August 30, 2000
Magic Pee-Pee Powder
Today's Pic
Reading shelves sideways makes your neck hurt.
Cycle 10, Day 2
Temp: 97.6
Cervical Mucus: AF
Cervix: Low, closed, firm


"Now, do you have to go to the potty?"
"Okay, but don't forget to let me know if you have to pee. You're wearing big girl pants today, and we don't pee in our big girl pants!"

Of course, it was painfully obvious what was going to happen. The little girl was prancing all about the library, engaged in play with all of the wonderful puzzles and toys, and she hadn't a prayer of remembering to inform her mother of any impending bladder activity. In fact, I'd be surprised if this hadn't been her first voyage out sans diaper. There was nothing we could do but watch, wait, and ready the cleaning supplies.

Eventually, her mother glanced around to see the little girl standing on the sofa next to her older brother, leaning against the pillow, and beginning to dance about in a tell-tale way.

"Honey, do you have to pee?"
"No, no, no, no, wait!"

But mommy's mad dash across the room was too late; the child had already christened the sofa. Mother deposited her on the floor, began to walk across the room for a handful of tissues, then had to run back, for the little girl was shouting, "Off! Off!" and attempting to remove her wet underwear. In the meantime, I was breaking out the Disposable Clean-Up Kit, held ready for such occurrences. The little ones watched in fascination as I pulled on a set of rubber gloves, then opened a package of white powder.

"She's powdering my pee-pee!" she cried in delight.

"Yes, it's magic pee-pee powder," her mother hurriedly said as she tried to clean her daughter. "Now do you have to..."

"Magic pee-pee powder!" the child shrieked in ecstasy. "Magic pee-pee powder!" Her brother joined in the chant, giggling with the superior air of a child who knows full-well where urine belongs and how to get it there with some accuracy. He wasn't the only one giggling; I looked over my shoulder at the other librarians, who were shaking with silent laughter. I was feeling rather amused by the situation myself. Only the mother was frustrated; the child herself was in fine spirits now that the offending undergarments had been replaced.

The powdered pillows were whisked away to the basement. They won't be making a return, since the new library will have no need for them, but I'd say that they've lived a full enough life anyway.


It's been an odd couple of days. It would seem that a library surrounded by wire fences and construction equipment tends to give off an air of being closed, so the number of patrons has been at an all-time low. As a result, the books that would otherwise have been in the hands of happy readers have been piling up on our increasingly-crowded shelves. There's simply no more room for the books to fit; they've been starting to pile up on the bottom of the shelves, giving the whole room an aura of chaos.

Yesterday, as it began to look more and more as if we would not be moving to the new building for at least another month, Boss-Lady made the executive decision to do a massive books shift. For hours, we moved books from one shelf to another, like a giant jig-saw puzzle, in an effort to fit more books on shelves that had extra room and create more room on the shelves which needed it. Of course, shelf shifting also involved making sure that the books were in correct order...By the end of the day, our backs ached and we were seeing double from staring at tiny numbers. The shelves, on the other hand, look gorgeous.

After all that heavy labor, I would have loved to have just gone home and collapsed, but I haven't been able to do that, either. Monday was technically Eric's night to cook, but when I got home at six o'clock and found that he was still at work himself, I decided to do my Random Act of Kindness for the day and broil up a few sausages. He was exceedingly grateful when he got home and offered to take my shift the next day, but I waved the offer away.

A good thing, too, because he worked late again last night. Cheese Quiche was the order of the evening, and he was even happier to come home for a second night in a row and find dinner almost prepared. I must say, it's a satisfying feeling to be able to do that; I'm certainly no Martha Stewart, but having dinner ready for Eric made me feel almost domestic. Will I take his shift again tonight? I might, but I haven't committed to anything yet. After all, sometimes it is nice to be the one being served instead of being the server.


Last night, Eric asked me what I wanted to do with the long weekend. I didn't hesitate. "Baltimore!"


"We could fly down, go to the aquarium, the zoo, Inner Harbor; it would be great! Or maybe Chicago; that would be fun, too."

"Wow, I wasn't thinking about anything that grandiose. Let me talk to the travel department tomorrow and see what they can cook up!"

Of course, I should have known better than to get my hopes up. By the time we were getting ready for bed, Eric had changed his mind about our being able to afford such an adventure, especially with his urologist appointment next week, which will likely not be covered by our insurance. Logic didn't keep me from feeling disappointed, though. Darn it, I hate when long vacations end up going to waste sitting in front of the computers!

When I spoke to him this afternoon, though, he was feeling a bit more cheerful. "Ann Arbor could be an option," he said. "Let me look into that, and we'll talk about it tonight." He doesn't know who he's "up against," so to speak; I plan on attending this talk armed with armfuls of the Ann Arbor Observer and tons of vacation ideas. Last time we went off without a plan; this time, we'll be prepared.

Labor Day weekend, here we come!

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