yduras

Did I tweet yesterday? I did!

• 19:52 Star Trek DVD arrived in the mail. #

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I did not get many unsolicited belly pats. There was my hairdresser, who does the "girly girl" thing (complete with vaguely Valley Girl accent and squeals of delight) and from whom it seemed weirdly appropriate. There were a few folks at the last Storvik business meeting, who all but radiated hesitation and unasked "Can we pat it?" before, upon seeing that I was not bristling, indeed patted. I was okay with that because, if I were not okay, I would have said something. The nonverbal communication was sufficient (for me).

Then there was Target the other day. The entire encounter brought to mind an Internet discussion I read about the proper response to unwanted attention on the bus, and what if the person being obnoxious was "not neurotypical," and exactly how the sensitive-but-put-upon recipient of this obnoxiousness was supposed to be able to tell garden-variety asshole from legitimate Asperger's Syndrome.

"Congratulations! When are you due?" asked the gentleman.

"Thursday," I said.

He consulted his watch. "The nineteenth!" he proclaimed.

This was my first indication that this was not, perhaps, a "neurotypical" individual. Most people, in my experience, respond with something like "That soon?" or "Wow!" or "So you're about to pop!" or just "Good luck!" The calendar date corresponding to Thursday was unexpected.

He followed me as I continued to look for night lights, asking if it was a boy or a girl, if it was my first, and if my first was a boy or a girl. I continued to answer amicably, although I thought this was getting rather intrusive, because I was in a busy store and he hadn't asked for any really personal data like my name or the kids' names.

And then he reached for the belly. I just dropped my elbow to block his hand. To his credit, he stopped and started apologizing profusely.

I told him, repeatedly, that it was "okay," which really it wasn't, but I also wasn't particularly angry. I guess I was trying to say that "I am not angry with you but please don't do that," and it got summarized as "It's okay." My impression that he wasn't trying to be a jerk seemed to have been correct - rather than get angry or shouty at me, he just kept apologizing, offered blessings on my family, wished me Merry Christmas and Happy Thanksgiving and retreated.

I was still a bit sweaty and shaky afterwards, I guess because he could have gotten all angry and shouty. Still, in the middle of a Target with three sales associates nearby?

Anyway. That's got to be the weirdest pregnancy experience to date.

Today is my due date. His Imperial Majesty, Benjamin the First, has not yet deigned to give us a sign of his impending arrival.

In the last three days, I think I've gotten to the traditional "ZOMG so! pregnant!" place. There is pressure in places where there usually isn't, odd strains and tensions in other places, and general discomfort if I'm doing much besides sitting still. I sway like an old-time lumbering movie zombie when I walk. Getting off the sofa is a procedure in and of itself.

So, on my Thanksgiving list, is "Thankful that this didn't happen to me four weeks ago." I know some women say their entire ninth month is terribly uncomfortable, and I apparently lucked out.

Did I tweet yesterday? I did!

• 08:33 My brother thinks I should visit his household for more than babysitting. Radical thought. #

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With the holidays and how tight things are around the office...the bosses haven't given us early leave for a holiday since last Labor Day 08.

We get early leave for Thanksgiving...3PM out the door!

I am totally stunned.

Did I tweet yesterday? I did!

• 08:21 Ah, there my keys are! What a difference daylight makes. Discombobulates my whole day anyway, though. #
• 17:50 I am watching my neice! Like i an an adult or something! #
• 20:15 The little one is in bed. #

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Did I tweet yesterday? I did!

• 17:02 Just finished watching Waters of Mars. So... um... right, then. #

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"Stage directions will include: 'SARAH fires gun. MOOSE dies.'"

- Eugene Robinson ponders a Sarah Palin musical at the Washington Post.

There is a Thomas the Tank Engine Wiki. The amount of world-building done by Rev. Awdry appears to rival Tolkien. The Island of Sodor even has its own language.

There is a heavy emphasis in "Thomas" on being useful. That's not an unreasonable thing for a train to want to be, I suppose. Heck, there are worse things for a person to want to be. But it's been subtly bothering me for the past few days (as we have watched "Thomas and the Magic Railroad over and over and...). I think I finally figured out why.

In Econ 101, you do your work in units called "utils" that measure utility. It's made clear that there is no one right, unfixed standard of utility, and that the thing which you scarcely value now may be very valuable later. (Standard undergrad example: the first slice of pizza, when you are starving, is worth more utils than the sixth slice of pizza.)

If you aspire to be useful... according to whose standards?

On an impulse, I bought two monogrammed Christmas stockings at Target. One had an "M," the other, a "B." I showed them to the Dear Spouse.

"Who's the 'B' for?" he asked.

"Ben!" I replied indignantly. (Ben being the actual to-be-bestowed name for Mr. Due On Thursday.)

The Dear Spouse apologized profusely. He assumed the "M" stocking was for him and couldn't figure out how I was a "B".



...okay, I have to admit that I was looking for the "S" stockings when I saw the "M" and remembered that my first child's name is not really Spud.

