The blame game

I don't know whether feminism bashing became the latest trend, but frankly I am getting a bit tired of it.  I am tired of highly educated women who reaped all the benefits of feminism, such as education, suffrage, and equal opportunities at work, bashing that same feminism and blaming it for all social ills.  I am tired of this longing look at our past, with clearly defined gender roles, and cherry-picking of all the nice things about it, conveniently forgetting that not everything was nice and peachy.  Seriously, if a throw back to a time when woman's place was restricted to home is so desirable - please, half the world still lives this way and you are free to choose:  Pakistan, most of India, Saudi Arabia and a bunch of other countries where incidentally few women from U.S. are rushing to move.

The latest feminist bashing comes quite unexpectedly from Dawn Meehan of BecauseISaidSo blog.  In her latest piece, Dawn blames the lack of femininity in modern day women on some men's lack of desire to enter  marriage.  We can argue this premise until the cows come home (and are milked by the properly feminine women), it's not the premise that I find odd, it's Dawn's definition of femininity.  Based on all prior reading of Dawn's stuff, driving a car, being smart and educated, having strong opinions, wearing pants, participating in competitive sports - all the things at some point considered not appropriate for refined women - are not unfeminine.  What is?  Being able to change a tire, do minor household repairs and earning high enough salary to support oneself financially.  In a nutshell, not being a damsel in distress 24/7 and not even attempting to fake being one is why some men don't want to marry.

I have heard this idea before, that women are responsible for all social change.  Men remain more or less the same, it's us women who change social mores.  I don't know if it's empowering to women precisely because men in these scenarios sound like helpless creatures in need of control and manipulation.  However, it is very convenient for blaming - we can blame women for everything!  Obesity is the fault of working women.  High crime rate is the fault of single mothers.  Glass ceiling at work is the fault of working women who choose to procreate and have the audacity to like their children more than their careers.  High divorce rate is the fault of women not investing enough time into their families. And now men's lack of desire to marry is also somehow women's fault.

Do you know what I find very surprising?  It's rarely men who express these opinions and do this type of bashing.  It's mostly women bashing other women.  And somehow Dawn, a very intelligent woman, is missing a double standard in her own writing.  When she, the recently divorced mother of six, ended up without child support, a job or good prospects of finding one, there were quite a few people who criticized her choice to stay out of workforce for so long and not having a financial back up plan.  She felt that the consequence of her choice deserved sympathy, not scorn.  (And just to be clear, I think it absolutely did.)  Yet career women, due to the perceived consequences of their choice not to be completely financially dependent on men and thus turning men off marriage, deserve nothing but blame.

And the most surprising thing of all, is that the women Dawn describes - aggressive, constantly competing with the opposite sex in every facet of life, and out there to prove that they don't really need men -  are very rare in real life.  And you know what else?  Every single one I have met was married, some managed to land a husband more than once.  So maybe, it's not what's turning men off marriage after all?  Maybe, it's constant bashing of other women that does?  Or maybe it's our insecurities about our life choices, which make us bash each other, that are so off putting to men?

Baby's Soliloquy

I am, I am so cute.  Adorable?  No, I am not adorable.  I am very, very cute.  Because I am.  (short pause) Where's cheese?


In unrelated news, I have to find a new nickname for my youngest child.  She is 3 1/2, and kind of outgrew "baby" two years ago or so.  DD2?  DD3 (in regards to the age?)  Decisions, decisions.

The week in numbers

This is the recap of my week in numbers.  After all, I am an accountant, right?

# of dental appointments: 1.  Same goes for the # of very expensive and totally avoidable dental appointments.  If only one could purchase extra brain in the same way one could purchase another tooth bonding, so that one could avoid that another tooth bonding.

# of peanuts in one (old) Weight Watchers point: 13.  How do I know?  Yes, I am baaack.

(courtesy: collegelifestyles.org)

# of times lost my work ID: 2.

# of times found my lost work ID: 1.  This is just embarrassing because I have to ask my boss to sign off on getting a new one.  Again.

# of audits going on at work: 1, but trust me more than plenty.  In addition to beginning of the year/tax/closing of affiliates stuff.

# of nights staying late at work: 4 (Yay for being shabbat-observant.) Same goes for number of nights had to forgo checking and doing kids' homework.  Can't wait for teachers' phone calls, at least from those who care.

