Date Night

Ght.Let's flash back about 4 years to when I was pregnant with Nathan. I was terrified. Not so much terrified of the birth part, which is what a normal person would be terrified about, but about the whole part after the birth where I'd have to parent another human being for 18+ years.

I'm still a little bit terrified, but that's beside the point.

Anyway, I think the scariest part back then was the fact that, for Bill and me, it would be the end of just us. You know what I mean? Like, for the rest of time, it wouldn't be just the two of us day in and day out, but instead there would be another (very needy) human being coming between us.

People professed to us, ad nauseum, that the remedy to the loss of post-baby couple time was to schedule regular date nights. Let's just get it out of the way that I think date night is a stupid term. Why are you going out on dates when you're already married?

But I guess the concept of the date night is appealing. What's not to love? It's a fun time with delicious food that you don't have to cook, and no demanding little person interrupting you. YES! said the 2006 me. I would make sure that Bill and I had regular date nights after the baby was born!

Hahahahaha.

The first thing that happened was that the tiny person came into our lives, and we realized that we trusted no one to watch him. (I mean we would have trusted our relatives, but let's recall that they all live 1,800 miles away.) Before the baby is born, you swear you won't be those parents who think there isn't a single person smart and/or responsible enough to care for your precious genius of a child. But then the kid comes into your lives and you are overcome by the absolute unspeakable terror of anything bad ever happening to that kid. And all it would take would be one irresponsible act by a teenage babysitter, some innocent move like putting your newborn infant to bed with a blanket, and tragedy would strike.

We would never leave the house again.

People suggested that we do the whole date night thing after baby Nathan went to bed, and then we could just pay a babysitter to sit in our house and watch TV and eat our food. Why the hell would I pay money to somebody to do that? After Nathan was in bed, we could just hang out together at home. Plus, I was exhausted back then, and the idea of going out after 6:30 p.m., when it was dark, was just not appealing.

So we never went out when Nathan was a baby, which was actually not that big of a deal because when he was just a nonverbal blob, we could mostly carry on normal conversations in his presence anyway.

But now Nathan is 3 1/2 years old, and he's a bit of an interrupter. And normal family dinners at home consist largely of us trying to get Nathan to stay in his seat.

Plus I have to say that Nathan giving up his naps has added another challenge in our marriage. It used to be that Nathan napped away the afternoon, which meant I got a break, during which I usually took a nap myself. And when Bill got home from work around 7:00, we were all relatively chipper. Now the kid and I are awake, and together, for 12 excruciating hours, the last two of which are often really frustrating. And so by 7:00 (or later) when Bill walks in the door, I'm totally frazzled and exhausted and just begging to be alone. I can sometimes muster up enough energy to sit in front of the TV with him, although that assumes we can agree on what to watch, which doesn't always happen because some people want to watch Martha Stewart make adorable holiday wreaths with B-list celebrities, while some people want to watch some weird-ass show about characters called Frak-tons on the Sci-Fi network.

So, the husband and I haven't spent as much time together lately. For quite some time, I have known that I need to go ahead and schedule some of those date night thingies.

But ... Warning: Here comes some whining. Date nights seem like yet another thing on my to-do list. Like, it's not enough that I'm expected to raise this child and instill in him all the appropriate behavior, academic preparedness, and moral values (when all he really wants to do is throw fruit snacks behind the couch). I'm also expected to keep my house clean, my body fit, and keep my family well-fed with economically-priced healthy meals. It would be nice, says society, if I could also be running some sort of lucrative business or working at a fulfilling part-time career on the side. And on top of all that, I'm supposed to schedule date nights, too?

Now, obviously, if your children have grandparents in the area who can just pop over and babysit, for free, whenever you feel the need to go out, date nights might be a little bit simpler. But for some of us (cue world's tiniest violins), finding childcare is a task involving a little bit more hassle. There is no obvious babysitter choice in the form of a responsible teenage neighbor. I'm told that the teenage babysitter is kind of a myth from days of old anyway, because today's teens are too busy studying for their 57 AP exams or texting or something.

