the worst interviewee in history

Yesterday I interviewed for a full-time teaching position, the job I have dreamed about since I got out of school. No more schlepping between 3 schools! Stability! Dental insurance! I think I did pretty well, but I keep reliving every detail of the interview over in my head and criticizing myself. We'll see what happens.

what not to do...

If I show you a picture of my child, don't show me a picture of your dog. NOT THE SAME THING!!!!

best month ever

Things appear to be going well on the work front for Ryan and me, but I don't want to jinx it. I bought a really fancy suit, and that's all I'll say for now. This month, Benjamin has taken one more step towards boyhood. He had a horrible Easter. After a long visit at my parents' house during which Benjamin adamantly refused to nap, we got on the freeway and drove home, facing the wind and traffic that is inevitable on the 10 Freeway through the desert. The last leg of our journey, Ben decided to start screaming. He did not stop, even when we finally arrived, and he continued crying as we removed him from his seat. When Ben screams like this, it literally makes me consider jabbing a letter opener through my eye or choking myself until I am unconscious, just to escape the situation.

But that Benjamin, that screaming malcontent, disappeared this week, and it is glorious and creepy all at once. This week, Ben converted to the happiest baby on the planet. He's literally been laughing all week at the smallest things. He dances to the Beatles and Brendan Benson. He gives kisses and hugs and pretends to read books. He spins until he falls down. Ever since Monday, he's barely cried. Yesterday, he even ate a gyro and a giant piece of tri-tip beef at Market Night. Who is this baby? A new Ben is emerging, a happy, fun-loving, spirited young gent. Ryan and I love the change, but we are cautious. He's so happy, I say. And then I grow quiet and wonder if something is wrong. Like maybe he has malaria and the happiness is some sort of delirious state. No, he's just happy, I tell myself. And I try to enjoy it.

Pictures coming, I promise...

the red state within

I know I've discussed this before, but I have to tell you, all three of you who read this, that I was at Kmart today buying Little Caesars pizza. Yes, I just said that I bought pizza inside of a Kmart. But, c'mon, it was only 5 dollars! Anyway, I put my order in, and Benjamin and I set off to explore the aisles, in an effort to kill the 20 minute wait. I gave Ben a small plastic hanger from a rack to distract him--he loves hangers--and I pushed him towards the beverage aisle to pick up some soda. As I was rounding a corner stocked with pvc roll-up shades, I encountered a man. This was not just any man, it was a man boasting a full Fu Manchu mustache, a NASCAR hat, skin tight dark blue jeans, work boots, and, to top it all off---I swear to you this is true--a knife inside a black leather knife holder attached to his belt. The six foot women in front of him with the fried red perm and excruciatingly translucent leggings dropped her pillow at this man's feet, and he picked it up for her, and they began to lively discuss something--likely why they both enjoy George W., guns, Jesus, and hot dogs--in twangy, almost Southern accents. Now, where did these people come from? I live an hour away from Los Angeles, and here, in the walls of Kmart, I find that I don't belong. I find women in lace-up boots and acid-washed jeans and banana clips staring at ME as if I don't belong. I'm like Marissa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny, a big city girl in the small town, except we're supposedly from the same place. It doesn't matter where you live. WalMart and Kmart import these people. Whether they come in by crate in the middle of the night, or via secret tunnel direct from Kansas to the motor oil aisle, I couldn't tell you. Something is happening. These people are not from California. I just know it.

objectivity

I sat staring at a photo of Ben tonight, and I realized that it is completely impossible for me to consider him objectively. I know what his head smells like when it sweats. I know how many creases he has in his chubby big toes. I know the birthmark on his butt, that one crooked tooth, that rash he gets on his cheek when he's fighting off asthma. I know what his skin feels like even when he's in the other room. When I look at a photograph of him, all of his features melt together with everything I know about him. I fall in love.

Ben's a self-starter 

I turned around one day, and Ben was sitting on the rocking chair with book out.  

Ben loves this dog--it is the most annoying toy ever 

two baby elmos 

reading on the go 

Loving Elmo isn't as easy as it seems 

Me and my baby boy 

that's a diaper on his head...and he likes it. 

my handsome man 

ben and his friend 

family photo gone awry 

a lovely shot with daddy 

reading the morning paper 

I was going to post more pictures, but this one says it all.