All I ask is that you please not take advantage of this

I believe in New Year’s resolutions.

I know a lot of people don’t, and I get that, because they are a bit doomed to failure.  Why should this day, this January 1st day, be so magical that it will help us overturn all of the bad habits that we’ve spent a lifetime cultivating?  It’s sheer folly to expect that.  The chime of midnight will not make us eat less sugar, put down the cigarette, get out for a walk, or yell at the kids less.  Silliness.

But I love the idea of a fresh start, the image of toeing the start line for a new and better me, waiting for that midnight start gun to go off.  So I do believe in New Year’s resolutions, I just don’t believe in those kinds of silly, pointless, not-gonna-happen New Year’s resolutions.

What I like to do is take stock of my life and sense where I’d like to go with it.  Where I’d really like to go with it.  Where I’d really like to go with it, not where I think my mother, my doctor, my friends would like me to go with it.  Then I resolve to move towards that life, one step at a time, all year long.

One year I vowed to become more self-aware, more in touch with my reasons for doing what I am doing.  And while I still do stupid things like lose my temper or eat an entire bag of chips in one sitting, I can now sometimes stop myself say, what, exactly, is causing this?  And I can divert myself.  Progress.

One year I decided to take my yoga practice more seriously and to use it to open my heart.  I’ve been slacking on the physical yoga lately, but the emotional and mental part sticks with me and the blessings yoga gives me pay off every day.

One year I felt the need to take my writing more seriously.  You are looking at one of the results of that.

This year?

Hmmm…

I kind of feel a combination of all of the above.  I need to be more introspective, do more yoga, write more and market it.  Also, be nicer to my husband, be a better employee, and get a decent haircut.  But do you see what that looks like?  It looks like your typical lose weight/eat better/be nicer New Year’s list which doesn’t work.  So, while I would like to do those things, I’m not going to resolve to do them.

What am I going to do?  It took me a surprisingly long time to figure out how I would like to evolve this year, but I think I’ve finally got it.

I spend a lot of time saying no to things.  I’m a big No woman.  I say No to going places that take me out of my comfort zone.  I say No to experiences that might be embarrassing if I fail.  I say No to attending social events because I’d rather hibernate than put forth the effort to meet people.  No, No, No.

I think I’m done with No.

I think in 2009 I’m going to practice saying Yes.  I’m going to say Yes whenever my first instinct is to say No.  Except, of course, where saying Yes might threaten the safety or integrity of myself or my family.  I’m not crazy, just a little negative.

So, there we have it.  And now I need suggestions.  What should I start saying Yes too?

Oh, and I am going to move forward on the “decent haircut” thing as well.

Ho Ho Holy Crap It’s Hot

I will be laying low the next week or so, as I am down in the Warm Place where my in-laws live.  We are spending Christmas down here this year, which is too bad because at my house we have approximately 38 feet of snow (give or take) and it all felt very Christmas-y.  But, alas, we haven’t been down here for Christmas in a while and so south we headed, gaining a net positive temperature change of approximately 72 degrees in 12 hours.  I sometimes wonder what that kind of shock does to the body, but I don’t wonder too much because it means I was able to take the Buddha outside today without first swaddling her in fleece and wool.  And that’s always good.

But I did want to drop in to give a quick holiday shout-out to the peeps.  Merry-Happy-Jolly Holiday-of-Your-Choosing.  Be well, eat much, give lots, and let the light of the season touch your soul.

If you need me I’ll be down here.  Sweating.

Oh hooray! Something else to look forward to!

(ring, ring)

Her: Hello, Happy Heinies* Day Care!

Me: Hi! It’s Alias Mother**, the Buddha’s*** mother.

Her: Hey there!

Me: I just wanted to let you know that the Buddha won’t be in today.  She seems to be a little under the weather so we are going to keep her home.

Her: Oooooh, does she have the Thing?

Me: What Thing?

Her: The Vomit Thing.

Me: Noooo… she just has a cold.  My husband will be home anyway so we just thought we’d keep her home to rest because we’ll be traveling next week and we’re hoping she’ll get over the cold before then and I’m sorry, what Vomit Thing?

Her: There’s been this Vomit Thing circulating through the baby room.  I was afraid she’d come down with it.

Me: Um, no.  Not yet.

Her: Great!  Okie-dokie!  Thanks for calling.

(click)

Me: Vomit Thing?  Vomit Thing?!  WHAT VOMIT THING?!?!?!