I have had some recommendations for babysitters over the years, but I have just been too lazy and/or scared to ever contact them. As I have said before, I don't feel comfortable being somebody's employer. I don't know how to convey the proper amount of seriousness (because, hello, I'm entrusting this person with my child), without sounding like a total bitch. And instead I come across as OMG I totally want to be your BFF, oh by the way would you mind not locking him in the bathroom for two hours like that? Thanksies!

(Let me note, for the sake of the poor girl coming to babysit for us, that she did not and would not lock Nathan in the bathroom for two hours. I don't mean to incriminate her. It was just a hypothetical situation mentioned for comedic effect. In case that wasn't totally obvious.)

So, now I'm looking at a situation where I, by myself, have to interview potential babysitters, which is both scary and awkward for me, not to mention another thing to do in my already busy day of surfing the Internet for several hours.

And then there's the not-so-small issue of the financial aspect of hiring a babysitter. At the going rate, your standard dinner-and-a-movie date night is going to run you about $40 in babysitting fees. There's no movie that's worth that much to me, and I don't so much want to spend dinner on edge because hello we've got a babysitter on the clock and you took 6 minutes to bring me my Diet Coke refill and that's $1 in babysitting time!

Plus I have to clean my house to a reasonably-sanitary state before this babysitter comes. And I have to feed my kid and the babysitter. When I was babysitting, the standard meal was pizza, which seems like an especially good idea when you're leaving for a trip soon and the only thing you have in your refrigerator is generic Kraft singles and some expired sushi.

More money, more effort.

So now I'm looking at hassle, hassle, hassle and money, money, money. And yes, I know date nights are cheaper/easier/more fun than marriage counseling and/or a divorce, so it's worth it to have couple time in the form of date nights.

Random Holiday Photos

So yeah, I got my cat a Santa hat and beard:

I can see the headline: Housewife, 32, Mauled to Death by Angry Housecat

Then today was Nathan's preschool party. The invitation said, We're expecting a special surprise guest! Sarcastically, I said to Bill, "Hmm, who could it be?!" To which Nathan nonchalantly replied, "I think it's Santa." This generation is so jaded.


There was a whole-class group shot with Santa, but of course my kid wouldn't participate in it. So I'm not going to show that one. Here he is with his party snacks:

I signed up to bring an appetizer, which I interpreted as "Goldfish." And it's not just because it was a party for preschoolers. I'd totally serve Goldfish as an appetizer at a party for adults, too!

You Capture: Outside

Occasionally native Californians tell me that they're jealous of the weather we have in Illinois. I'd call them crazy, but growing up in California I just thought snow was the coolest thing ever. It was so exciting when your parents took you to "the snow." And when I was a kid, I heard that in places where it snowed, you could wake up in the morning and find out that they had actually canceled school.

Now that I live in a snowy climate, there are things I like about snow (namely, it's pretty), but there are also a lot of weather-related hassles that I didn't know about before we moved here. There's the shoveling. And the gigantic, time-consuming drag it is to locate and put on approximately 17 pieces of snow gear on yourself and your kid before going out. And because of the shoveling and the gear, you often just decide you're better off staying home. This is a phenomenon I call snowflaking, as in, "I was gonna go to the mall, but I totally snowflaked."

Snowflaking is responsible for a lot of poor mental health. And when you've been in your house all day and you feel like the walls are caving in, and your kid is so stir-crazy he's actually throwing handfuls of flour on the carpet (true story), it's time to get out. Good thing this week's You Capture challenge at I Should be Folding Laundry was "Outside." So I could grab my flour-covered kid and be all, "We have to go outside. Mommy needs pictures for a blog post."

The first thing that happened was that we slid on our asses on some sidewalk ice. So I decided to put down some salt. (Note to Californians: You buy big bags of salt because it makes the ice melt, and then you aren't The Jerk Who Tripped the Mailman.) The only receptacle I could find for the salt was this dump truck we used for sand at the beach. I feel like it's our own personal version of the city salt trucks that drive down the streets, which I call the Salt Spitters.

Nathan with our personal salt spitter.

