Two posts I liked this week:

Indigo Girl’s post on embryo donation—I’d heard of the issue, but hadn’t ever known anyone who personally had to make a decision about it.

Problem Girl’s post on the name Stian (pronounced “stain”), with the extremely funny edits.

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Baby name blog stuff:

I was surprised there weren’t more people who’d had a dream about naming a baby.

SQUEE DEAL ALERT: Angel, complete series, $51. CHRISTMAS IS NIE. Or niegh, or nei, or what IS it? NIGH! It’s nigh.

I was filling out a field trip permission slip and writing the accompanying check, and something was bugging me that bugs me every time: at our school, the parents who act as chaperons on field trips have to pay for their own tickets.

That seems so unfair to me. I can’t chaperon right now, and if I could I wouldn’t want to because it seems like a huge and boring and stressful duty (not to mention expensive for those parents who also help by driving), and so I really appreciate it that other parents are willing to. Those parents are helping the school, and the school NEEDS them to help in order to take the field trip, but the school can’t pay their $8 admission ticket to some historical site? That seems wrong.

So what I did was, I wrote a check for my child’s ticket, and I wrote a separate check to sponsor one chaperon. Then I reconsidered: that would put the teacher in a tricky situation, because which chaperon will she choose, and that’s unfair to the other chaperons. I took the check out, planning to contact the teacher and ask what would be best.

But now I am thinking a little bigger. I’m considering contacting someone in administration instead. Because what makes more sense than “one parent writes one check for one chaperon” is for the field trip forms to always contain an option to sponsor a chaperon. I get a little twinge (along with a little rush of guilty relief) every time I check the “I will not be able to chaperon” box, and I’ll bet other parents do too, so that seems like the perfect moment for us to see a “I would like to sponsor a chaperon” checkbox. The money donated could then be divided among the chaperons, so that they get at least a discounted ticket—and possibly there would even be extra money, which could be put toward future field trips.

1. I switched from sandals to shoes, and my shoes are bothering my feet: they feel tight and overly warm, and my feet feel sore.

2. I changed exercises, and managed to make my shins owie.

3. I’ve had a headache every day for three days in a row.

4. It’s only Tuesday.

5. I’m fretful and upset about Marie’s situation.

6. I’m reading a book that has a sad baby plotline.

7. Among the blogs and tweetstreams I read, there’s been a sudden outbreak of sadnesses.

8. There’s no candy in the house.

9. Two of the children have runny noses. That never leads anywhere good.

10. Mouse’s peeing issues.

11. Rob’s school does a one-week sleepaway camp for sixth graders. It’s this month. I’m worried and fretful about obvious stuff, but also cranky about the supply list, which lists a million things we don’t own and then emphasizes that we should NOT be buying new things for this trip, but rather sending old stuff. Oh, sure, I’ll send his OLD sturdy waterproof hiking boots and one of our many daypacks!

12. Henry is in a particularly difficult stage, with lots of bursting into tears over very little, and lots of repeating questions he JUST asked me but now asking them in a whinier tone—and then, when I tell him I said no and stop asking me, saying, “WHY? Why, Mommy? Why should I?” *headache pounding*

13. Two phone calls I need to make.

14. “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?”

15. The underwire is coming through my bra, and poking me in the armpit.

What’s wrong with YOU today?

Last night I woke up at 3:00 and sleep didn’t come back. And why—WHY—would my self thwart myself like that? Sleep is good! Sleep is nice! Four in the morning is not a time to be sitting in a recliner with a cat and a book, however pleasant a way that might be to spend the time during the day.

Anyway. Coffee.

I’m reading a book right now that I’ll officially recommend to you if it finishes as well as it has begun and middled: The Good Psychologist by Noam Shpancer. I am mesmerized, MESMERIZED. I just love it and love it. Not only am I enjoying the plot, I’m finding the content literally therapeutic. Like, I am LEARNING PSYCHOLOGICAL TRUTHS and HAVING PSYCHOLOGICAL INSIGHTS. Or rather, being led like a willing and placid lambie to those truths and insights. You could read this book as therapy, is what I’m saying, and yet it’s entertaining and it’s fiction, not textbooky.

Plus, the author photo is pleasing to look at. I like a good author photo. Things that can make an author photo NOT a good author photo include but are not limited to: author putting her hands unnaturally at her face to hide a double chin; author using her upper arms to make her boobs look bigger; author looking like she had the photo taken at Glamor Shots; author perceptibly airbrushed. (I read mostly female authors. For men the pitfall list is less defined, and goes something like “Looking like a jerk.”)

Good author photos are harder to make lists about. The EFFECT of a good author photo is that I feel like I know and recognize and like the author, and I want to keep looking at him or her periodically as I’m reading. The photo should coordinate with the style of the book. I shouldn’t feel as if the author is trying to show us his/her most flattering angle, even if he or she IS in fact doing so.

One of my favorite author photos is this one from Suzanne Finnamore’s book The Zygote Chronicles (I’ve deliberately linked to the unavailable hardcover rather than to the available paperback, because book cover art is IMPORTANT and the hardcover captures the book whereas the paperback does not), taken by Kate Powers:

And another good one is Noam Shpancer’s, taken by Mia Lewis:

The more of the book I read, the more I like the photo, which is another sign of a good author photo.

Follow-up: I REALLY liked the book. I officially recommend.

I like to put these, uh, “special interest” topics together, since not everyone is special-interested.

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Car business:

You remember the dealer who said the minivan needed $4500 of work, despite running beautifully and not showing any symptoms of anything being wrong? My since-before-blogging friend Firegirl is a car girl, married to a car guy and friends with other car guys. AND, I have a dad who is the kind of person who READS MANUALS. My crack team of Car People looked over the estimate and said “PSHAW.” Firegirl suggests saving up for the timing belt and water pump, but all the rest of it is stuff that gets fixed WHEN IT BREAKS, not FOR FUN. So that’s a relief.