# of healthy home made suppers served to kids despite coming home late: 6, including home made pizza and home made bread.

(courtesy of time.com)

# of time burned myself making those suppers:  every effing time.  No kidding.

# of suppers the kids said they truly enjoyed: 1, when husband baked fish sticks.  Not homemade and/or healthy.  Just to clarify.

(courtesy of blog.ajc.com)

# of laundry baskets with clean clothes still unsorted: 4 (we are actually branching out to garbage bags.  On the other hand, fishing out needed items is just the right kind of entertainment we all need in the morning rush hour.)

# of fights with SubHub: 3, I think.

# of times broke down crying in front of own house: 1 (2 - is the number of neighbors who witnessed this. )

# of times I asked myself why I made a resolution to be furiously happy and not angrily miserable or perpetually overwhelmed because everyone knows that resolutions are made to not be kept:  every waking minute and some sleeping minutes too.

But when I thought about my resolution, I decided to look for positive things in my life.  Health!  Vision! I still had my vision.  Near-sighted, but still, vision.  Smell, I still had the sense of smell!  Umm, no, not with that lingering cold, I didn't.  Taste.  Yeah, my extra pounds could attest to my healthy sense of taste.  Extra pounds that could lead to diabetes, heart disease and premature death.  And cancer, how could I forget cancer? Who was I kidding?  I am Jewish, and as such cannot talk about health in a positive light.  We practically invented  hypochondria and passed it down from generation to generation from Mount Sinai together with our tradition.  Come to think of it, we might have been more successful in passing down hypochondria.

Relationships!  I must concentrate on relationships!  Except for the one with husband because he totally deserved what he got and if he didn't, will deserve it very shortly.

Decided to take a break from this post, call my folks and complain about hard week at work, not complain about hard week at home and hint at kids' ingratitude.  Only to find Mom sounding very weak and Dad breaking the news that Mom's really bad to begin with cancer was getting worse.

# of times I wish it weren't true - infinity.

P.S. The post was written before I found out how bad things were getting.  Except for the last paragraph.  Part of me wondered whether I should post it.  Or whether I should post the last paragraph.  Maybe, in light of the news, I should alter something, change things around. And then I thought that it's things like this, dwelling on minutiae of life, that are partially making me miserable at times.  So I decided not to overthink and publish things as they were.  After all, it is my life and that's how it goes: one minute you are writing a, hopefully, funny post about every day annoyances and next minute you get really bad news.)

Love,

SubWife

Sub-Cake or where I pretend that I can bake

It is Chanukah, so naturally I am blogging about Sukkot, when I took the whole 9 days off, we had our own sukkah this year and had been expecting friends over for dinner.  Suddenly I found myself in an unusual position of being able to experiment with food and having volunteers to be experimented on.  (Unlike my family, guests couldn't opt for cream cheese sandwiches at the sight of unknown food.)  It was a perfect opportunity to try Suburban Correspondent's upside down cranberry cake.  It had everything I was looking for in a recipe:  it was easy; it came highly recommended; it had cranberries in it; and being from Suburban Correspondent, it had a potential for good blogging fodder.

Honestly, I don't know why I keep bothering with the last requirement.  Firstly, life keeps on throwing blogging fodder my way ALL THE TIME.  Fodder that would make you laugh, cry or remain uninterested - I have it all in my life.  If only I blogged about it.  Which would be, "secondly." Probably because I have so much fodder thrown my way, I can't find time or energy to produce a readable blog entry.  Actually, any entry.

But there it was, in all of its perfection - easy, tasty, cranberry-filled cake with high potential for blogging fodder.  I was sold.  That night, after I made three gazillion side dishes, soup, main course or two and a super hot pepper dip, it was finally time for cake baking.  SubHub, exhausted from watching me cook all night, slowly made his way into the kitchen only to restart the conversation we have been having for the past 8 years.

"Wow, what a mess."  "Yeah, I know.  I am almost done," I replied.  Then SunHub followed with a friendly suggestion I heard only three hundred times before, "Why don't you clean up as you go along instead of leaving it till the end when you are so tired?" "The counters ARE clean," I countered.   I'll spare you the details of this dialog because it deserves a post, if not a book, of its own.  That time it ended with SubHub taking a mercy on his hapless wife and washing a few pots and pans.  And, as the genre would require it, SubHub went off into the sunset feeling he had performed his duty and saved him damsel in distress.