And then some more pictures:

Do you like my snow boots? They're totally utilitarian, but with the cute feminine touch of a ribbon. And no, those aren't the Pajama Jeans peeking out from underneath.


My kid chucks a snowball at me.


Speaking of snowballs, Nathan demonstrates our cool snowball maker. Only suckers roll their own snowballs by hand.

Look how beautiful and uniform they are!


The residents of this house were smart enough to relocate to their southern house for the winter.

This poor snowman. Not only was he decapitated and dismembered, but then a dog peed on his lifeless body.

And speaking of winter misfortune ... glove loss! Every single year I lose several gloves, so that by February I'm wearing two different gloves (if I'm lucky enough to have a right and a left glove by then). But this poor person lost both gloves, and look how pretty they are:

I almost picked them up and took them home.

And then, not ten feet away, another double-glove loss:

The story of the black gloves has a happy ending, however, as it appeared that the gloves and their owner were reunited by the time I came back to that same spot.

I would be the sunshine in your universe

Jack: Lemon, if you were about to say that you don’t get any respect, you’re right. I mean, in a post-apocalyptic world, how would society even use you?

Liz: Traveling bard.

Jack: Radiation canary.

--From 30 Rock, Season 5, Episode 3, "Let's Stay Together"

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I spend a lot of time questioning my worth to society. I mean, it's not like I go to bed at night and literally ask myself How did I contribute to society today? But I realize that at the back of my mind I'm always feeling sort of useless, and that a lot of the guilt and pressure I put on myself is a result of this feeling of uselessness.

I feel like I should be giving back to society because I have been given so many advantages in this society. First off, I was born into a first-world country, where certain measures of safety and security are taken for granted. And I was pretty much born with every possible advantage anybody could have. I mean, sure, my family was neither rich nor well-connected, but they were educated and financially stable. I had parents who were selfless and devoted, and who made their children's education their first priority. I went to good schools (public schools, BTW), and had good teachers. It was a given that I would go to college, and my family made that happen financially. And when I got married, I married a man who came from the same sort of advantageous background. And now we have a home in the suburbs, insurance, and enough money to afford the things we need. We have a son who is growing up with the same advantages we did. And should anything ever go wrong, we have a giant support system to fall back on.

We are so, so lucky.

I think one of the advantages of being educated in a very diverse public school system was that I was aware, from a very young age, that there were people who weren't as lucky as I was. I remember the PTA had to take this one kid to get a haircut, and another girl to get glasses. I found out later that some kids even had to be taken to the nearby high school to take showers in the gym locker room. And while my selfish little elementary school brain couldn't process concepts like privilege and gratitude, I think I have always known that I came into this world in a pretty lucky place.

But I always feel like I should be using the advantages I've been given in order to give back. And I think I more or less fail at giving back on a daily basis.

Obviously, it's hard for most of us to give back on a day-to-day basis. Sometimes it feels like it's all you can do to get yourself and your dependents through the day. Sure, you're making a difference each day to your family and/or your employer, but can you really say you're changing the world?

Now, we all know that there are very, very few people who can exact large-scale change in the world. Unless you're the president or Bill Gates or Mother Teresa, you probably aren't making large-scale, global change. For the rest of us, all we can hope is that we can make a tiny difference to somebody, somewhere.

But I feel like I usually fail at even making small-scale change. Sure, I give people money for their charity walk-a-thons. And I try to say and do little things to make improvements in people's days, like when I complimented the worker at the Wendy's drive-thru on her eyeshadow last week. I try to be a patient driver on the road. I offer to babysit. I make pies. I use reusable canvas grocery bags.

Still, most of the time I feel like a useless waste of space. I wonder, how am I giving back to the world?

All of this is a really long introduction to tell you about how I think I made a difference this week.

See, on Monday I wrote this blog post about depression. I wasn't planning on writing it, and I sure as hell wasn't planning on sharing it on Facebook. It felt too personal. It's weird how you have no problem putting your innermost thoughts and feelings out there for a nameless, Faceless Internet, but the idea of sharing it with 200 of your closest family and friends seems scary.

