State Of The Uterus Address

Ethan is an only child. For all intents and purposes, he will remain so.

There are about fourteen billion reasons for me NOT to have another baby, not the least of which is the fact that pregnancy-related hormones can cause tumor size to increase. But that is not something I am willing to discuss with most people in my life. My best friends, yes. But not the checkout guy at Trader Joe's, the school bus driver, or the old lady on the corner with the bad knees and blue hair.

Yet people I don't know well feel compelled to ask all the time, "When I am going to have another?" Like, if you have one child, obviously the pipes are working and doesn't everyone want to be like that show on TLC where the family has six-hundred and eleventy children all named J-names living in some sort of expansive compound that the children built together in flagrant violation of child labor laws? Isn't that the American Dream?

This line of questioning is analogous to relative strangers asking my formerly pregnant self direct questions about the action South Of The Border ("dilated yet?") or about my boobs ("planning to breastfeed?"). You may have noted I am not a particularly private person, but even I found exchanges about my nipples with people I am not on a first name basis with awkward.

I honestly do not know how to reply when people ask, "Isn't it time for another?" or my personal special favorite warning, "Only children grow up to be spoiled and selfish." I am tempted to reply that if that is the case, my son and I will get along just fine as he grows up since Spoiled And Selfish is my middle name (but when sending correspondence, I shorten it to "S" for the sake of brevity).

Recently, Ethan has himself been championing the baby cause. He informed me the other day that "going to your doctors and nurses can put a baby in your tummy." In which case, remind me to ask for an additional exam bench liner during my next appointment. God knows what is on that seat and one cannot be too careful.

A Day For The Fathers

Because it is hard to be brilliant twice, below is a re-post from November 2009. Salutations to all the baby daddies out there, hope you are enjoying a day full of tools, grilling, and other manly endeavors.

Cheers to my awesome dad, especially!

XO, J

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Dear Dad,

In honor of your birthday today, I baked you a cake. Well, not really, but Mom did. We both know that is much better because it will be delicious and cooked in all places, unlike my cakes. What I did do was download some Internet pictures OF cake for you to enjoy for your birthday, which is practically the same thing as baking, in terms of effort. Those will come later ... too many good ones to comment on. Who knew so many cakes were created to celebrate teeth?

As you know, you retired this month from practice, but you enjoyed being a dentist for 34 years.

I remember I thought it was so cool when you'd come to Career Day at my elementary school. In first grade, you handed out those pink tablets that kids chew and then their teeth would turn pink in places where they had not brushed enough. Judging by these tablets, nobody in the first grade class had brushed their teeth for at least four years.

Dentistry is admittedly not the most "cool" profession (we all know, that would be accounting) but in third grade, I met Patrick Ewing when he came in for an appointment and that was cool to me. Sort-of famous people are impressive to little kids. From what I recall, he had tall incisors. When I was in fourth grade, you saved a German Shepherd by performing emergency skull and jaw surgery after he got hit by a truck. (I don't know why the vet was not on call, but whatever ... my memories, my retelling ... ) Add that to my Dad Is A Hero column!

Then, sometime between middle and high school, you switched from World's Greatest Dad, My Hero to Mr. Terrible, He Who Is Intent On Life Ruining And Fun Prevention. You were strict growing up. You may recall, I was grounded fairly consistently from years twelve until eighteen. I was expected to have a job. I was not allowed to wear clothes that were either crotchtacular or cleavagey. If I was giving off even a hint of that street-corner vibe, I was sent upstairs to change (and while I was it, I could wash that paint off my face too).

Don't get me started on boys or drinking. The look you gave my boyfriend when he came to pick me up for Prom said loud and clear, "Don't test me. Home by midnight is not a suggestion, but a threat, I know where you live and I don't think anyone would miss you."

I do not even want to discuss what happened when you and Mom were on vacation and I had a friend or two (hundred) over and a few of said friends tampered with the nitrous tank in your office (Words of advice: IF YOU DO NOT WANT YOUR KIDS TO PLAY WITH THE NITROUS DURING HIGH SCHOOL PARTIES THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE, THEN YOU SHOULD TELL THEM THAT AHEAD OF TIME. Like, duh ... I was not a mind-reader).

One of the biggest points of contention during adolescence was that you would not let me get my driver's license until I was seventeen. At the time, you might as well have forced me to wear headgear and a yellow "I'm With Stupid" t-shirt to the Homecoming Game. No driver's license = Social Death. And then you refused to buy me a car, cruel and unusual punishment in its own right.