The next day I, after the guests at SubCasa were souped and main coursed, was about to serve the dessert.  Fortunately, I had enough sense to try the cake before experimenting on my guests serving it.   The first cranberry I tried tasted a bit off.  "Wow," I thought, "those are some spicy cranberries."  This phrase was also off, so I repeated it again and again in my brain before finally realizing how crazy it sounded.  Spicy cranberries?  I took a big bite of the cake and felt my mouth on fire.  To my credit, I must say I never blamed the recipe or Suburban Correspondent.  Or SubHub, even though everything  that goes wrong is his fault. Unfortunately, not that time.  I had no one but myself to blame.  I tried to retrace my steps on the night of baking.  The only logical explanation I had was that the knife I had used for cutting up very spicy peppers for the dip was also used for cutting up margarine for the cake.  I knew I washed it, with soap, but apparently that wasn't enough to get rid of their aftertaste.

So I went in, fessed up to everyone who would listen, from the guests to the neighbors, about the importance of cleaning the knives after very spicy peppers.  We had a good laugh, at my expense, ate jello or lollypops or equally horrific backup dessert, some of the guests probably vowed to never eat in my house because I couldn't even wash my cooking knives properly.  

A few days later SubHub, while chowing on the very spicy cranberry cake, fessed up that during the clean up time he found a small quantity of unidentified goop on the otherwise clean counter, right next to the pan with the cake, so he just threw it in the pan thinking it was dough, or lemon peel, or something that truly belonged in the cake.   Which we now, of course know, to be the ground up super duper spicy peppers. "It's not even that spicy, I don't know what all the fuss is about," said the man who finds jalapeno peppers mild.

And I learned several valuable lessons, the most important of them that it is always husband's fault.  Even if all the evidence points in another direction.

For sale: SubWife, integrity included

I am currently thinking of ways to sell out, or to be more precise to make money off a blog, this blog or any other.  The problem is I do not know how to do it.  I know that the best way to attract traffic is to blog about topics that can interest people or in which one has expertise.  The only expertise I possess is in the field of not for profit accounting.  Even if I do generate some traffic with exciting topics such as "The pros and cons of half year convention in depreciating assets" and "The schedule of functional expenses: truth or fiction?" what can I possibly advertise/sell in conjunction with this?  Coffee?  Or a device that every five minutes starts yelling, "Wake up, CPA!  You are on active accounting duty!"

So far I am considering affiliate relationship with sites like Amazon.  Which means I might be reviewing things I buy there.  Which I do in real life, a lot.  And I would never give falsely positive review for monetary gain.  Unless it's huge, but what are the chances of that happening?

Sigh.  I don't like combining business and pleasure, but in this instant business might actually push me to do more blogging, which I like, but somehow put on the back burner for many reasons.

Thoughts?  Should I dedicate a separate blog to this?  Or keep doing it here and scare one reader that still remains?

Busted

My cover was blown last week.  A piece of advice to those who blog anonymously - decline the "remember password on this computer" feature.  Because one day your husband's computer wiz friend may come to your house to help with some computer-related thingy and discover that you are Subjugated Wife.  And he may do this in front of SubHub, who is not big on self deprecating humor or jokes at his expense.  And even though SubHub may know for years the name of your blog and associated with it email account, etc, etc, etc, he may still not be 100% comfortable that his wife calling herself "subjugated," albeit semi-publicly.  And SubHub may be even less thrilled with his friend now knowing that you call yourself "subjugated."

If are lost by now, I don't blame you.  It was, I mean it could potentially be an uncomfortable mess.  And then you may find yourself mumbling things like "tongue-in-cheek" and "almost inactive," while quickly excusing yourself from their company.

Now that I've typed it, I am wondering whether this is being read by The Friend and whether I should edit it.  And while it wouldn't bother me one bit if some man in Timbuktu reading this blog accidentally finds out my real name, a real life acquaintance finding out is a completely different story.

