure out how to conceal my stitches/greasespot for said function (though I'm really owning the stitches these days, something I've been meaning to write about), attend the function (and miss out on putting MrMan to bed for my last night in town until next Wednesday night, when I return at a time when he will already have gone to bed), get all my plans in place for the conference I'm attending, print out some pictures of MrMan to give to all the relatives I'll also be seeing in DC, take care of some things at work that can't wait any longer.

Oh, yeah, and try to squeeze in some time with the fam, especially MrMan. This will be the longest I've ever been away from him, and I don't think I'm looking forward to it. I'm suddenly thinking about my dad's cousins. When they first came from Iran many years ago, they left their parents and little sister behind. When they missed their sister, they would take out a baby shirt of hers and sniff it. Maybe I should take along one of MrMan's oatmeal-crusted tshirts.