*NOTE: I know you are shocked, but this is not the actual name of my day care.  And more’s the pity, eh?

** NOTE: I don’t actually refer to myself this way.

***NOTE: I don’t actually call my daughter…never mind.  You get it.

Just in case you ever wondered if I’m the black sheep

I’m not.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce my family?

E-mail from me to my sisters:

Hey guys,

I just wanted to apologize in advance and let you know that we are putting the kibosh on Christmas gifts this year. I had planned to make things for people, but now I’m running out of time and decided to give myself a break and just be Scrooge.

So! Please don’t get anything for us. And if you already have, please feel free to return it (or keep for yourself or give to war orphans or whatever).

Bah humbug.

Reply from Sister #1:

Fine with me. Why would I get you something for Christmas anyway, you ungrateful little schmuck?

Besides, I don’t want anything more than I already own. And not much of that either. (So if you find some of my crap waiting for you at your house, think nothing of it…)

Reply from Sister #2:

Well there go my HUGE plans. I mean really. I will return the items from Tiffany’s. Or maybe the orphans will look good in the tiara.

I love my family.

Perhaps we can “hire her out” like they did in the olden days

The Buddha has developed some new habits of dubious origin. And by “dubious,” I mean that they certainly didn’t come from me and oh my good heavens most certainly not from her father. Or from either side of our families as far as we can tell, as we both come from salt-of-the-earth folk who are funny and slightly twisted and hard-working and genially whacked but absolutely NOT clean freaks.

Yet, somehow, the Buddha is. A clean freak that is. (And probably the other stuff, too, but as her current vocabulary consists of “Mama,” “Dada,” and “dog”and most of her time is spent banging on tables we really can’t tell for sure.)

Beyond being a clean freak, she is now exhibiting outward disgust and dismay at my housekeeping. Now, I have a somewhat ambivalent relationship with housekeeping. I like a clean house (who doesn’t?) but I’m not particularly driven to clean it (who is?). I do the best I can, and by “the best I can” I mean I aim for a generally clean kitchen every night, a generally germ-free bathroom every week, and a generally low level of stuff scattered about at any given moment. I do laundry once a week, I vacuum and sweep when the dog and cat hair threaten to take over, and I dust when I can no longer clearly see the TV screen.

In other words, I am not going to win any housekeeping awards, but you won’t see Aggie from How Clean is Your House? swabbing away at my floors in horror, either.

But you will see the Buddha doing so, oh yes you will.

While out and about on her mad crawling adventures, she will periodically stop, ponder the floor in puzzlement, then sit down and hand me whatever bit of dirt she had managed to find. Could be a scrap of paper, could be a pebble someone tracked in, could be a speck of something completely invisible to every naked eye but her own. And she doesn’t just hand it over.  She eyes it carefully whilst holding it daintily between thumb and forefinger, then looks up at me as if to say, “I’m sorry, mother, but you seem to have overlooked this. I’m sure it was an accident,” and gently places it in my cupped hand. Then she’s off and about on her day. It’s simultaneously charming and annoying as all hell.

As if that weren’t quite enough, she’s obsessed with helping me clean. Now, I am all for child labor…I mean “chores.” I subscribe firmly to the “We’re all members of this household and we will all do our part to keep the household running” way of thinking. But I don’t need for the training to start quite this early. It’s kind of hard to sweep with a baby holding onto the broom, if you hear what I’m saying. Her absolute most favorite task is to help unload the dishwasher. Whenever she hears the door open, she zips into the kitchen in order to hand me utensils one by one while I desperately try to finish the rest of the dishes. Because once she finishes with the spoons she goes right for the plates. And that doesn’t seem like a good idea.

(I have to wait until she’s not around to load the dishwasher, though, as she tends to pull things out as fast as I put them in.)

I am trying to turn this to my advantage. I’m working on the concept of putting the toys back IN the toybox at night and I’m pondering taping some Swiffer cloths to her knees. Just because I don’t know where this trait came from doesn’t mean I am not willing to exploit it. Oh no.

Manipulating others into doing the dirty work is most certainly a family trait.

Poverty Party Post: Giving it away

Remember the Poverty Party? Which I promised to write about but didn’t? This is why bandwagons and I don’t get along. I have no bandwagon stamina.