So now I am faced with several options.  1) Abandon this blog.  I doubt, with my blogging activity of the past year, anyone would truly notice.  2) If I were to do #1, that would probably mean abandoning blogging altogether in the foreseeable future.  Even though my readership is very small, at least I know that a few people are still reading it.  I don't have the resources to invest in the new blog.  I don't have time to either regularly write or work on increasing readership.  And I am not above admitting that blogging into the empty void does not appeal to me.  I know, vanity.  3) Pretend that nothing happened.  Which is probably the most accurate description of the event.  After all, The Friend came to help and had no intention to snoop. As I have found out on a few previous occasions, I am not as anonymous as I thought and hoped.  And I doubt that The Friend would run around putting up posters all over the 'hood identifying me.  Or even if he did, it very unlikely would stir any interest or would result in public recognition.  But  a girl can dream stranger things have happened, that's for sure.  (I am still wondering whether The Friend is reading this right now and whether this post can cost SubHub a friendship.)  So even though the whole thing might be in my head, it already is affecting my blogging.  4) Feeling relieved that finally my secret is out and I no longer have to hide is not even an option for reasons that include Jewish guilt, Soviet upbringing and others that are too complicated and more appropriate for other media, such as a case study for Psychology Today.

So there, I am thinking.  Knowing myself, I would not post anything for the next 3 weeks or months, and by the time of the next post, would forget the whole thing.  But then again, stranger things happened.

(And if you have this song stuck in your head for hours, you can thank me in the comments :)

Love letter to one's own blogging

Goodness, I miss blogging.  I didn't realize how much until about a week ago.  I really, really miss it.  It might sound pathetic, but, for reason poorly understood even by me, it was an important part of my life for about two years.  And old habits die slowly.  At any given time I am compiling a post or two, at times coming up with a rough drafts, but, as you can see from the recent activity, the posts rarely materialize.

I guess many things are at fault here: turns out that as children grow older, they need me more, and not less; the immediate gratification of Facebook, which I vowed not to use not so long ago; discipline and organization required for regular posting - among other things - has almost completely disappeared; dwindling comments, which I see in any other blog I regularly read; discovery of Dancing with the Stars by your truly, among some other shows.  (Yes, Maxim Chmerkovskiy, I blame you for he downfall of my blog).  Overall, it seems that only half of the blogs on my Reader have posted an entry in the past six months, and only a very few still post regularly.  Pretty much everyone has reduced the frequency of posts.  Is there something cyclical about blogging, or is blogging dying?

Well, I hope not.  Because as pleasurable as The Body of Proof is (and I really mean shirtless Maxim Chmerkovskiy - I can practically smell excommunication) (OMG, that was so unintended, I really meant Dana Delaney's show, and it could've just as easily been Lie to Me or Parks and Recreation), the satisfaction of wittily written post, even if no one comments on it, is far superior.  And, as a wise person have advised me, one must nurture the inner self.  In my case, it's writing, no matter how poorly it is done.  So I am making yet another attempt to revive my blog.

Wish me luck. 

Die, spam, die!!!

So after getting quite a few spam comments, I caved in and did something I absolutely hate doing to those few who leave comments on my blog. I find it very annoying to have to enter word verification when I leave a comment on other blogs. However, I felt I had no choice as spam was starting to get out of hand. Well, to make long story short, it didn't help.

I keep on getting spam comments. Sigh. It looks like the only options left are either ignoring spam or moderating the comments. Moderating I like even less than word verification because I can only moderate late nights from home, which kills discussions of any sort. (Though those haven't been happening lately, hmmm....)

Any ideas out there? Any preferences from my 4 loyal readers? Please leave a comment though you'll brave the word verification for that, which is still on.

Hopefully back

Wow, it's been this long. Life just gets in a way of blogging, I guess. This past month children and FaceBook and the discovery of Arrested Development have been taking up more of my time than usual.

We interrupt our current programming to give you the following message. While I was typing the first paragraph, my baby got into her butt cream and tried to eat it for supper. True story. I wouldn't mind much because I, even after two kids before her, I still haven't figured out what to feed a toddler who only has eight teeth yet eats more than my 4-year-old and who is too old for baby food yet too young to eat regular supper with us. However, butt cream is $18/10 oz and never goes on sale; hence, I object. Generic vaseline, however, is another story... So yeah, that's why I shouldn't be blogging, like, ever, or my kid will end up with irritated bottoms and a mask of zinc oxide on their face.