But I felt like I had to share. I know I have Facebook friends who struggle with depression, some of which I know about and some of which I'm sure I don't. I needed to share for their sake, so people would know that they're not alone. So people would know it's not their faults.

I got two really special e-mails in response to that post. I'm not going to go into detail about them because I don't want to give identifying information about the senders, but both made me cry. Both said thank you for posting this. One said It was meant to be for you to post that today.

Others on Facebook just said thank you. And I like to think that there were more people who were touched by that post, some I know and some I don't.

Now, I don't want to make it seem like I have delusions about my level of influence in the world. I know this is the 23,654th most popular blog on the Technorati list. I'm not reaching the whole world.

But that day, I reached a few people. And I like to think that those people will now have a little bit more courage to share their feelings with a few more people. (And no, I don't expect them to share their feelings on Facebook and/or the Internet. There's a certain level of crazy involved in wanting to be that public with your thoughts and feelings.) And if each person can reach just one more person, we'll eventually create a sort of pyramid scheme (the good kind) to bring more acceptance to mental illness.

So, on Monday, I made a difference. I didn't cure cancer or provide humanitarian aid to Darfur. (I don't actually know where Darfur is, or what exactly is going on there.) But I reached a few people. And in this giant, complicated world, making a small difference is sometimes all you can do.

Nathan goes to the dentist

I have been writing a lot about mental health lately, so today I turn my attention to oral health. Oral health is very important.

(Must suppress inner 12-year-old boy's desire to laugh at the word oral.)

When it comes to my own oral hygiene, I think I'm doing a fairly adequate job. I brush twice a day and floss every night. I go to my twice-a-year dental checkups. (Sad reality: Now that I'm a mom, I kind of find dentist appointments relaxing. I get to be by myself, lying down and watching the Food Network.) And, I mean, not to toot my own very pathetic horn or anything, but the hygienist rated my brushing skills "good."

But when it comes to oral hygiene for my kid, I have failed on many counts. First there was the part where it didn't occur to me until he was well over one year old that I should be brushing his teeth. And even then, I didn't brush his teeth every single day. I remember leaving for a week-long trip when he was about 16 months old, and I questioned whether I should even pack the kid's toothbrush.

And nowadays, I do make him brush daily, but I usually just let him do it himself without supervision. Which is awesome, because three-year-olds are super great at all personal grooming tasks, especially those requiring fine motor skills. I always have really high aspirations of helping him brush his teeth, but toothbrushing occurs at a time when his stubbornness level is high and my patience level is low. And so if he comes to me with a smear of toothpaste on his face and tells me he brushed his teeth, I just call it good.

Plus it doesn't even matter because I'm still letting him drink a cup of milk after he brushes his teeth anyway.

Perhaps out of fear of being judged by dental professionals, I put off my kid's first dental visit. I remember at my regular checkup in November 2009, the hygienist told me that Nathan was ready for his first visit.

We had his first visit yesterday, December 13, 2010.

The cocked head makes him look angry and/or dubious, but really he was just watching Dinosaur Train on the TV. Good timing.

Anyway, we got to the office early, because I thought it would be a good idea to let him play with the toys in the waiting room first. I warned him that when his name was called, he would have to put the toys away.

And then his name was called, and here is what happened: He actually put the toys away. All of them. Without a battle. And he made sure the lid was closed on the toy box.

I knew right then that Dentist Nathan was a totally different kid.


And he cooperated with every single request to say Awwwwww and turn his head for Mr. Thirsty. He let the woman stick that pick in his mouth and didn't complain, which clearly must mean that they weren't doing it as hard as they do on me, because Mother of God that thing is a bitch. It totally ruins an otherwise relaxing trip to the dentist.

After he got his teeth painted with fluoride and picked out a toy, I took him to McDonald's. This was allegedly a reward for going to the dentist, because I like to create a new generation of people who reward themselves with food. In actuality, I took him to McDonald's because they have an indoor playground, and I thought the boy needed to run around a little after all that dental chair time. Much as I hate to admit it, McDonald's is kind of a major winter hangout for us, especially in December when the mall playground is so crowded.

