Dear Baby J

Dear Baby J,

We are all anxiously awaiting your arrival. I was hoping that I would have made your acquaintance by now but it appears that you have your own schedule. But honestly Baby J, it is time. It's true, we have bonded over the past nine months. You providing sweet little kicks and shoving my stomach up into my chest cavity, me providing you with a cozy little home. I hope you have found your accommodations welcoming and comfortable, but sadly, it's closing time! We are shutting this thing down by Friday. Lights out. Time to head out.

Life isn't so bad out here. You have a lot of love waiting for you. Two older brothers who will reluctantly take you under their wings. A daddy who might as well be a live in party clown, the way he loves to play with his sons. A mama who can't wait to hold and cuddle you, singing you to slumber every night. You'll see. Come out and and you'll see.

I'm waiting for you my sweet baby boy.

Love,

Mommy

Date night gone wrong

Just what exactly lead me to sobbing, nearly uncontrollably at Pete's at 7:30 last night? You won't believe this, or then again maybe it makes perfect sense.

The cause of the breakdown....Bridesmaids, the movie. A date night gone wrong.

I cannot for the life of me see this movie. Everyone, and I mean everyone continues to rave about this funny flick, and although I have had several opportunities to see what all the fuss is about, I can't seem to make it happen.

Bridesmaids take 1:

Last Saturday

I had a phenomenal afternoon planned. I was to go for manis/pedis with a girlfriend followed by a couples night at the movies. We had a babysitter arranged. Then I thought I was in labor. I experienced cramping and felt sick. I cancelled my plans and stayed home. It turns out that the pain is just a result of the baby's position, and it is has continued on for the past seven days.

Bridesmaids take 2

Thursday

I finished work on Thursday at 12:30. I was taking a 1/2 day of vacation and starting my maternity leave then. What better way to kick it off than an afternoon at the movies? Feeling very tired, I decided to lie down for 20 minutes before heading to the theater. An hour and a half later I awoke groggy and disoriented. I had missed the film.

Bridesmaids take 3

Last night:

My in laws are now in town, having arrived in Oakland a week before my c-section, in case of an early delivery that now does not seem to be likely. The husband and I rushed out for a quick dinner and then finally to see Bridesmaids. We hurried through our meal and headed to the theater only to find a line several blocks long. Within minutes we were informed that Bridesmaids was sold out. The other movie options included Kung Phu Panda II or The Hangover Part II. I had no interest in either. That is when the tears came. My husband asked what we should do next? Head to a bar? No. I can't drink. Lame. Go for coffee? Fine. Just Fine. We walked to Pete's and I started crying harder and harder. Our evening was ruined. I would never see the funniest movie in the world. I had to head back and share my living room with the in laws watching Golf on ESPN or PBS again. Another long boring night.

I ordered a grande white chocolate mocha from the barrista who quickly corrected me. "I'm sorry but what do you mean by a grande?" she snarled sarcastically. That's right I'm at Pete's, not Starbucks. Pete's has medium. Dumb me. I leaned into my husband my shoulders shaking as I sobbed. They both must have thought I was crazy.

Clearly as tragic is as it is that I have missed my opportunity to see the movie on the big screen, it was not worthy of all those tears. Not by a long shot, but I suppose I have hit my limit.

Hormones raging.

Tired of waiting.

Sleep deprived.

Terribly uncomfortable.

Scared.

Exhausted.

Anxious.

Annoyed.

As noted, I am now sharing my home with my in laws who will be here until June 14. We are thankful for the help. It is so kind of them to come. But I don't feel like having roommates. Roommates with questions about where to find this or that. Roommates who want to know what we will do for dinner. Roommates who talk to me while I'm trying to blog. Roommates who monopolize the television when all I want to do is watch The Real Housewives.

Although I know all of this is temporary, and leading up to a joyful occasion, I feel as though I am in the perfect storm. Ready to explode. Wanting to find a hideout, an escape yet too tired to move.