So it would be very natural to dedicate this post to my kids, but I won't. Instead I will stop right here because the baby is finally at this cute to the nth degree stage that won't last forever, and I just can't miss it for blogging! I could, however, miss it for Facebook or Arrested Development.

My Clueless/Die Hard moment

A friend and a fellow blogger Sally Hazel had posted today about mixing up Ecuador and El Salvador in a conversation. Something very similar happened to me, and I was wondering how to turn it into the post, so now Sally gave me an excuse and provided much needed inspiration.

A few weeks ago I was having a highly intellectual (insert: sarcasm) discussion with a friend about news and hostage situations in particular, and the topic shifted to the Stockholm syndrome. We discussed it for about ten minutes, and I had referred to the syndrome by its name probably a dozen times. After I hung up, all of a sudden I felt the insides of my stomach getting cold. To my shame and horror I realized that throughout the entire conversation I had referred to the condition as a "Helsinki syndrome". Yikes! And the person with whom I was having this conversation did not correct me either and let me make a fool out of myself over and over again. Wonder if she was stifling giggles on the other line. (For the record, I am sure she wasn't because she is super nice. I am really blessed with good friends.)



And now for the extra credit:

Why would SubWife make such a silly mistake???

Before posting this, I decided to Google Helsinki Syndrome, just to make sure that such a condition does not exist. Ta-da! I found the answer and the person to blame it on.

It's HIS fault.

I blame Alan Rickman! I had watched Die Hard just a day or two before this conversation, and in that movie they had gotten their geography completely wrong and indeed referred to the Stockholm syndrome as the Helsinki syndrome. Here's the quote from imdb.com:

The Helsinki Syndrome mentioned in the film is a reference to the real-world Stockholm Syndrome. Why it was changed in the film is unknown. Coincidentally, the newscaster incorrectly informs his viewers that it refers to Helsinki, Sweden (Helsinki is actually in Finland, while Stockholm is in Sweden).

OK, case closed, SubWife not completely crazy, moving on with life.

11 Reasons Why I don't Facebook much

1. DD, who requires my attention.
2. DS, who requires my attention.
3. The baby, who, believe it or not, also requires my attention. Babies these days.
4. I work and those IT people filter out FB
5. I am a working mother of 3 kids under five. Yeah, I know I mentioned working and the three kids separately, but believe that having three very young children deserves special mentioning. Plus, in just a few short weeks I won't be able to say that since DD will turn five. Gotta milk this while it lasts.
6. SubHub and his crazy notions that a) I should pay attention to him and b) that our home should be at least somewhat neat and that's somehow my responsibility and not only his. Men these days, I tell ya.
7. Do I really need another virtual addiction?
8. My first virtual addiction, this blog, has been neglected for some time now. Got to make amends.
9. My memory is going, and I would have to remember what I posted on the blog and what I mentioned on FB. It just seems like too much work.
10. It really creeps me out to have so much personal information directly connected to my actual name out there for everyone to see.
11. I am a working mother of three children under five. Did I mention that already? I don't remember... See what I mean?

A girl can hope

I went to a wedding recently where I saw people I haven't seen in ages. It was a lot of fun to catch up with old friends. However, in the process I discovered that due to my careless commenting activity, I am not as anonymous as I thought I was. I must tell you, losing my illusion of anonymity was rather disappointing. It limits what and who I can write about because you never know who can be reading posts and if that person knows who SubWife really is. Anonymity gave me a certain degree of freedom - not only to badmouth anyone I saw fit, but also some freedom from worrying about having so much personal information out here on my blog, that is easily traceable to my real life persona.

Well, it is what it is and this new discovery means that 1) It's a good thing I didn't blog about my evil neighbors, 2) I probably should not have blogged about my noisy neighbors (I know, linking to the old post shows real remorse) and 3) I should stop blogging about my job. At least if I want to keep it. On the other hand, what kind of bad things could I possibly write about? With the exception of no-free-coffee policy, which was of course enacted to prevent over consumption of caffeine and not because of penny-pinching, this job is pure heaven. People are extremely nice, especially in the higher positions, and never ever drive you crazy with unreasonable demands. Co-workers never do anything annoying, like shaking their ice, clicking their pens or eating fish at their desks. And the paycheck is ginormous, I am not sure why because frankly I would pay to work there!