So, even though it was like 2:00 and we had already eaten lunch, Nathan wanted a Happy Meal. I suspect he wanted it chiefly for the Transformers toy, which is the boy-oriented toy they are giving out right now. The girl-oriented toy is a Hello Kitty watch, which I told him he should get because I likes me the H.K. He said I could get that toy in my Happy Meal. I said I wasn't going to order a Happy Meal. "Fine," he said, "You can get a Sad Meal." No, no thanks, I'm trying to quit eating Sad Meals. I got a hot-fudge sundae instead.

And I brushed my teeth afterward.

For Today

I wasn't going to write another depression post. You guys are tired of reading about depression. And I don't want to make everybody think I'm in some kind of horribly low place where I can't function at all and I want to kill myself. That is not the case. Not at all.

But yesterday I was experiencing several of the hallmarks of The Lowest of the Low, even though, as Katie pointed out, I am not anywhere near as bad as I was that one time in 2008. But it's hard to qualitatively rank the lowness of moods, even in the most rational of minds, which was not the mind I was in yesterday. I had the whole How am I going to make it through the day? syndrome, as well as, Why are you trying to ruin my life by making such awful requests as 'please give me some milk'? And I had this really bad moment in the produce department of Target where I went into full worst-case scenario/racing thought mode, not so much a panic attack as just a sudden strike of inability to carry on. It felt like all the people around me were swirling around, in some other world, carrying on about their better, healthier lives. I felt like I was paralyzed by my own thoughts. And then my kid was trying to hang off the side of the cart and knock off whatever items were on the endcaps of each aisle, including pasta sauce in glass jars.

I took a deep breath and moved on. I made it through the day.

But today I knew, just knew, that I better get my depressed ass to the gym and generate some endorphins. Which, let me say, in the lowest of the low, you do not know anything you need to do to pull yourself out. I think that's something people don't understand about depression. When you are so far down, you can't figure out how to claw your way out. Nowadays, I can figure out how, most of the time, although I had to call myself out on my bullshit brain yesterday when it was doing the whole, "No, there's no point in doing [insert fun, life-affirming activity], I will still be sad, I hate doing that, blah, blah, blah." That bullshit is totally depression's BFF.

So today I was just a teeny-tiny hair better and I knew I had to drag myself to the gym. But my kid was all coughing and Bill said he shouldn't go to the gym daycare. I was like, "I'm sorry, I have to go," and left Nathan home with Bill.

Let me say that in that Spin class, I felt like I rode to hell and back, which is saying something when it's a stationary bicycle. About halfway through, I felt physically and emotionally awful. I was seriously going through those same racing thoughts as I had at Target yesterday. I couldn't focus on the class because I was so worked up about my stupid, screwed-up brain.

But I kept on riding because what the hell else was I supposed to do? And somewhere in the middle of that class, I managed to ride back out of all of it. We ended the class with an extra-long, pummel-all-of-it-out-of-you stretching session. At the end of class, I wasn't magically cured of my depression. In fact, I felt so drained that I didn't even want to take a shower.

Don't worry, I still did. And while I was in the shower, I applauded myself for doing a tiny little something to make it better. And the thought occurred to me:

I will do what I need to do to make myself right.

And maybe that doesn't sound like much to you. But to me, it was such an eye-opening thought that I felt like I was freakin' Confucius. As I said, the acknowledgment that I have coping skills that I know I can use to make myself better is a big sign of an upward trend in my mental health. It doesn't mean I'm all better. It means I know there are things I can do to make myself better.

And when I say I will do what I need to do, I'm acknowledging that I have to think about myself right now. I know that sounds selfish. I also know that this entire blog consists of my pathetic navel-gazing, so if you read this you might think all I do is sit around and focus on my feelings all day long. But, like most moms, like most women in general, I spend most of my day taking care of other people. And especially during the holidays, you are extra busy trying to get it all done.

But today I am saying, so what if I don't feel up to buying some Christmas gifts? I can buy them tomorrow. So what if my floor is covered with toys and clutter? I will clean that up tomorrow. Today I will do what I need to do to make myself right.

