OK, who’s this “Joanna” person?

It’s freezing in the attic/office this morning. I can’t wait until my micathermic panel heater arrives. I should check on that. It’s been a while.

I’ve been up here for a while working and it’s still cold, so I thought I’d pop on here until I give up and go and get a cup of tea to warm up. The thing is, once I go downstairs, I won’t be allowed to leave for at least 15 minutes. Got to pay some attention to the kiddos. (Not that I’m complaining.)

Joanna. Who is she and why do I want to be called that again?

When you have a name like Silandara, you’re just about guaranteed that whenever you meet a new person, the first thing they ask about is the origin of your name. “What kind of a name is that?” or “That’s an interesting/beautiful/unusual/different name, where’s it from?” or “How do you spell that, C – Y – …”

Totally understandable comments and reactions, all of them.

But I hate them. Mostly because I don’t want to answer.

The truth is, my parents weren’t insane. At least not when it came to naming me. They chose a lovely name: Joanna. I changed it.

It seemed like a good idea. I was 19, rebellious, depressed (I was quite ill with fibromyalgia and chemical sensitivities) and encouraged by my ex-husband. Do you see where this story is going and why I don’t want to retell it all of the time? And no offense to the aforementioned starter marriage or the person I was married to, but it’s not something I want to talk about now that I’m at a totally different point in my life.

OK. So I legally changed my name. But even if I tell people that, it doesn’t answer the why of it. Or what it means (the name, we won’t go into what it means about my psychological state, then or now). Or how I came up with it to begin with.

As far as I know — since my ex came up with it and I’m depending on his version of things — it has Persian origins. It’s a derivation of the name that I had when he remembers us being together in a past life several thousand years ago. There you go. That’s where it comes from. Hmm…I wonder why I don’t want to tell that to people I just met? There’s nothing like a first impression.

For the last few years, I’ve held an internal debate about just going back to being called Joanna. I could officially be S. Joanna Bartlett-Gustina. I’d leave off the ‘S.’ when I introduced myself to people. And instead of being stuck with the nickname “Sil,” people could call me “Jo” – a cool, spunky nickname, not a meaningless and mildly annoying one.

I thought about making an official announcement when I turned 30. But then I was 6-months pregnant with all that entails and didn’t have the verve to pull it off. I just need to decide to do it one day. It’s what I did when I changed it the first time. I remember walking into class after coming back from the courthouse and announcing my new name to everyone and pretty much demanding that they call me “Silandara.” Yeah. I pulled it off.

So, world. I am now S. Joanna Bartlett-Gustina. Should I write a press release?

What happened to “Silandara’s blog”?

Weren’t you getting tired of that train track image? I was. And that whole dark green background thing (if the other background didn’t load, which it doesn’t on PDAs) wasn’t working for me.

Change is good. And I keep wrestling with what to blather about on this blog.

Writing about the kids doesn’t feel right as I worry about their safety and privacy. (We do have an unadvertised family blog, e-mail me if you want the URL for it.)

Writing about work is tricky as I don’t want to put off any current or potential clients.

There’s lots of personal stuff I could share; but I don’t want to. I have a pen and paper journal for that. Some things don’t need to be aired in a roomful of strangers. Not that everyone who reads this is a stranger, but I get more hits (amazingly) than people I know that read this blog.

I could write about random things and celebrity news. But I want to write about things I’m passionate about.

It’s important to live an authentic life and present an honest image of yourself. I have an idea of what that means as far as this medium is concerned. And it needs a name other than “Silandara’s blog” – especially as I keep seriously considering going back to being called “Joanna.”

Years ago, losers.org rated my web site (and told me to rub my crystals together and dream up a new page — and then didn’t update their site for several years while I went through several remodels). My point? They called me a “greenie.” And I am. I’ve stepped away from that in recent years. Maybe because the PTSD of living in a camper, off-grid in the woods and almost starving to death before Christmas one year was too much for me. But just because my former back to basics life didn’t work out so well doesn’t mean I can’t be as environmentally conscious as possible now. I think that’s a story I can share. Maybe it’ll even inspire others to do the same.

Yes, I’m this happy about pants

I’m generally not one to spend too much time looking back.