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Cat business:

Update on the cat-peeing-on-the-bed situation. Several of you suggested ideas such as closing Mouse into the bathroom, or closing our bedroom door, and it all seemed too overwhelming: we can’t keep our door closed at night because we need to be able to hear the kids; if we try to keep anything closed during the day, the kids will open it and forget to re-close it.

But there was a load of cat-pee sheets that kicked me over that edge and made me willing to try it: she peed on a pile of CLEAN sheets I hadn’t even PUT ON THE BED yet. So at night, Mouse is in the bathroom in her beloved linen closet, and we shut the door; during the day, we shut the door to our room. It doesn’t work consistently (the kids DO open the door and then leave it open), but “closing door sometimes” turns out to be less opportunity for peeing on our bed than “closing doors never”—see also “frustrated perfectionism, and the importance of thwarting that tendency.”

Not only has there been significantly less peeing on our bed, today she came into the living room and JUMPED ONTO MY LAP and PURRED, and we haven’t seen that kind of thing in awhile.

Also, in addition to the litter box we put in the linen closet, I’ve put a bowl of kitten food in there (more calories than regular cat food), and she’s gained a little weight, which is VERY GOOD considering she’s been at less than half her usual weight.

Bumper stickers have been…well, I was going to say “bugging me,” but let’s call a spade a spade and say they’ve been PISSING ME OFF. As in, I’ve been having long, one-sided, sometimes not entirely silent-in-my-head discussions with the imagined owners of said bumper stickers.

The first one that bothered me I saw in two forms within the same week. One was an old peeling “IMPEACH BUSH” sticker, and the other was a new “IMPEACH OBAMA” sticker. I realize a bumper sticker lacks room for detail, but could there be room at least for a “for” and a verb? Does everyone realize we don’t get to impeach a president for “not being what we wanted”? There needs to be an actual, legitimate, legally-justified REASON.

The second one I saw in just one format, but both formats (and I’m sure both formats exist) bug me:

THINKING WOMEN
VOTE REPUBLICAN

It would be nearly as piss-me-offy if it were “THINKING WOMEN VOTE DEMOCRAT.” I don’t think I would qualify any woman as a “thinker” if she thought all women should vote unthinkingly exclusively for one party, nor if she thought women should feel pressured by a bumper sticker.

The third one was not actually a bumper sticker but to me goes into a similar category. There were a bunch of political signs up along the side of the road, and one entire batch of signs just said “NOT!” with an arrow, each one put up to point to one particular candidate’s signs. That seems really icky. It still seemed icky after I looked up the candidate and realized I would vote against her myself: it isn’t about feelings toward a candidate, it’s about poor sportsmanship and mudslinging and spending a lot of time and effort to be jerks.

I’ll end, though, with a bumper sticker I saw today that put me in a better mood:

GOD BLESS EVERYONE
NO EXCEPTIONS

Or there’s mine:

(Screen shot from Zazzle.com.)

My mom thought I was kidding about this song/video existing. She thought I was just really gifted at coming up with mid-’80s social-awareness lyrics.

On Friday, Henry and I dropped the twins off at kindergarten, and we were walking back to our car. The path from the kindergarten to the parking lot is edged by a rock wall. And in a crack between two rocks, we saw a baby maple tree.

It couldn’t live there: there wasn’t enough room or enough dirt anyway, and that’s if the person who tends that path didn’t pull it out. So we pulled it out. And we brought it home and planted it in a big pot, and we will see.

I had Elizabeth put her hand there for scale,
even though Elizabeth is not otherwise part of this story,
because Elizabeth happened to be outside
when I realized I wanted a photo for this post.

Car business:

I finally took the minivan in to have the rear door handle replaced. It’s been…a year? two? since the handle fell off. Long enough so I’m completely in the habit of using only one rear door, and may never go back. Still, nice to have it done. Except that they found $4500 worth of other stuff they recommend we have done, too. Our car may SEEM like it’s running perfectly, but it is CLEARLY ABOUT TO FALL INTO A HEAP OF RUSTED, MALFUNCTIONING PARTS!

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Cat business:

Benchley’s eye is healed. He can have his funny collar off, and he’s been bathing himself constantly ever since we removed it. He might have some lingering scar tissue on his eye, or he might not; we’ll have to see.

Mouse is sniffling in addition to peeing everywhere, so I took her to the vet too. Nothing seems to be wrong. Maybe cystitis. Maybe Benchley’s recent problems, which involved him being indoors all the time and available to menace her by existing. Maybe age. Maybe some as-yet-undiscovered thing.

It’s discouraging. I didn’t want to HOPE something was wrong, but our blankets and sheets are starting to fall apart from vigorous daily washing. I’m getting behind on other laundry because peed-on things are soaking in vinegar-water in the washer so much of the time. Yesterday she peed on Elizabeth’s bed, including the pink toile quilt.

And yet despite all this GROSSNESS I still think of Mouse as “poor old girl.” She’s gentle, and she sleeps on my pillow at night—getting up only to pee on Paul. During the day she sleeps in the linen closet, or on the couch. She’s just over 5 pounds now, when she used to be well over 11 pounds. She and Benchley were sharing a cat carrier for the vet appointment, and Benchley got aggressive after the appointment and started hissing and scrapping, so as I was loading the carrier into the car I took Mouse out and put her on the front passenger seat, which I realize it totally anti-recommended so no need to scold. And she just settled in on the seat and looked toward the front, purring, looking just like this:

I pictured myself as a little old lady, taking my little old lady cat everywhere I went in my little old lady car.