And I will take my kid to the dentist, which doesn't feel like the horrible affront to my sanity that it would have felt like yesterday or the day before.

Another depression sufferer and I once talked about the gifts of depression. When you are in the thick of it, it does not seem like something you can ever feel grateful for. But as you start to come out of it, you realize that sometimes it takes being smacked to your very core to realize that you need to make some changes in your life. You need to stop playing the martyr who does everything for everybody else all the time.

You need to say, No, I will not get you some milk, because you just asked for water 2 minutes ago, and water is the drink you'll be drinking.

When I went to the outpatient depression program I affectionately refer to as Crazy Camp, the leader told us that depression was like the common cold of mental illness. So to play on this cold analogy, I will say that the worst of depression feels like that bad cold where no matter what you do, you are so stuffed up you can't blow out any snot. And all you can do is ride it out, which, believe me, feels like the hardest thing ever. But, as with a cold, you don't just go from "plugged up with snot" to instantly better overnight. There's an intermediate stage, and today I'm in that intermediate stage with my depression. I can start getting the snot out. And I can see that someday it will be right.

I will do what I need to do to make myself right.

Let's be prompt!

It's a dark, snowy day, and I'm snuggled under a blanket listening to sad music. I'm still struggling with a mental health downturn, but I am hoping I'm at the tail end of it. Anyway, this doesn't feel like the day to be funny.

Rather than bring you down with some pathetic attempt at introspection, I decided to turn to the NaBloPoMo prompts page for inspiration. You are supposed to write a whole post about each prompt, but since I'm sort of behind, I thought I would cover a number of prompts in one post. I'll just stop when I get bored and/or interrupted. I'll list each prompt with the day it was presented on the NaBloPoMo site.

12/10: Name three things you're grateful for, and three things you want in your life.
Grateful: (1) My family, (2) Health, (3) The ability to express my emotions. Want: (1) Better control over my mental health, (2) Better willpower when it comes to food, (3) Fewer friends struggling with financial problems next Christmas (though I don't know if that counts as being in my life).

12/9: What one thing are you often tempted to lie about? When do you think it's okay to lie?
Hmm, I'm a terrible liar, so I usually don't try. I did lie to Nathan's preschool last week when I called and said he was sick and wouldn't come to school, when in actuality I was taking him to the 1800baskets thing. That was just to the random receptionist who answers the phone at the park district though, not to his actual teacher. I copped to my lie later on with his actual teacher, who asked him if he was feeling better. (Stupidly, he just said "yes." He had no idea what she was talking about, because at least I didn't tell the lie in front of him.) But I do think it's okay to lie to kids about Santa. Some parents aren't comfortable with lying about Santa, but I have yet to find an adult who resents his/her parents for lying about Santa. I think believing in Santa is a fun, magical childhood experience that kids should get to have.

12/8: What do you think happens after we die?
You get buried. Or cremated. There is a funeral. People are sad. As for the whole afterlife thing, I haven't really figured out what I believe about that. All I can say is I definitely don't believe in hell.

12/7: Are you a competitive person or not? What helps you refocus and/or work harder when you find yourself slacking off?
Part 1: Am I a competitive person? Hahahahahaha. HA. When I swim at the gym, I can't help but be happy if I swim faster than the person in the lane next to me, even if that person is 75 years old. I can get scary competitive, but for the most part I try to avoid situations where my competitive nature is going to rear its ugly head. That's why I don't like hanging out with moms who always want to compare their kids' milestones to your kid's. Part 2: What helps you refocus and/or work harder when you find yourself slacking off? Why would I want to work harder?

12/6: Which of your senses means the most to you?
I really think the only correct answer here is vision. Loss of vision would be the hardest to overcome. I feel kind of bad saying that because I don't mean to imply that it's easy to be deaf or something like that. The loss of any sense would be hard. I just think not being able to visually comprehend my surroundings would be the hardest for me.

12/3: If you could erase one type of animal from the face of the earth, what would it be?
Insects with a lot of legs. What is it with the multi-legged insects that makes them so creepy?