Get this Internet: I was told if I wanted a car, I HAD TO BUY MY OWN. But adversity makes one stronger and I managed to survive despite your continued efforts at life-ruining. I grudgingly admit that since I started college able to read, spell, and as not-a-parent, maybe you were doing something right.

When you were not attempting to ruin my teenage life for the sheer fun of it, you were working. You had a practice in Georgetown, where you were a professor, and one in Columbia. The hours were long, the commute was long, you were busy. Always a consummate professional, your patients loved you. It was due to you that I learned work ethic and responsibility to cases and clients. You always cared about the people you treated, not just the cases, and that was a lesson I carried with me through the years. You did pro bono work for people that could not afford dental care, something I eventually tried to emulate in my own practice, even if it meant scheduling time for them on weekends or late evenings.

No matter how much of yourself you devoted to your practice, you taught me that work did not preempt family. You always structured your practice to be there for kids' stuff growing up. You never missed any of my horse shows or Scott's baseball games. On weekends, you would take us to DC to visit the Museum of Natural History or one of the art museums (probably because it was free, but also because it was educational). Now that Ethan is playing soccer, you've always been there to cheer him on when he makes a goal, or sometimes, just trips over another kid and falls in the mud. You cheer for that too.

A toast to you on your birthday, the best dad I have. Mom shared this picture with me. It is a favorite of mine, I think it captures you in all your wisdom and dignity.

Georgetown Dental School Graduation, 1974

(**Casual Dress Day?)

Two weeks after you graduated with open lab jacket, triumphant Budweiser in hand, and prominent chest hair on display, Mom married you. I mean, how could she say no to all that? Scott and I know the rest of the story. We'll have some cake in your honor tonight and I promise to floss when I am done.

Happy Birthday Dad!

We love you!

The Burden Of Being Beautiful

School is out for the summer! Anyone else have kids where the last week of school had more activities packed in than a trip to Europe? Field day/graduation/book reading party/end of year BBQ/dad's something or other ...

Regarding field day, if you volunteer, and you slather your kid with a shot glass full of SPF 1,178 every twenty minutes like a concerned, dutiful mom, yet neglect to put sunscreen on your own shoulders/back over the course of a three-hour ninety-degree day, you will be a tomato for the next week. I am talking red, raw, fire. Like the surface of the sun, on my back. Oops. Perhaps I should have rethought the field day volunteer outfit of daisy dukes and Confederate flag string-bikini top. What? The email said "casual" dress.

A curious phenomena arose during this observing of all the school festivities. For the first time, I noted that it seems as though my son is IN with those first grade ladies. They like him, like him. For the most part, he seems oblivious to the hair-twisting, giggling attention.

Or so I thought. While driving the other day, he was enjoying a party favor from my friends' twins' first birthday. A pinwheel. Which is more fun when you roll the window down and hold it up in the car's wind to make it spin at super speed.

A SUV hauling a gaggle of field-hockey uniformed teens stopped next to us at a light. They took in the scene and started smiling and waving at Ethan and his pinwheel. He sighed and rolled up the window.

I wondered what that was all about and pointed out that they were waving at him because they thought he was cute.

He replied, in a world-weary tone, and shot me his best Blue Steel. "I know, Mommy. That is what girls do. I get that ALL. THE. TIME."

Should

Sunday, the house is quiet. The boys are in Pennsylvania, visting relatives.

I should be going to the grocery store, organizing the toys, cleaning out spring clothes and making room for summer ones, washing beach towels and restocking on sunscreen.

Instead, I am sipping my latte and catching up on blog reading. Then I will meet a lovely friend for a long overdue dinner, wine - yes please! - and maybe catch a chick flick on TiVo. Seems like a better use of my time today.

Happy lazy summer days, my friends.

Seven

Because this post calls for an utterly random, slightly grainy teenage picture, probably taken with a disposable camera. That was my room, note how neat I was. Note the happy expression on my face, not at all full of angst and teenage drama. That was me, getting ready for prom or, maybe, gym class? I cannot be sure.

I received the Versatile Blogger Award from Denalee at Silver Strands. http://lovely-silver-strands.blogspot.com/ and also was honored by Falling Off A High-Heeled Life. http://attitudeivlife.blogspot.com/ Check out both of these blogs! Both tell the story of fun, inspiring, and caring women facing life challenges.

The award rules state one should list seven things about herself. Just seven?! Alright, here goes ...