Plus my original vision for what I had to offer to the party became quickly obsolete once the economy forced the Alias Father to join the ranks of the chronically underemployed. Now we aren’t paying off debt anymore. Now we are accruing debt. Now we are freakin’ broke. And by “freakin’ broke” I mean that in order to pay the mortgage this month we had to take all but $20 out of our savings account and (may any gods or goddesses out there forgive me) our daughter’s savings account. People, we took money from a one-year old. A new low. About which I have no funny words. I tried really hard to find funny words about that (because I can find funny words about almost anything) but the funny? It was not to be found.

(We think we can make the mortgage next month. Maybe. We’ll see. It’s kind of day-by-day around here.)

But, shockingly, I am not here to write about my financial woes, which are pretty damn woeful and far too financialful. I’m here to write about other people’s financial woes.

You see… I work for a nonprofit. I’ve worked for nonprofits for years, and I don’t know if I’ll ever work anywhere else. I’ve worked for nonprofits for so long that people who work in for-profits are kind of a mystery to me. You mean, you make money? Your sole purpose is to make money? You don’t just do stuff to be nice? Or to better society? How odd.

Anyway, nonprofits aren’t a very fun place to be right now. Do you know what else people don’t do when they are stressed about the economy besides not paying tall, handsome carpenters to build them custom bookcases and redo their kitchen cabinets? They don’t give money to nonprofits, that’s what they don’t do.

My nonprofit is actually doing okay, for a variety of oh-my-god-so-boring-snooze reasons. But I have spent the last two weeks talking with other nonprofit folk who are not okay. Who are two months or so away from closing their doors or losing their jobs. Which isn’t much different than most for-profits these days, I know. But in this case, it’s not just job loss, it’s client loss and program loss. Do you know what happens when a nonprofit goes away? Free food goes away, mental health counseling goes away, community art events go away, land preservation goes away, public advocacy goes away, all the little threads that tie a community together go away.

I know we are all broke. Hells bells, I plan to feed my entire family for two weeks off $50. Somehow. And even so, I’ve managed to scrounge some bucks to give away. I bet you can find some, too.

Last time I posted about the Poverty Party I was surprised how many of Bossy’s 18 bazillion readers clicked through. So today I’m using that click-through power to say: folks, give it away. Whatever you can afford and then a little more. To whatever cause suits your fancy. Let me know if you are having trouble finding ideas. I can find you some ideas. But give it away.

Please.

Other randomness, because that last post was pretty sucky, sorry.

1) Keep voting on the hair situation!  The vote is close, people.  I need a clear majority if I’m going to let you decide my hairstyle.

2) Emilie is having a contest and there aren’t enough people entering.  I know she won’t pimp her own blog because she’s far too polite, so I am pimping for her.  Go!  Share your story! 

3) The Buddha has been home sick with a fever the past couple of days, but this morning her temperature registered normal and she seemed perky so I sent her off to daycare only to get the, “Yeah, no, come get your sick kid” phone call at 10:30.  So now I feel like a terrible mother AND I’m worried the daycare people thought I was trying to sneak in a sick kid.  I wasn’t!  She was fine!  I checked her temperature twice!  *sigh*  The Alias Father has her at the doctor’s as I type.

4)  My god, is it Friday or what?

Is it drafty in here or is it just me? (See? I’M BRILLIANT!)

WordPress just completely changed its dashboard on me (and the rest of the WordPress world, I expect) and it’s a bit…disorienting.  I suppose I’ll get used to it, but for now I’m all, “Where the hell are my comments?” and “But I never use that feature!  Why is it at the top?”  I’m a designer’s nightmare, because I can’t deal when they change the look of my deoderant, let alone something I need to interact with.

But I am appreciating one little feature, which is that now when I log in my unfinished drafts are RIGHT THERE on the FIRST PAGE.  They stare me in the face now and sit there, daring me to finish them.  Or delete them.  Or do something with them other than pretend they don’t exist.  Which is how I used to deal with my drafts when they were hidden away in the background.

Since they are now the very first thing I see when logging in,  I spent some time this morning clearing out some things that seemed amusing at the time but which, in retrospect, are about as interesting as Paris Hilton (which is to say, not at all intersting and why does everyone think she is?).  There are definitely some drafts that could someday be real boys like Pinocchio, but then there are those that need to be euthanized.  In public.  Because isn’t that what we do on the internet?

So below is a collection of posts that will never otherwise see the light of day, because, generally speaking, they suck. (However, I think they do show that  my true calling as a blogger lies in title creation.  Some of these are damn fine titles. )

Personality Plus.  Where Plus Equals Beer.  This was actually a post about watching the Buddha’s personality bloom.  Most of the entry was later subsumed into a “Notes on the Buddha” post, but I had to include this because the title is awesome.

