Miranda's World

Everyone at both companies has a four-day weekend, and I hope they have a great time. When they come back Tuesday, I'd better see some productive employees. If I see hangovers, I'll beat them with a trout. No, I'll have Stephen do it. Underneath all that surface propriety, he's a kinky bastard, and he'd like doing that.

Contrary to popular opinion, I *do* know how to relax. Work is not the sole reason for my existence. I *can* take it easy.

Today I spent the day at a spa being pampered and petted and cared-for within an inch of my life. It was wonderful. A facial, a salt glow for the body, waxing, manicure and pedicure, massage--I'm a new woman. And very relaxed at the moment--dare I say mellow, even? It is possible, after all. And it is a damn pity I don't have anyone to appreciate all this fine work. Oh well, must remain zen. Things will eventually turn out as I wish.

So I'm sitting here propped on the sofa, laptop on lap, glass of wine at my side, listening to the big band stylings of Glenn Miller and admiring my pale pink nail polish. Allow me my moment of girly zen--it doesn't happen that often.

I think Robin's at work, because Misha's curled up napping with Edward. Robin spends a fair bit of time there, or out and about. I'm not sure of his schedule over the holidays, but I wouldn't mind going out to dinner at some point, if he has time. But not at the Georgian--that's too much like being at work. Maybe Paseo for something Cuban, or Le Pichet for French. We'll see.

I do love my family, but in smaller, quieter doses than this.

My parents, my sister Allison, her husband Eric, and their three--Nathan, Jonah, and now Rebecca--flew out from Boston on Friday to spend the week with us. Saturday, my sister Katharine, her husband Mark, and their three--Mari, Rachael, and Matthew--flew up from L.A. It's all very noisy and hectic. Six children, below the age of two. And Kath's fairly certain she's pregnant again. Who knew the Reeves women would prove to be so fertile? Dear god.

There was a moment when all of the children were crying at one time and I looked at Katharine and Allison, and we all had the same thought: This is our future. I want children, yes, but not like this.

Allison is a doctor and is struggling to maintain her practice because maternity leave keeps interrupting it. Kath is a professor at the California NanoSystems Institute, UCLA. She's had to cut down drastically on her class load, as this many children this quickly makes it virtually impossible to maintain any sort of regular work hours. I wonder if the idiots in charge realized that they'd be losing half their workforce for a number of years? Most likely not. Those children they insist we have aren't simply numbers on a graph; they require care and attention.

For me, it will be easier; I set my own hours, and can take a child with me to work. If necessary, I can toddler-proof my office, and have someone step in and care for them a short time should if required. Neither Alli nor Kath have that option. The work they do is important, but their children are more so. The people who've made the rules are not the people who must live the life dictated by those rules.

I can't change the government--yet--so I'm changing what I can. I've already talked with an architect. At work, we're going to convert three offices into an on-site daycare. I've been thinking on it for six months or so. Childcare--if you can even find someone who does it, is ridiculously, prohibitively expensive. I employ the best, and I want their brains focused on work, not worrying about their children. On site childcare will ease burdens financially, as well as increase productivity--I won't care if they slip off to check on their children, or nurse them, as long as they continue to produce the excellent quality of work I'm accustomed to receiving.

At any rate. Home? Very hectic. I'm glad that there are so many bedrooms. If they've noticed that Rob has one of his own, they've not said anything. Yet. My family is not known for holding back on anything, so I expect that it will crop up at some point or another. I also expect that religion will become a topic of contention if or when they discover that Robin's father is a pastor--my parents are very vocal atheists. They're also intellectual elitists; I've had to pull my father aside already and tell him to ease off. No, Robin didn't go to Yale or Harvard or MIT, and no, his major wasn't in hard science. No, his IQ isn't within winking distance of 200. Robin's talents and interests lie in different areas, he's very good at what he does, is happy with his choices, and that is what matters. More than likely, I'll have this little chat with my mother before the week is finished.

Robin was understandably nervous at the prospect of meeting everyone at one time, but he rallied wonderfully. He's a people person, and once he relaxed a little, he was in his element. He can be very charming; Alli and Kath liked him almost immediately, as did Eric. Mark is a bit of a harder sell; he's a lawyer, and trusts no one. But I think he's coming around. It helped that Robin loved the children. And he clearly did; when he said he wanted children, those weren't simply idle words. He's very good with them, and they respond well to him. It was rather endearing to see him, floppy hair falling in his face, making ridiculous faces, playing peekaboo with them, or singing. He never seemed to lose patience with them, and when one cried, he was always quick to pick up, cuddle, or change diapers. I wonder if the past few days are an indication of what will come; if so, he'll be an attentive father.

This week is, according to charts I keep tucked in my desk, the optimum time to conceive. Not likely, with my family swarming around. Perhaps next month. We shall see.

Everyone will be here through Saturday. I hope that we'll get through the week without an argument of one sort or another, but that's a false hope--this is my family, after all, who are raised on arguments from birth.

And here's Stephen, a stack of files on his lap, rolling through the doorway, looking bitchy. Ah, the calm of the workplace.

Though I'm generally an early-riser and begin running from that moment every day of the week, on Sundays I'm not, and woe, woe, WOE to anyone who doesn't respect that. Sunday is my lazy day. Unless it's not. But generally, it is. I've explained this to Robin politely. I deal with people all week, and simply want to be left alone Sunday until I'm ready to face anyone. He'll probably go off to church services shortly--I've heard him rustling around for a while now, though he's making an effort to be quiet. I appreciate that. Edward was lying against my legs all night, but has gone off to doggy-bond with Misha, Robin's dog. They get along like they've been brothers forever, and I'm grateful for that. Misha's a sweet thing, so loving, but as Stephen would say, dumber than a box of rocks. Edward will lead him into all sorts of trouble, I just know it.