12/2: What's the most dangerous thing you've ever done?
I don't balance my checkbook.

12/1: If you could stop your body from aging at any point in your life, what age would you want to stay at and why?
Well, obviously I'd want a body in its early 20s. I would want a mind that is much, much older. That's allowed, right?

11/30: If you could call any living person for advice today, who would you call?
Well, I think in actuality, your close friends and relatives would probably give you better advice than some stranger, because they know you better. But since this is a sort of fantasy question, I guess I should pick some famous person who I wouldn't normally have access to. So I pick Tina Fey for comedic advice and Brooke Shields for mental health advice.

11/29: If you could have worked for anyone in history, in your field, who would you choose and why?
What field am I in? I used to be a teacher, but I don't think I'd want to work for any famous teachers. Like, Annie Sullivan? Would that mean I'd have to go live in the olden days? Jaime Escalante? Would he want to work with some dumb white girl who doesn't understand calculus? He'd be all, "Dude, I got these low-income kids from an urban school to pass the A.P. Calculus exam, twice because the first time they were accused of cheating. And you stupid-ass suburban white girl of privilege, you got a 2. Clearly you don't have the ganas! Get out!" No, no famous teachers. And after teaching my field was publishing, and I'm not sure I know any famous people in that industry. William Randolph Hearst? I've toured his house twice, and the indoor pool haunts my dreams. Plus I was in educational publishing, not newspaper publishing. Now I'm a mom, and is that really a field? Who is a famous mom? June Cleaver? Florence Henderson? And I fancy myself a bit of a comedian, but would any famous comedians want me working for them? Okay, Tina Fey. I pick Tina Fey again. That way I wouldn't have to go back in time and live at a time when women were oppressed and a lot of people died of cholera. And she would use some of my jokes in 30 Rock.

11/26: What's the worst joke you've ever heard?
Most of the ones featured on Popsicle sticks.

11/25: Who are you closer to, friends or family?
Family. Family is always going to be there for you.

11/24: What turns you on, excites you, makes life worth living?
Obviously, your family makes life worth living. That's a no-brainer. But I'm excited by other things, most notably writing. Doing my daily blog post is the best part of my day. Sometimes I'm actually sad when I finish it, which probably explains the length of some of the posts.

11/23: What's on your wall: prints, posters, photos, paintings? What makes you want to hang something up?
I think maybe I've reached an age where things on the wall have to be framed. We have two cool reproductions of vintage posters (framed) that are advertisements for California tourist attractions. The picture that occupies the coveted over-the-couch spot is a painting of a train. Obviously we also have many framed family portraits. As for the second part of the question, What makes you want to hang something up?, the answer is, the impending arrival of guests who we don't want to know that we have had pictures sitting on the floor waiting to be hung up for months.

11/22: Tell us about what you're wearing today. Where'd you get your shoes? How long have you had that tie? Is that your grandmother's watch?
Whoa, NaBloPoMo, you are way off. I'm not wearing shoes, a tie, or a watch. I'm wearing my pajamas, and not even cute pajamas, because all of those are in the wash. Right now I'm wearing old pajama bottoms and one of my husband's white t-shirts.

11/19: Write the first paragraph of your autobiography.
Why are you reading my autobiography? What have I done that's remotely interesting? It's laughable that I would think I was worthy of an autobiography, and even more laughable that there would be a publisher actually willing to publish it. But assuming that I did write this autobiography and somebody did publish it, shame on you for wasting money on it. I hope you at least got it from the library, or in e-book form so no trees had to die for this drivel. Please stop wasting your time reading this right now, and instead go do something meaningful like playing with your children or volunteering for a charity.

11/18: Link to three posts that you've loved this month written by other people, and tell us why.
1. This hilarious post over at Amalah about the stupid stuff people write on pregnancy message boards, 2. My friend Katie's post about the, umm, different food preferences in other countries, 3. My friend Carolyn's post mocking those annoying Christmas card letters.

Whew! That's 17 prompts! I'm done! Have a good Sunday, everyone!