When I do, it’s because I’m lying awake at night talking to imaginary people that aren’t really there. Explaining stuff from the past — to them, and to myself.

But sometimes there’s benefit in revisiting the past.

While procrastinating about calling some prospective clients today, I took a look at the photos I’d posted to the blog. And I found this post. What’s so fascinating about this post? Not the photos of my Duncan cutie, surprisingly. It was this little, innocent line: “Along the way, I stopped in Old Navy and bought a couple of pairs of pants — in size 10.”

I have size 10 pants somewhere in the closet! Pants that might fit me now! (Granted, when I wrote that post, Duncan was just over 2 months old, about the same age Berry is now, but I was 10 lbs heavier when I got pregnant with him, so I must have been much closer to my pre-pregnancy weight then than I am now…but anyway.) Pants that might fit me!

I went to Target a few weeks ago and bought 2 pairs of size 12 pants – some capris and a pair of shorts. They still fit. But there’s only two of them. And I know I haven’t talked about Berry much, but she spits up. A lot. I probably haven’t had time to post about it in between doing piles of puke-covered laundry.

So 2 pairs of pants doesn’t cut it.

After reading about them, I vaguely remembered these size 10 pants. After rummaging in the top of the closet, I actually found them. One pair is more “work” style. But the others are perfect for my new work wardrobe (and actually quite dressy compared to the PJs I wore all day yesterday). I also unearthed a pair of promising-looking shorts. It was a good start to the day.

Then I procrastinated some more about cold-calling people (although I did do about 20 calls which were all excrutiatingly painful). I took a look back in the past some more and read Omar’s posts about parenting.

A couple of kids

That’s me and Kevin – a couple of kids.

Instead of finishing up work on some newsletter stories I’m writing, I just spent the last 15 minutes in the kitchen with Kevin, melting crayon stubs in the microwave and making new crayons.

He came upstairs looking for a rubber band to hold together the pieces of PVC pipe that he found for me to use as molds. My previous attempts using foil haven’t been very successful.

So I had to try it out!

It was actually the most silly fun I’ve had in a little bit. Standing there next to my husband, deciding which color to melt next to form a new multi-colored crayon. Carefully pouring it into the mold.

We tried one with the crayon stubs put into the mold unmelted and then melted in the microwave and another one with the stubs melted separately then poured one on top of the other into mold #2.

Yeah, it’s the little things that thrill me. Now, on with work.

Mmmm…cookies

I’m making chocolate chip cookies.

My friend, Sharon, gave me a fantastic Christmas gift — a mason jar filled with chocolate chip cookie ingredients (minus the egg, massive amount of butter and vanilla extract) with directions on how to make them on the label.

I’m so stealing that as my crafty Christmas gift idea for 2007. I didn’t manage to come up with anything this past Christmas. I was going to make chocolate bark, but realized it was just beyond me. Not the actual melting of chocolate and adding of toffee and peppermint pieces. Just the coordination and time consumption. The only Christmas decorations I managed were my traditional cards-on-a-ribbon hanging from our dining room entrance.

Next year, though, when I’ll have a 2 1/2-year-old and a baby just about to start crawling, I want a Christmas tree and to get back to my craftiness.

Anyway. So I’m making cookies. Mmm…cookies. I ran out of cookies that other people made and have had to resort to making them myself. Which isn’t a good thing.

Cooking I can do. Baking apparently involves too much science. All that exact measuring and timing.
On an un-related note, I spoke at church on Sunday. The theme for the month was “Angels” so I talked a bit about some of the everyday angels in my life. And then launched into New Year’s resolutions. (No, I’m not sure how the two go together, either. I used some segue involving Duncan to tie them together.)

My resolution for 2007 is to empower myself. Or, rather, to continue the empowerment that I’ve already begun.

After all, I’ve started my own business, expanded my family, put a new roof on the house. OK, we paid people to do the roof. But I still lived through the 3 days of pounding and sounds of the world crashing down over my head.

I feel good things coming. Challenging things, perhaps. But good challenges. Empowering.

Argh. Technology

I had a lovely rant about my iTunes software not working on my PC (making my mum think she shouldn’t buy me that iPod stereo dock that I want for Christmas). And my server ate it.

