Under the Glass Bell

When are You Gonna Come Down? When are You Going to Land?

Hello.

Nablopomo.

Go!

All is well in the outskirts of Chicago. We moved in June. We now live in Oak Park. Love our house and the hood and all about it. It's been good for us.

The boy is almost 3. Another baby is on the way. He or she is set to make her appearance on April 20th, 2009. (C-section has already been scheduled.) Morning sickness is terrible this go round. I'm 15 weeks and it still hasn't let up. That's been rough.

The hub is wonderful as always.

Fall can be so comfy. I just took some time this evening and got all woozy over it. Root vegetables and soups and gratins and orange-colored knee-length sweaters. Been listening to lots of Shawn Colvin and the latest Juliana Hatfield. Tomorrow I think it's time to break out some Joni Mitchell. Although I'm going to have to fight B to keep the new goddamn Bob Dylan out of the stereo. Christ, I hate him. (Dylan, not the hub.)

Let's see how far I can take it this month. Bon nuit.

A Sorta Fairytale with You

I am so damn jazzed about a site I found in the Chicago Trib this AM. About two months ago, a tsunami of catalogs washed into our mailbox. We used to get an occasional catalog. Maybe 3 or 4 a week. And always from a store that I shop from often. But something happened. I'm in marketing, so I understand the process. I think there were two triggers that kicked in. 1) I'm a huge online shopper and some fuckwhit site sold my address to make a turd bit of incremental revenue to try to save the quarter. (This REALLY pisses me off as I am a straight white hat marketer. Listen to the current FTC hearings, dickheads.) Also, I jumped lifestages when I became a mom and my son is now officially a toddler. So, he jumped one too.

Now, when I say tsunami, I am talking about an average of eight to ten catalogs a day. EVERY day. EVEN on Saturdays. I recycle and the amount of paper that I'm recycling every week is freaking me out.

So, this morning, I'm reading the trib online and there is an article about a not-for-profit company called "Catalog Choice". They have a huge list of catalogs and you can choose the ones that you would no longer like to receive and they will contact the company on your behalf asking them to take you off the list. I spent about a half hour putting in my requests this morning. I cannot wait to see if it works. The word on the street though is that they do get you off the lists.

So, my sinus infection came back. (I'm a total dork and didn't finish all of my antibiotics. WHO doesn't finish their antibiotics? Me, obviously.) So, new type of antibiotics and I'm taking it easy today.

I had a sudden memory last night. It was about my friend who I wrote about a few weeks back. Another incident in which I didn't question something that happened. And again, this seems like a dream to me. I think about it now and wonder how in the world I could have not said anything about it to her.

My friend had come into town to visit. And we went out to a couple of bars to have a few drinks. We got hit on by a couple of guys. They were nice enough and bought us drinks. But I got from her that she thought they were dorks. (Again, she was married. Had been for about five years.) And then the next thing I know is that she is in a total liplock with one of the guys. Actually, I believe there was tongue involved. It was surreal. It wasn't a long make out session. Just 30 seconds or so of kissing and then they acted like nothing happened and shortly after that, the guys took off.

How does one explain that? I get her behavior. But mine is still puzzling to me.

All the Good Girls are at Home with Broken Hearts

I had a moment of pure joy yesterday. It was a cool, but sunny day here in Chicago. The leaves are beautiful. I drove from my house to Target to pick up some last minute things for Baby C's Halloween party. Free Fallin' came on the radio and I blasted it and sang along and all felt right in the world.

And then I came back to reality. The hub has been sick for 5 days, Char has been sick and is teething, I'm working myself into the ground at work and we're all cranky as hell. I just threw out the rest of the Halloween candy as I know that stuffing my face with chocolate all day has not helped the mood issue.

Char was adorable yesterday. He had six friends over in the afternoon. I had to work for most of it, but came up for a while and took some photos.

Here is something completely out of left field, but it drives me nuts. I absolutely hate sippy cups. They just gross me out. I know that I have a super keen sense of smell, but come on. The hard plastic holds odors. I cannot stand picking up a cup before pouring milk in it and smelling dish soap. And don't get me going on those stupid plastic valves. It is impossible to feel like one of those has actually been sanitized. Plus, I'm constantly fighting with my husband over it as he forgets to take them out and clean them separately from the cup. Twice now, I've pulled out a valve before I gave it to my guy to find moldy milk gunkus inside. I am constantly yelling at B, "You're going to kill the baby!"

Yeah, I'm a bit on edge as of late.

Monday night, Tori Amos at the Auditorium Theatre second row seats. I need a lip gloss boost in my America.

Women for Women International

I recently joined an organization called Women for Women International. I'm taking some copy from their website because they explain it better than I ever could.

From Victim to Survivor...to Active Citizen

Women for Women International mobilizes women to change their lives by bringing a holistic approach to addressing the unique needs of women in conflict and post-conflict environments.

We begin by working with women who may have lost everything in conflict and often have nowhere else to turn. Participation in our one-year program launches women on a journey from victim to survivor to active citizen. We identify services to support graduates of the program as they continue to strive for greater social, economic and political participation in their communities.

As each woman engages in a multi-phase process of recovery and rehabilitation, she opens a window of opportunity presented by the end of conflict to help improve the rights, freedoms and status of women in her country. As women who go through our program assume leadership positions in their villages, actively participate in the reconstruction of their communities, build civil society, start businesses, train other women and serve as role models, they become active citizens who can help to establish lasting peace and stability.

Women begin in our Sponsorship Program where direct financial aid from a sponsor helps them deal with the immediate effects of war and conflict such as lack of food, water, medicine and other necessities. Exchanging letters with sponsors provides women with an emotional lifeline and a chance to tell their stories —maybe for the first time. As their situations begin to stabilize, women in our program begin building a foundation for their lives as survivors.

I was matched with my sponsor sister a few weeks back. Her name is Felillia and she is from Nigeria. She is approximately 40-years-old (she doesn't know her date of birth), with six children of her own and has a niece and nephew that live with her as well. I sent her my first letter last week. It can take up to 3-months for the letters to arrive. She cannot read or write, so the letter will be read to her and she'll have the chance to dictate a letter back to me.

I love the whole concept of connecting one on one with a women from a completely different culture. I had to think long and hard about what to write in my letter to her. It's hard to strip things down and find something to say when you don't have a cultural/material point of reference. So what did I come up with? Kids, ancestors, history, human nature. It also makes me sick to think that the $30 a month that I send her makes such a huge difference in her life. How can we live with ourselves in a world where whole societies are left to their own to starve and kill their own? Where a lousy $30 means the difference between living with dignity and uncertain survival.

So, that's what I'm thinking about at the moment. I pray for Felillia each night before I go to sleep. It's strange to think that someone half a world away, living in a hut with no electricity or running water is doing the same for me.

L' chaim.

The Kind You Don't Take Home to Mother

Lookie what I just bought!