Mosaic Life

I told you they were cute

I was able to make a quick trip last weekend to see my sister and the babies. It’s amazing how much they change in such a short amount of time. You can already tell how their little personalities are developing.

Here’s Dawson, very much concerned about the world. We lovingly refer to him as the squeaky wheel, because he indeed knows how to get the grease, or more practically, milk. He lets the whole house (and neighborhood) know when he is hungry, needs his diaper changed, or just plain isn’t pleased with this whole “life” thing. But he makes up for it in the brief moments that he’s not crying so hard that he’s snorting.

And here’s Rylan, who is much more content to observe the world, coo, and sleep. Oh, but she really hates her tummy medicine.

 

Her eyes already seem to be turning brown. Both my sister and brother-in-law have brown eyes, so I expect she’ll have an almond-tinted eye color. Notice how her hand is balled into a fist? For some reason, she likes to extend her right arm out with her fist in the air, which we jokingly refer to as her declaration of “baby power.” So during my visit I was sitting in the recliner holding Dawson when my sister laid Rylan on the couch and walked away to get something. Over the arm of the couch, all I could see from my vantage point was a tiny fist in the air. Baby power, indeed, little Rylan.

Eye Question

Okay, so I doubt that my small group of readers would know the answer to this, but maybe someone who lands here doing a Google search might.

Ever since I moved back to the South, I haven’t been able to wear my contacts without my eyes crusting over. I know that sounds glamorous, but it sucks, because there are times when looking nerdy by wearing glasses does not play in my favor. Also, my tears burn when I cry. Apparently this can be a sign of chronic dry eye, but I really don’t think that’s what it is. How come I was able to wear contacts all through high school while living in the south, but after returning, I can’t?

Riddle me that, Internet.

No, you look professional

So I was at Old Navy today, which is one of my favorite stores, what with my love for good deals and clothes that allow me to stay in style enough to blend in with the masses. I was combing through a top rack of tanks tops trying to find just the right size and color, and might I add that I probably looked quite silly, standing on my tiptoes, mumbling “no I don’t need a friggin’ extra small” and probably flashing a little midriff, when I heard, “Excuse me, miss?” Even before turning I assumed the woman had mistaken me for an Old Navy employee, but before I could even mutter that I’m sorry but I don’t work here, she plunged into her little speech.

“I couldn’t help noticing that you look like a professional. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an editor.” I said this with a little pleasure that I didn’t have to say receptionist or administrative assistant, which would have been my answer less than 2 years ago.

“Well I am from Mary Kay and we are looking for professionals just like you to be coaches for our salespeople. I know that when you think of Mary Kay you think of the Mary Kay parties.” Now she looked professional. Perfectly applied makeup, clothes that certainly didn’t come from Old Navy, a Coach purse. She smiled pleasantly and continued, “Would you be interested in a job where you could make up to six figures?”

This might have been a little more convincing, was I not dressed in a tee shirt, jeans, and flip flops. As for makeup, I had only a little more on than mascara. Yeah. I looked like a professional.

“No, thank you,” I responded, “I love my job.” She nodded, thanked me for my time, and walked away.

Did I mention that I had a very similar experience at Target a year ago? Same pitch, similar lady, except I was on my lunch break and had on dress clothes and heels, so the “professional” comment wasn’t quite as ridiculous. I walked away laughing to myself, and continuing to muse about it all the way to the car.
Good fun.

Reading like a crazy person

I assume crazy persons really enjoy reading. Anyway, I’ve been doing some serious reading over the last week or so. Just over the weekend I read about 200 pages for Fitzgerald alone (two short stories and This Side of Paradise), and then I read Aristophanes’ Lysistrata along with some of the textbook for Western Civ. My eyes, they’re being put to good use.

At least it’s mostly very enjoyable reading. If you’ve ever thought that ancient Greek writing is boring, you should pick up some Aristophanes. I couldn’t believe that they wrote stuff like that back then; very funny but pretty vulgar as well. I’m really enjoying Fitzgerald. I’ve always liked his writing, but never ventured past Babylon Revisited or The Great Gatsby. He was quite gifted, and it’s a pity he died so young. But at least he had a good run.

So yeah, the next 7 weeks are going to be quite busy.

Summer semester begins

Or it began last night. My Global Communications class got cancelled like, an hour before it was to begin, so I switched to a class on Special Topics in Literature: F. Scott Fitzgerald. I know, awesome, right? I’m genuinely excited about taking this class, even though it means a lot more reading. At least it will be enjoyable reading.

I had a great time last weekend in Auburn. It was so hard to leave afterward. The babies are at a point right now where they mostly sleep, and Rylan has already started smiling. And I realize that she’s probably smiling because of gas, but she just looks so incredibly happy. Dawson’s facial expressions are much more serious, as though he’s concerned about the state of the world already. I tried to reassure him that the economy will get better, but he responded by pooping and maybe spitting up a little. Right, the usual response.

How are you?

So when people ask you how you’re doing, do you give them an honest answer?

There are the people who do. Usually cantankerous old guys who will tell you exactly how they are doing. They have a boil on their butt the size of a quarter, their medicine costs an arm and a leg, the hired help is stealing from them, and the grandkids only come around when they want something.

And usually people who do give you a negative response are downers, so you just smile and maybe remark about the weather and act distracted.

There are the people who just don’t answer. You say, “hello, how are you?” They say, “good morning.” At least it’s polite I guess.

And of course, there are the set answers, the safe ones, the ones you come to expect. Fine, alright, good, or doing well (I always feel pressured to say that, “doing well,” because I’m a junior editor, so I want people to be assured that I know how to talk good). Responses to “how’s it going?” are about the same, except those people who say “it’s going” to either be mildly funny or passively imply that their day sucks.

So, to the point. My day sucks. I think the last two days should be eligible for do-overs. (Except last night, last night was cool because we went to a friend’s house and played the new GTA, and if there’s a cure for horrible days, that game would be high on the list.) So when people say, “how are you?” It would be far more truthful to say that I need a stiff drink and a good cry. But I have no beef with the grandkids. No, not yet anyway.

Me and my brain

I’m going to visit my sister and the babies this weekend, and I’m actually taking the day off Monday so I can spend a little more time with them. I figured it’s a good time to take a day off since 1) work isn’t insane right now; 2) summer semester starts Tuesday, so I’m not in school; 3) it’s going to rain Sunday but not Monday, and ever since I hydroplaned on the interstate, I’m a chicken about driving in the rain; and 4) I want to. See how I have to justify this stuff? My brain is silly like that. Or else it would be like, are you sure this is the best time to take a break? You may need to use that vacation day in the future, and you won’t have it.

Another thing about my brain. It’s so used to having to remember to do stuff that it can’t rest if it isn’t preoccupied, hanging on to some thought in the back of my head, like how I need to nag the financial aid office at my school to make sure my loans and scholarships are in order so that they don’t kick me out of school for not paying (the financial aid office at my school is notorious for being incompetent). Or trying to remember stuff for class, like the different forms of certain German verbs or the name of the guy who is credited with being “the father of the internet” (no, not Al Gore). So yeah, it’d be nice if I could convince my brain that we’re on a break here and can relax, but it doesn’t believe me.

Eh, it’s all good. Things will be back to normal Tuesday and my brain will be justified in its nagging and whatnot.