I’ll have to teach her that jealousy isn’t okay.  You know.  Someday. This was written during a passing phase when they Buddh would freak out whenever I held another baby.  Twas a gratifying phase, but it passed quickly.  So quickly I never finished the post.

Friday belief statement In a fit of earnestness, I though you all might care about the core beliefs that I base my life on.  Yeah.  You don’t.

Operation Happy Place Apparently a few months ago I was very concerned about getting my mojo back.  Here’s how I did it: I went broke and found bigger things to worry about.

Sippin’ on Chamomile: Being the Anti-Girl This is actually a good post, but I need to accept I will never finish it.  It is about how I’ve always had more good male friends than female friends because I don’t always get women.  As a side note: the female friends I’ve made through this blog mark the most women I’ve been friends with at one time…ever.  And, no.  I don’t find that sad.  (You get extra bonus points if you have any idea what the title refers to.)

Because you needed more proof that I am a twit  Just after I joined Twitter, I thought it would be funny to try to Twitter recipes.  Yeah.  Gosh, why didn’t I do that?

You will have to believe that this isn’t a result of stress Oh, a classic!  I had been reading about a family that sold everything they owned and was travelling around the country in an RV run on biodiesel.  I wanted to do it, too.  Don’t believe the title.  It was totally a result of stress.

Any of you other WordPressers discover some gems?

I would just like to clarify…

that I didn’t mean that last post to come out as a plea for sympathy.  We are a tough sort, us Aliases, and we will pull through.  It’s just…sometimes a girl takes as much bad luck as she can take and then she needs to get all sugared up on cheap cocoa mix and rant on the internet.  Is that really so wrong?

Let’s change the subject.  The red “Add a Poll” button is taunting me again.  Excellent!

My hair looks like flaming crap today.  I mean, it usually looks like crap, but the FLAMING part is new and yet depressingly common these days.  So, I need to do something about this.

Should I grow it out or cut it off?  You tell me.

(No, you don’t need to know what I look like.  I look like an average white chick with shoulder length hair.  Ta da!  Now, go.  Vote.)

It might help you understand my mood if I tell you that I’m sitting on my couch eating directly from a family size canister of Swiss Miss

Why, howdy there, folks.  So nice to see you all gathered on the other side of the computer screen, blinking earnestly as you wait for me to write something.  Downright patient, that’s what you are.  I’ve been holding back, waiting until I had something pleasant to write about.  But that’s not really going to happen.

Things here are moving along in a fashion that I wouldn’t describe as “smoothly.”  In fact, it’s kind of the opposite of smooth.  And, actually, now that I think of it, they aren’t really “moving” either.  I’d say that things are kind of drunkenly stumbling in circles and tripping over furniture as they try to find their way to the kitchen to fry some 3 AM eggs.  Yeah.  That’s about right.

Do you remember when the Alias Father quit his job and my head exploded all over the internet in some bizarre tribute to dead (but great) British authors of humorous fantasy?  Good times.  Good times, that.  Since then we’ve been doing okay, not great, but okay.  But now?  Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the economy kind of sucks and people are kind of panicking and do you know what people don’t do when they are panicking about a sucky economy?  THEY DON’T HIRE FINISH CARPENTERS TO BUILD CUSTOM BOOKCASES.  So, ahem, there’s a bit of stress over here.

Also, I take back nearly everything I said about Hyland’s Homeopathic Teething Tablets, which haven’t really worked since that first night.  Maybe they work a little bit sometimes, but overall, not so noticeable.  Regardless, we still have a screaming baby and wretched molars that won’t come in.  No sleeping in this house!

Also (also!), before we left for our Thanksgiving vacation we had a big windstorm that knocked down the power line that comes to our house.  The line didn’t get fixed until after we were gone so it wasn’t until some friends stopped by to check on the cat that we learned our house had no heat.  Because when the line came down the resulting power surge fried our boiler.  And our phone.  And our satellite receiver.  And a bunch of fuses.  And all the CFLs in the house.

Also (ALSO!!) my company president just sent out a memo explaining that due to the poor economy that keeps people from building custom bookcases, in 2009 we will be facing a salary freeze.  Which I know they did so they didn’t have to fire anyone and I appreciate that but, say it with me, “Awwwww, maaaaaan.”

Yeah.  Me and the Swiss Miss are in it for the long haul.