I’m guessing they had some kind of technical issues, because my site and e-mail were down for a while over the weekend. And then my blog post disappeared (they must have gone to a backup which didn’t have the post on it). Of course, that makes me wonder if I lost e-mail, too. But we’ll never know.

Anyway. It appears that my rant was needless. No, iTunes hasn’t magically started working on my computer. But I’ve discovered that it’s not the only program that will read iTunes imported files and connect to my iPod. Real Player does. I was surprised.

First I tried Windows Media Player. I wasn’t happy about it. I’ve never liked WMP. And it didn’t recognize any of the dozens of CDs I’d previously imported through iTunes. So then I launched Real Player and voila! It does everything I need it to.

I still prefer the functionality of iTunes (plus I’m used to it). But overall, I’ll pick the program that actually works and lets me listen to music.

Before I was feeling stuck that I had an iPod – of which I am rather fond – but no software to sync it with. One of the reasons I spent more $$ for less GB and got an iPod was that I loved iTunes so much, if you can believe that (plus they look really cool). But I’m sticking with the iPod, so go ahead and buy me that speaker dock for it, Mum.

Breastfeeding on a plane

I’ve written before about how I feel about breastfeeding in public. Not only is it OK and legally protected, but comfortable accomodations should be made for nursing mothers.

Delta and Freedom airlines apparently disagree. They kicked a woman off one of their flights for discreetly nursing her 22-month-old in the back of the plane.

Um, hello? Are they insane? It doesn’t matter how you feel about extended breast-feeding (and we’re still doing it – yep, I’m still nursing a 16-month-old who eats real food, while 4 1/2 months pregnant), the fact is that she had a legal right to breast feed her child anywhere she needed to. Plus the flight had been delayed for 3 hours and was about to take off (and nursing is a great way for kids to stay calm and not have their ears pop during takeoff and landing).

What I love, though, is that a group of women in Burlingto, VT, where it happened, had a nursing demonstration in front of the Delta check-in yesterday. That’s just perfect.

I used to love flying as a kid. Now, between security, the fact I’m not sure if I can even bring food or liquid on the plane with me, and the stress of being cramped in a little seat with a little kid (and a growing belly) it totally doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I’ll do it if I have to, but I need good reason. And then I’d better be on Jet Blue. At least they treat you decently.

If, like me, you’d like to tell Delta how you feel about their treatment of breastfeeding mothers, you can send them your comments here. I did.

Mmmm…yorkshire pudding

I think there’s something dead under my oven.

Pregnancy has lent me its supersonic sense of smell. When combined with apparently never-ending morning sickness, this is not a good thing. I’ve banned Kevin from making corned beef hash as every time he does, I throw up. One day last week I came downstairs for a snack and the cat must have just had a poop because the smell sent me diving towards the kitchen sink.

Every time I’m in the kitchen I smell something. For a while I thought it was the cat box which is round the corner in the pantry. But I smell it even after it’s just been cleaned. In the last couple of days my nose has narrowed it down to something in the kitchen itself, possibly underneath the stove or the fridge.

So today I looked. Or at least tried. I hope we don’t get a blackout any time soon because I have no idea where a flashlight is in this house. I know we have at least one. But where? You got me.

But I lay on the kitchen floor (which I really should scrub thoroughly one of these months) and looked under the stove. I saw an outline. Ew. A mouse? I gingerly probed with a flattened cardboard box while Duncan was occupied in the living room. Dust bunny. Then I investigated further. No flashlight, perhaps, but my cell phone’s flash illuminated a little. Not enough. There were lots of odd shapes under there. Could it be a dead body? Who knows. The smell continues.

However, I think maybe the morning sickness is getting better. I cooked tonight. Really cooked.

One of the few things I loved about family life growing up in England (or at least kinda enjoyed) was Sunday dinner. There was always a roast animal of some kind, roast potatoes, a veggie that I could probably choke down and, if we got really lucky or it was Christmas, yorkshire puddings. And gravy. (Got to have the gravy.)

I know Duncan isn’t old enough to appreciate it yet, and Kevin is asleep Sunday afternoon/evening as he’s working nights, but I want my Sunday dinner tradition back. Maybe not every Sunday, though that would be nice. Maybe when the kids are older. And Kevin has a normal-hours job. But I thought I’d give it a try today.

