Fat Biscuit

Presenting . . .

our new car. The cutest little (affordable) car ever. When I asked Owen if he liked it, he said, "It's sexy!"

Tracking

It took one week for the goldfinches to find our new thistle feeder.

It took 3 years without seeing a dentist for me to develop five small cavities.

And it has taken 51 days after stopping the birth control pill for my period to start again.

Got My Swatch Back

In 2003, in the hazy months after Owen's birth, Tay and I ventured to the Pentagon City Mall and decided, "Let's get Swatches!" I chose an extra-large Black Sheep Swatch, the face of which is covered with "Sweet Dreams" in various languages: Susse Traume, Suenas Doradas, Beaux Reves . . . I love this watch and was really disappointed when the strap broke last year. This week I decided to take it to the Swatch store to see if I could get a replacement strap. The had the exact match, sheep and all. They even put the new strap on for me. For eight bucks, I got my Swatch back.

This year's customer service awards go to Apple and Swatch.

Hard Drive

Thank you, Genius Bar. Although you were unable to recover anything from my crapped-out hard drive, you did install a new one for $161.70. I was just passed the one-year warranty, but I handled this crisis with grace. (Or was I just in total shock and incapable of registering anger or fear?) Mind you, my husband is terribly organized and had only a couple of months ago backed up the entire hard drive for me. I lost almost nothing. But still, a younger Ceri would have at least punched out a window over this.

Tomorrow I will return to this same Apple Store to browse for a Birthday gift for Taylor. Last time we were there, I saw him fondling a neoprene notebook case. I also caught him reading the back of some ultra-violent computer game about WWII, but I'm not sure I can go there. My other options include frou-frou male skin products from Sephora, a new CD carrying case to replace the one he lost a couple years ago, or a 10-pound box of Jelly Bellies.

Not a Failure

Liz and I held our annual Richards-Maurer yard sale this morning and have counted our profits. Thanks to some generous contributions from my Mum's house, I came away with ~$85 and very little back pain. The big items I turned were my sister's first electric guitar, my Crate amp, and my Vision skateboard from high school. Because I did so much sorting for last year's sale, this year's preparation was uncomplicated and wholly cathartic: I pulled out random outdated wool skirts and now-too-small dresses and tossed them in a plastic bag. I tossed redundant pieces of tupperware and silverware in a box. And, finally, I asked Taylor to cull his massive collection of contemporary fiction and historical/political nonfiction. In fact, the most painful moments of the sale were those spent rearranging items in the blazing sunlight--I tried to kill most of the time sitting in the shade of Liz's Japanese Maple-- cursing about sunburn and sweaty body parts.

We did get assaulted by one highly skilled family of deal makers. I wish you could have seen the fear and disbelief on my face the second after the matron of said family mercilessly slashed my asking price in half, with a scornful chuckle. (I believe I had asked her to give me a buck for a leather satchel.) We didn't stand a chance with these guys. I gave up, and let their haggling wash over me: I kept nodding, smiling, and saying, "Sure, Ok,"

Now the sale has been cleared away, and the remaining boxes have been tucked into the tiny holes of space within our home. The boys hit the road several hours ago with camping gear and food supplies, heading toward the Skyline Drive. Liz and I just hit Target, and I bought a pair of bermuda shorts with some yard sale cash. I'll have an evening to myself, just me, Frieda, and my editing work.

30 mg - 5 mg = 25 mg

Despite what I said a few months ago, I've become recently determined to have a second baby. I want Owen to have a sibling, and I want to raise another baby with Tay. Joyfully, I ceased to take my birth control tablets, and with much enthusiasm I purchased folic acid tablets and began to consume more spinach. Then I remembered: Since Owen's birth in 2003 the FDA has issued new warnings about taking paroxetine (Paxil) during pregnancy, and as a result some doctors are recommending that women stop taking Paxil before getting pregnant. Yeah for me. The medication that has for years kept me free from the symptoms of major depression and anxiety is now the main obstacle standing between me and baby #2. (By the way, if you are feeling low, do not go online and begin browsing for articles describing worst-case scenarios. It will make you weep.)

After getting over the initial shock of what process lay before me, I hunted down a psychiatrist covered by my insurance and made an appointment. I saw that doctor today and have started to taper off medication. The shrink (a middle-aged Middle Eastern woman with a pleasing accent) persuaded me that I should be optimistic and that I am a different person from the one who first started taking antidepressants. She said, "Young lady, you have to be optimistic and have confidence. You can do this." She poo-pooed the idea that withdrawal would be an agonizing experience, even though the last time I went off Paxil, I thought I was dying.

"That's why we are doing it very gradually," she said, " I want to see you again in a month, even if you are feeling good, I want to see you."

So, at this rate, I'll be ready to conceive in the year 2010.