My kid's a freaking genius

My kid is a freaking genius. At least that is the conclusion I have come to after attending Zachary's kindergarten "orientation" last night. I am putting orientation in quotation marks because the whole thing seemed like a joke. I left this evening meeting truly concerned about the quality of the school and wondering if next year will be an academic waste of time for my kid.



The entire 1.5 hour meeting can be summarized as such

• Before entering kindergarten your child should have the following skills:

Know their name.


Count to ten.


Identify basic shapes (circle, square, triangle)

Know their parent's first names.

Have the ability to dress themselves

Use a glue stick

Listen to a story

Recognize colors

Identify body parts.

Is it just me or does this sound like a list of requirements for the exceptionally slow preschooler? I jokingly asked Zack if he could count to 10, he responded with "Mom, I can count to over 100!" He must be a genius. What other explanation is there?

• School starts at the end of August. Teacher assignments will not be announced until the first day of school. There is no orientation for the kids. You are to drop your child off that morning and quickly say goodbye on the playground. Do not come in to the classroom, that makes kids cry.

We are talking about kindergarten right? 5 and six year olds *might* benefit from a little hand holding on their first day, or at the very least have an opportunity to meet their teacher or see their classroom before being abandoned with a room full of strangers. Have I gone soft?

• The school has no money. Parents need to donate money. A lot of money. They accept checks. We should write one. Now. Tshirts are also for sale.

I bought the T-Shirt. This is the sad state of our public schools. Depressing.

• The classroom may be as large as 30 children. In order to customize learning to each child's needs there is a 30 minute block of time every day where the kids can select an activity appropriate to their learning level.

Wow, a whole 30 minutes! I am sure my son will select his activity carefully. He will probably choose to read a chapter book in the corner quietly. Or wait Tommy is demonstrating how to shove a pencil up his nose. Maybe he will try that instead. It's okay, there is nobody around to stop them.

So that was about it. My kid's school is suppose to be one of the better Oakland public schools. I am starting to understand why so many people go broke paying for private school.

Looking for a mircacle

My hands shook when I went to change his diapers. His mother used the cloth variety along with safety pins. I was probably eleven years old, and he only a few months. I was petrified of sticking his chubby wiggling legs, of causing him to bleed and cry. So the diaper was always loose and droopy and I hoped his mother wouldn't notice.

That baby is now a grown man. The son of one of my mother's dearest friends. He was just in a terrible swimming accident that more than likely left him paralyzed. Unable to move those precious legs or arms again. I haven't seen him for many, many years, and the last time I saw his mother was probably a good 12 years ago, but she is a close family friend and I have kept up with her on Facebook. This woman is a good woman. We are talking really good. She is a school teacher and speaks of her students with such love and pride. She is a spiritual woman, who goes to church and has great faith. She is a true friend, one who was incredibly generous and giving to my family when we went through are own difficulties. I learned of the accident via her Facebook page. She does not deserve this. She deserves to be posting updates of grandchildren and happy times. This is not fair.

We all know that bad things can and do happen to good people. We only have so much control. Perhaps that is why I can't get this off my mind. I sit here preparing for my son's birth, taking my prenatal vitamins, eating my veggies and worrying about all that could possibly go wrong. I take my child's hand as we cross the parking lot and watch his every move on the playground. But I cannot protect my babies forever or from everything. Toddlers get cancer, teenagers get kidnapped, grown children have terrible accidents, and there is nothing we can do about it.

My mother's friend has asked for prayers, because at this point what else can be done? She believes in the power of prayer. I myself am not the praying type, however I said one. I closed my eyes and asked whatever higher power there may be to save this child, to save this mother, to grant a miracle. It's a selfish prayer, because as much as I am saying it for them, I am saying it for myself and for my own family.

I want to believe in happy endings. I want to know that life can be fair. I want to see this family happy once again to know that it is possible....