So – roast beef (which can be sliced and hopefully eaten in sandwiches), roast red potatoes (skins still on), brussel sprouts picked fresh from the garden, gravy, and yorkshire puddings. I also made some butternut squash but forgot to eat it.

Mmmm…yorkshire pudding smothered in gravy.

Duncan was totally not into it, ate a little potato, a bite of beef, handed me his yorkshire pudding and was done. Then he fed himself a jar of baby food carrots and allowed me to feed him half a banana.

I loved it, though. I’m not one of those “eat to live” people who only eats because they have to. At least not usually. I know I have an emotional connection with food and I work to keep it from being an unhealthy one. I think it’s good when that connection brings real pleasure. Like tonight.

And maybe it’s a sign that my stomach is getting back to normal and will stop punishing me with thoughts of dead rodents under the stove. Bleh!

Still obsessing about my weight

I got an e-mail from a friend saying that I must be busy as I haven’t blogged in a bit.
I have photos from swimming 10 days ago that my mum took that I’ve been meaning to post. So I guess it has been a while. Oh well. Busy I am.

This diet thing is working. Amazingly. When I was pregnant, I decided that not only would I lose all my preggo weight (50 lbs), but when I was done I’d be 10 lbs under my pre-preggo weight (161 lbs). I’m almost there — only another pound or two. Since I started Weight Watchers (unofficialy spokesperson that I’ve now become, I need to sign up for their affiliate program), I’ve lost about 14 lbs. In 2 months.

I started the day Duncan turned 8 months, realizing that whole 9-months-on, 9-months-off deal wasn’t going to happen without some effort on my part.

I’m just kinda amazed that it’s worked so well. I keep thinking my scale must be playing tricks on me, but the number just keeps getting lower. Is it because I’m still nursing? I’ve heard from a bunch of mums who said that after they stopped breastfeeding, they lost 5-10 lbs, like the body holds onto some fat to keep some backup fuel for producing milk. Now, there is at least 5-10 lbs wiggle room for a healthy weight for this bod. I think the BMI calculations say that I should be somewhere between 125 and 165 lbs to be a healthy weight.

Personally, I think those are insane as I’d be an unhealthy stick figure at 125 lbs. At 150 I’m a size 6/8. At 165 I’m a 10, which still isn’t overweight.

Anyway. I wasn’t going to obsess about weight and BMI. I was going to celebrate going through my closet and chucking out half my clothes. The stuff that doesn’t fit and will never fit because I’m not going to magically become a size 4 or 2″ shorter or have breast reduction surgery. The stuff that I have no right wearing at a 29-year-old mother and professional woman.

Some stuff was from the gigging days when a bit of cleavage was a good thing. And I’m by no means going to start wearing turtlenecks all the time. I’m more comfortable now with being a bit sexy than ever. Weird how producing new human life does that. But there’s sexy and then there’s my-clothes-are-too-small-but-I’m-in-denial. I’m no longer in denial. And the clothes are in bags, ready to be donated to a good cause.

Gardening for the baby

We’ve been having some beautiful weather.

Personally, I kinda love the weather, whatever it is. And even if I don’t loooove it (because it’s February and really cold and icky), it’s just weather. It’ll change.

But the spring air, the breeze, the sunshine. Aaahhh. Makes me want to sit outside all day long. Not that I do that, but I want to. We do make an effort to get outside and go for walks (we = me and Duncan) and there has been a bit of gardening going on.

When we moved into this house and decided to get rid of all the grass, well, we were living our pre-baby life. We weren’t even married. We were two, practically single folk (or just removed from singleness), ready to rip up the grass, build rock walls, cover things in gravel and make flowerbeds in the middle of the lawn.
Fast forward a couple of years. Add a baby who immediately crawls to the edge of the lovely blanket you put him on in the backyard. Gravel = major choking hazard.

So the gravel path has been replaced by grass. Thanks to our neighbors who scalped a big patch of their yard in favor of mulch and a swing set for their little girl. And thanks to the City of Rochester’s materials give back program (and some folks on Rochester freecycle who told me about it).

The misplaced flowerbed is no more, either, replanted in the rock wall garden in the front (that’s not going anywhere!) and sown with clover seed. We still don’t like grass.