1) I love summer, bathing suits, flip-flops, beaches, and sunshine. Generally, I dislike winter. Snow is fine on Christmas Eve, but then only a dusting to make my sparkle lights and wreath on the front door look festive. I see no reason in voluntarily being cold, unless one is skiing. Skiing is, of course, an exercise that involves drinking mulled cider (*with rum!) by a fire, fashionable new attire, and visiting exclusive locales with names that start with "St." All things I enjoy.

2) Due to this week's computer hack, I no longer exist on Facebook or email. All my accounts have been shut down because someone got my password. On a related note, had I known there were so many people who would willingly have wired $2,500 if I were stuck in Europe, I would have gone a long time ago.

3) Between the brain, the clumsy, and the seven-year-old boy in sports, I should look into investing in an ER frequent flyer card. Last night, for example, I fell over a toy monster truck in the living room, resulting in a mangled toe, culminating in a late-night urgent care trip and some stitches. No big deal, I'll heal, but my stilettos are grounded for the next few weeks. No sparkly scarf dancing either, until I am better. Sads.

4) If someone offered me a million dollars to be a teenager again for a week, I would not take it. Although, all things considered, my high school life was not that rough, I still found being a teenager painful in many ways. Senior year, I was Homecoming Queen. Lest you think of me a certain way now, please note that I was also in Science Club. Reconcile those two labels in your head. I know! It's like trying to make sense of the season finale of "Lost." I have always had an eclectic group of friends, which is something I've come to appreciate as I've gotten older. My high school best friend was a cheerleader with amazing legs/National Merit Scholar with an amazing brain, who later became a 4.0 physics/engineering double-major and is now a M.D. and supermom. She is hysterical and brilliant and still one of my closest friends in the world. But back to being royal, the only distinction this accolade has been useful for in real life was ten years later when my husband discovered the sash and tiara in my parent's attic and wore them, accented with a long silver gown and red lipstick, to a Halloween party.

5) In college, I continued to suffer from multiple personality disorder. I was a Tri Delt sister. I was also a Phi Kap little sister. The first involved going to meetings and events and acting like I, as a Tri Delt sister, did not go to parties and events to hook up with Phi Kap brothers, but for philantrophy. The second involved going to rush and parties and convincing the pledges that I, as a Phi Kap little sister, did go to parties and events to hook up with Phi Kap brothers, because they were awesome. Guess which one was more fun? For the record, I was only hooked up with one long-term Phi Kap during my tenure, just in case you are getting the wrong idea that I was some sort of frat mattress for a whole fraternity. That would be exhausting.

6) Despite my many lofty extracurricular collegiate pursuits, after graduation, I knew it was time to get serious about life. I was thisclose to getting my Pysch PhD but instead ended up in law school. Shorter duration, and higher projected starting salaries, and I am nothing if not laz ... err ... I mean, efficient. I am currently on "sabbatical" from law firm life. Those that follow this blog know why. Which brings me to my next point ...

7) ... I have a serious addiction problem and should probably consider getting help before it is too late. Truly awful reality TV is my nemesis. I wonder if there is a 12-Step Program to deal with my issues?

Rose-Colored Glasses

Someone likes my new shades.



The modeling directive for this photo shoot was, "Just stand there and be normal." Let's see how we did ...

THERE we go! Smizing properly, at last! Tyra would be proud.

HACKED!

I am posting here to get the word out. Someone has hacked into my hotmail account and Facebook page and is sending email that I am stuck in London and need money to return. This is NOT FROM ME! I am working with hotmail to close the hacked account, as well as my Facebook page. Sorry for the inconvenience to all of you!

Mermaid

This is not me. But it will be me in three to four more yoga sessions (and plastic surgery, an 800 calorie a day diet, and surgical removal of a rib or two).

Note her jangly bikini, this is the swimwear version of the jangly hip-scarf. I went back to the NIA class and loved it even more the second time. Less spinning = less falling. Much better.

I also discovered a new class that was lots and lots of fun. Well, much more fun that having ribs removed, anyway. It is called Aqua Zumba and it is basically Latin dancing in the pool. I am a summer/beach/flip-flop kind of girl, so I heart me some water time on a sunny day. An added bonus is that when you trip in the pool, the water catches you. No falling over! AHA! I think I am on to something here.

An added, added bonus of this class was that because water exercise caters to the Golden Girl set, I was the youngest one there by at least three decades, and therefore felt very vibrant and spry. I don't normally like to brag, but no bunions here ladies! Eat your hearts out.

Now if you'll excuse me, Betty, Rose, and Hazel (my new swim friends!) are waiting for me to head to the mall with them. They promised to help me pick out a pink flower petal swim cap and some nose plugs for next week's class. They are all the rage amongst us water aerobicizers.