Out in the Internet wilds, I found a recipe for Flan Cake. I love flan, I like cake. This sounded awesome.

It's pretty dang good. I'll admit, I was expecting a sort of cake-made-with-pudding effect, a dense, very moist and sticky caramel cake: a cake sort of infused with the nature of flan.

No, it's yellow cake. With flan on top. Which is still pretty cool, but not what I was hoping for.

It is definitely better after a night in the fridge. Mine came out with the cake a bit dry - I may have overbaked. Also, I am not convinced that Hersey's Caramel Topping should really be used for flan caramel. Another recipe called for a "can of cajeta" which is allegedly available a las bodegas latinas; I'd like to try that, or else boil up a can of evaporated condensed milk until it caramelizes.

Did I tweet yesterday? I did!

• 10:56 Hey, wow. It's Friday the 13th. #
• 11:23 The Spa at Hotel Hersey offered me a $25 credit for visiting them at the chocolate show - bit.ly/1lONYJ #
• 22:12 Once again spotted solution to this weeks #SGU 1609.3 meters away. It's almost as though I've read a lot of SF in my life or something. #

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Road trip for foam core on Saturday! Off to the wilds of Selden NY to the Pearl Paint. Ok what else is out there...wait dare I say it THE GAMING STORE..I am really hoping Gil or Larry is there....wanna tour of the digs!!

They decided they couldn't live without me so I am being moved back on the front line (the executive office area). Don't get me wrong the window seat was nice for awhile but after a couple of weeks of the cubicle mate from hell...it is much better to have Dickson as a cubicle mate. He is much nicer to work with.

The only thing is he has huge allergies for flowers but the greenery is good to go!

All i know is I gotta repack and move stuff...great I HATE moving!

But at least I get the fun view again.

Did I tweet yesterday? I did!

• 13:36 Dithering about Xmas flights. JetBlue out of JFK is cheaper or the same and more comfy, but it'd be $126 in parking. #
• 20:27 Well, I am now a DCI/RPGA member. Hurrah? #

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He played with the rice for two hours straight, and returned to it throughout the afternoon and evening.

While the table was never upended, there is only maybe a 1/4 cup of rice left in it, the rest having been scattered gleefully during play. Mostly it swept up easily in periodic clean-ups, but I have no doubt we will be finding rice grains for weeks or months to come. Some, clinging to socks and pants, have migrated to the living room and perhaps elsewhere.

So. Totally. Worth it.

I'm not going to make it a regular play station in the house, but boy that's a good thing to have in one's bag of tricks to occupy an active, cranky, bored kid on a rainy afternoon.

Spud has been fascinated with water recently. In particular, he likes to go into the bathroom and play with his trucks in the sink. This requires constant supervision, since it's a very short trip from the sink to the toilet. (The trucks in question are often dump trucks, too, and he'll drink the cargo of water...) That's not too bad, but now he wants to stand on the toilet to reach the faucet, or else hoist himself up onto the sink, and that's just a concussion waiting to happen.

So we started with an improvised water table in the kitchen. He's got a square play table with a dished bottom and a lift-out top (fiddly bits on one side, Duplo-esque base on the other). We put some cups with water in them in that, and he was good for a while with pouring water from cup to cup. But then you get into the splashing and the drinking the dirty water and it wasn't looking like such a good idea.

So I had an idea for Improvement. I poured two pounds of dry rice into the thing and put in his toy construction trucks and some cups and spoons.

"ooOOOOooo..." said Spud.

He's been playing with it for twenty minutes straight so far. I am going to think this is the best idea ever, right up until the point when he dumps it all over the kitchen floor.

At least dry rice is pretty easy to sweep up.

I have a vivid memory of Grade 6 class presentation to the rest of my grade school where I was the narrator for this poem and my friend up the street who played the bagpipes.

And I remembered the first stanza of the poem without any prompting or looking up on the internet.

To all those who has served and made the ultimate sacrifice we this day salute you more than any other day of the year.

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Did I tweet yesterday? I did!

• 14:17 I have a couple Google Wave invites left. Do any of my friends want one? #

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I went out and bought a pile of calligraphy supplies, using several of the "Beginning Scribal" websites out there to make my list. I should have gone to Office Depot first and then to the pricier arts store, but oh well. I think I've gotten everything except the Ames Lettering Guide, which I see is available on Amazon.com.

All I could find for nibs were Speedballs. At least one website recommended against them, and I've seen at least one displaying a scroll done with Speedball C nibs, the very ones I bought. Oh well... cross fingers and hope for the best. I'll just know to try to find another nib if I find the Speedballs hopelessly difficult to work with.

Now I just have to find some time to play with them!

Did I tweet yesterday? I did!

• 08:32 From "The Men Who Stare At Goats" - www.firstearthbattalion.org/ #
• 11:45 Still waiting for my 6E books. Other NewJerseyites have had theirs for more than a week. Stupid postal service. #

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