Ladies Man

Evan will be three in a few weeks. He's growing up. Becoming a little man. A little ladies man. This feisty 30 pounder sure knows how to woo the preschool girls. He is a smooth talker who has come up with some winning lines that the other boys will be using for years to come.

Evan has taken a special interest in a girl named "Charlie" who attends school with him. Charlie is a pudgy cutie pie who frequently wears leggings and bright pink tops. A real looker. When I picked him up on Friday he announced loudly (with Charlie clearly in ear shot) "I'm going to marry Charlie, and then I'm going to kiss her on the lips!" Charlie ignored him, but my guess is that she was simply playing hard to get.

Perhaps because of Charlie's cold shoulder, Evan has stepped it up a notch. Just today at the zoo, he approached an older girl, probably all of four years. As way of introduction, and just to break the ice Evan walked up to her, took a superman stance, pointed directly at her and yelled "You have a gyna!" Uh. huh. May I note that this was right in front of the child's parents. The girl's interest was peaked, and she challenged him to a running race. Mom and dad looked at their feet. Yikes.

Evan was encouraged. He used the very same line at an Andy Z concert this afternoon with a special twist. This time he approached a young lady on the dance floor, pointed and yelled "You have a gyna! I have a penis!" This little girl simply stared back blankly at him. She probably was just a little slow.

I any case, it appears my son is quite the charmer. It's time to lock up your daughters Oakland.

Promotion

Dear Mommy (CEO),

We are both writing to formally request a promotion. Any day now we will be welcoming a new junior staff member, and with his arrival will come increased responsibility. We know that we will be asked to provide mentorship and training to our new employee. In addition we are certain that we will be expected to act more autonomously. We welcome this challenge. However we feel that we should be rewarded with a promotion and increased decision making authority.

We would like to take more ownership in the budgeting process. We have some ingenious ideas. Kargas Inc. spends top dollar on vegetables and fruits. Have you noticed how inexpensive Cheetos and Ding-Dongs are? Switching our spending habits to include more cost effective products such of these could save us significantly.



Additionally we would like to have more input into the organization's policies. We have a good foundation of guiding principles, however we believe there is some room for adjustment. For example the "no name calling" policy seems outdated. These days it is common place to call one's peer a "butt head" or an "idiot face." We don't find this to be offensive, and believe that Kargas Inc might be out of touch with today's generation.

Finally as we continue to take on higher levels of responsibility we think it is necessary to hire more support staff. We need assistance with entry level work such as cleaning up toys or picking up our dirty clothes. Although we are more than happy to extend our work day to 9 or 10pm, we still need someone else to take over these menial tasks.

We hope that you will take our requests under serious consideration. Your failure to do so might result in a company wide strike.

Yours truly,


Zachary P. Kargas


Evan A. Kargas

Shame on me

It was a regular, everyday moment that shook a little perspective into me. I haven't exactly been shy with my pregnancy whining. Well shame on me.

Today was my final day in the city until I return from maternity leave. Of course I had to make the standard trip to Noah's Bagels to get my fix. Sesame bagel with cream cheese and a large decaf coffee. Yum. I prepared my coffee as I waited for my order to be called. I heard my name and walked to the counter to retrieve my breakfast. I was handed my bagel by a friendly woman with an apron tied tightly across her swollen belly. She looked to be about eight or nine months along, just like me.

I felt suddenly sheepish as I tucked my bagel into my ergonomically designed backpack and left the restaurant. I had been feeling sorry for myself, having forgotten my umbrella and needing to walk a half mile to the office in a cold drizzle. I started to think about how my server's day must have started out. The morning shift. She probably had to start work at 6am, meaning getting her tired aching body out of bed at an ungodly hour. Likely she had some sort of bus/train/walk commute, only to arrive at Noah's where she would spend an eight hour shift on her feet, preparing other people's food.

So what do I have to complain about?

Exactly. Shame on me.