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to vomit from all this sarcastic butt-kissing that, hopefully, no one from work will read. A girl can hope to remain at least somewhat anonymous, right?

Blogging and such

Yours truly has been featured by Suburban Correspondent, in all her might and glory. I have submitted - in the comments - a mangled version of My Heart's in the Highlands and inadvertently have entered the contest for the best appliance poetry. Don't ask. Just check it out. And in case you want to vote, the poll is on the left part side of the site. Left side. Left. Not right. Or center. Unlike some other contestants, who are heavily lobbying their blog readers to vote for them, I am simply mentioning this little factoid, for no reason whatsoever. Though I am not above begging, you know. You see, it's not about winning, it's about enjoying your blogging experience. And since I now have received two votes (I have a sneaking suspicion that both of them were cast by Suburban Correspondent herself out of pity), I am not even worried about getting no votes at all. But please, please, please don't let me come in the last in the voting! It's an honor to just be nominated. Oh, c'mon, go vote for me, pity votes count just as much as the real ones!

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Few days ago I read a brilliant post on the recent news coverage by SuperRaizy. I highly recommend. If you are in the mood for more on the topic, then you can reread my take on some other very important news announcements of the past: Dumbledore's coming out, news coverage of this earth shattering news, and Jamie Lynn Spears' pregnancy. I know, both of these events made such a difference in our lives! (if Jamie Lynn's mom is reading my blog, I apologize. On the second thought, nah).

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Oops, forgot to include the title in the original version.

Baby post - I know, not creative, but I am going through a creativity crisis

I got my first smile from the baby yesterday! Yoo-hoo for me! Mom claims that the baby smiled at her 2 weeks ago, and SubHub - few days ago. I think those are unsubstantiated rumors and consider my smile to be first.

**********************

I finally feel vindicated. Someone I know confirmed my theory that not everyone loses weight from breastfeeding, and some of us actually gain. A lot. She told me she gained and couldn't lose an ounce until she stopped nursing. And she's one of those lucky people who is naturally skinny and never had to diet in her life. Phew, and I thought it was only me. And yeah, just shows that Heidi Murkoff doesn't know everything. Still it's not very comforting when my weight is creeping up again. Uhhr!

*********************

Yeah, and I am starting a CONTEST to name the baby. For the blog only, of course. In real life she has a name, thankyouverymuch. I have one idea: DD2. Or I could assign ages: DD4, DS3 and DD0, but the last one is kind of strange and creepy. Neither is very creative so I am fishing for better options and counting on creativity of those three people who read my blog. However, nothing with the "sub" prefix because all my kids are "super". The prize? The satisfaction of knowing that you helped a fellow blogger during a creativity crisis. And seeing that name being used on my blog.

Ok, I am off to nurse, change poopy diapers and solicit more smiles. :)

Are you related?

There are times when I just can't find anything worthy or interesting to write about. Now is clearly the opposite: I have tons and tons of - what I consider - interesting topics. Many posts are hovering in my head only to be forgotten or become outdated because I simply have no time to post them. Such is life, we are destined to lack something. Therefore, I have decided to just blog whatever bothers/interests me right now, in the shortest form possible (given my propensity for verbal diarrhea, it is not easy feat or a guarantee for a short post), and leave philosophical discussions/topics requiring more thought or memory cells for later. So this post will be my attempt at being brief.

I was browsing news last night (while nursing, or course), and came across an entertainment snippet about Nicolette Sheridan leaving Desperate Housewives. Along came the actress' close up photo, which clearly showed signs of "work" and looked kind of bizarre.

I am always perplexed when I come across such pictures of famous actresses. What were they thinking? I mean I am aware that the business they are in is very competitive and looks are important and all. All the more reasons to not make oneself look grotesque. And is it me or do these "made over" actresses all look like clones or at the very least as if they were related: unnaturally high cheekbones, cat-like eyes, botoxed skin and collagen-filled lips? And more importantly not only do they lose their uniqueness, they look SO MUCH worse than before! So many have ruined their beautiful faces that would've aged gracefully or at least not as atrociously as after the procedures performed by cosmetic surgeons. Christa Miller, Meg Ryan, Priscilla Presley, Melanie Griffith and Mickey Rourke are just a few names that come to mind. Why? Why? Why?

Am NOT.

Ok, Ok. Sorry to keep you hanging like that, but I had a good excuse. I am NOT NOT NOT pregnant. Any more. Tuesday night SubHub and I had added a little (I use the term loosely) girl to our family. The baby and SubWife are doing fine. The 10 pound wonder (not exaggerating) is absolutely adorable, but like most infants doesn't let her mommy sleep, rest, shower and any luxuries of that sort. Unfortunately that includes blogging. I'll try to keep up, but I don't promise anything.

Hope not to disappear for too long.

P.S. Oh, and the cramps? That was labor. I would've been funny if after two kids I wouldn't know that I was preggers and actually went into labor. I actually wanted to write something like this in this post, but my head is fogged down by the lack of sleep and fumes emitted by my unshowered body . Being funny is hard labor (pun intended).

Am I? or Am I not?

I've been feeling kind of cranky for the last couple of days. Moody, fatigued, cranky, crampy. And then I had a thought. Could I be pregnant?

While I am running to the pharmacy to buy the test, you can entertain yourself with this.

Ok, so this is my shameless attempt to make you read recycled material while I am too busy/cranky/fatigued to write something new. But it is funny, if you like my sense of humor. You might even enjoy it.

Oh yeah, and Happy Purim to all of you out there celebrating!

Name yourself or forever hold you peace or comment or whatever

Due to the recent unwelcome commenting activity on my blog, I decided to disallow anonymous comments. (The comment that broke the camel's back, so to speak, was taken down.) I was always peeved by people who would leave comments, but wouldn't name themselves - I wasn't even asking for the real name, just something to identify and/or address the anonymous. I am even more peeved when the comments are highly controversial and hostile - and again, without any identifying marks. I don't mind a good and fair argument on pretty much any topic (there are exceptions), but I refuse to enter into a dialogue with someone who wouldn't name themselves. Hence, no more anonymous comments.

I probably should moderate as well, but feel it's too much work, and I am not online often enough, so that might take the fun out of commenting.

I apologize if it causes somebody any inconvenience. I personally hate setting up user names and passwords that I constantly forget, but I felt it had to be done.

You would laugh too if it could never happen to you

Few days ago I paid a visit to my gyn. While waiting for him in the exam room and lacking other reading materials, I grabbed a pregnancy magazine. Well, here’s a bit of history. While expecting DS, I had a blog on one of those pregnancy sites. Several posts there were dedicated to pregnancy magazines, mainly about what kind of an idiot who thought that it was a good idea to print some of the stuff in a publication read primarily by - duh! - expectant mothers. So pregnancy magazines and I don’t have a good relationship, but still, I would rather read them than examine a chart with birth control options posted on the exam room door (not because I am against birth control, but because I have it memorized already. I don’t think it changed since I was pregnant with DD, who is now 4, and I spent many hours staring at that door in the past 5 years.)

So I opened this magazine, and the first thing I saw was a “fun fact.” Oh, nice, fun AND not written by Heidi Murkoff. Too good to be true? It was. This fun fact contained the following information: during pregnancy woman’s uterus stretches to over 1000 times its original size. Yippee! As in ouch!!!! Good for us, women, I guess. I instinctively cringed and crossed my legs. Who in their right mind (people in medical profession excluding) thinks that having your uterus stretch is “fun”? Have they ever been pregnant? Did someone, whose uterus will never stretch, aka “a man”, write this? What other fun facts does this fine magazine have up its sleeve? That when uterus shrinks back to its original (??) size, it is quite painful?That there is no cure for stretch marks, except plastic surgery? Or that about 30% of pregnant women will end up with a C-section?

Well, here’s another fun fact. Right after reading this, my eyes immediately returned to the aforementioned birth control options chart. Was this the writer’s intent?

Quote of the month - February '09

I wanted to put this on my blog for a while, just kept procrastinating. I found this in the fellow blogger's post and immediately fell in love with it. So the quote of the month, courtesy of Philosopher Mom, is:

"Who broke into my laundry room and shrunk my fat jeans? And why the hell didn't they do the rest of the laundry while they were in there?"

I think no further comments are necessary.