This week has been...interesting. For various values of interesting. I've gotten married, and my new husband has moved in. Both things were done with a minimum of fanfare. Maybe that's for the best, keeping everything low key; it keeps the frenzy of nerves that I remember from my first wedding to a slow simmer instead of a rolling boil.

( My week, so far )

When I got to work this morning, I found a latte and a cinnamon roll on my desk, along with this:





Stephen says I'm really missing out by not watching this. Naked Hugh Jackman apparently gave him back his will to live. I suppose I should go see it on the big screen--Stephen is quite convinced that it requires a big screen to contain that much physical perfection. *g*

Work today--almost everyone is off due to the holidays, so I'll work in the labs. I'm happier there than anywhere else. Beneath designer shoes and clothes, I'm still a geek, and love to tinker with bits and pieces of this and that. It's calming, and I need a bit of calming at the moment.

Tomorrow, I'm getting married. That's enough to make me jittery. I've been married before. In fact, I've not been divorced that long. Petr served me papers from the Czech Republic. I was both surprised and not; I'd rather expected it, in all honesty. He'd spent most of the last year we were married overseas, and while I could visit, I couldn't really conduct my business there. It was inevitable, I suppose. The prenuptial he signed, while not excessive, will allow him to live comfortably if he invests it properly, and he will. He's living with Dusana, one of his students. She's less than half his age. I wish I could mock, but I really can't. Robin is twelve years younger--better than twenty by far, but still.

Robin seems charming and pleasant, and fortunately, he wants children. He's quite, quite handsome as well--if our children physically take after him, they'll be fortunate. In all honesty, I do not look forward to meeting his father but I suppose I must. We won't be getting married in the church, but I agreed to have the children christened there, though I'm an atheist. Marriage is compromise.

He'll be moving in this week. I wish that we'd had more time to get to know one another before marrying, perhaps plan a honeymoon of sorts, but we'll see how this weekend looks. There should be some sort of acknowledgment of this change in our lives.

Robin,

I hope this finds you well.

The prenuptial agreement has been written, and I'm having a courier deliver a copy to your office at The Georgian later this morning. I would suggest that you have a lawyer look it over for approval, but I think that you'll find the terms more than generous in the event we divorce. That is unlikely, but I prefer to be prepared for any eventuality. Unfortunately, time is of the essence, and this must be taken care of before May 26th.

The roses look lovely on my desk--thank you again.

Miranda

They've finally taken the stitches out of my feet. Thank god.

I've gone from wheelchair to crutches to just me, and even if I walk like a ninety-year-old, I'm grateful to be independent again. I still have some therapy to do--I cut the hell out of my feet that night. I remember being aware of the damage, but focusing on trying to help others and the rush of adrenaline muted the pain. It hurt, but didn't really hurt until one of the paramedics scooped me up and carried me out of the wreckage. I remember I tried not to cry, but only lasted so long before I did and that I was ashamed. I thought of my mother telling me so many times to never let anyone see you weak, never let anyone see you cry. I think I might be excused that night--everyone else was, too.

Anyway, I'm mobile again. Edward is thrilled that I'm up and about, bouncing and barking everywhere. We've missed going out for long walks and while we play fetch in the back yard, it's not quite the same as the games of tag we had. We can get back to those soon enough. I might try going out with him to one of the dog parks and letting him play with the other dogs; there's benches where I can sit, and just getting outside will probably do me a world of good.

I look forward to being able to run again. I've really missed it, and I think best when running or swimming.

When I opened up email this morning, I found this:



It's from Stephen, the first email he's sent me since this whole mess happened. There's also a request for sushi (a detailed list of what he likes, as if I didn't know) and for a copy of the new Wolverine movie, because really, it's Hugh Jackman nearly naked, for god's sake. The note was almost his normally-snippy self, and I laughed when I read it and wanted to hug the laptop. Edward was there and got the hugs instead. Stephen is in rehab now, and he's working hard. He's as pig-headed as I am, so I know he'll do well. I hope he comes back to work--Emily is good, but she took it seriously the first time I fired her without thinking about it. I had to reassure her that I didn't mean it, and remember not to say that to her again. I really miss Stephen and his attitude and how he knows what I want before I do.

My parents plan on flying out from Boston after their semesters are finished. My sister Allison took a couple of days off work and stayed with me--convenient to have a doctor around to change dressings. She brought her sons Nathan and Jonah with her, and I spent a lot of time holding them, feeding them, cooing to them in ridiculous baby talk. They're a year and six months, respectively, and she's pregnant again. God. No wonder she's tired. We talked a lot--Allie has always been my favorite--and ate obscene amounts of ice cream in between diaper changes. It was good to have her here. Kath will fly up from Bakersfield after her semester is done, and most likely bring her three: Mari, Rachael, and Matthew.

There are times I wish that Petr and I had had children, but during the last year of our marriage, we hardly ever saw one another, let alone sleep together. And given he's gone back to Prague, I'm glad we didn't. The logistics of shared custody internationally would've been a nightmare. A part of me wants children; I'm settled and secure, both financially and emotionally. If I could get away with artificial insemination without bothering with the lottery, I would, in a heartbeat. It's the idea of being matched with a stranger, and of being required to have children by said stranger as often as possible that's so repulsive. I've never liked being told what I can or can't do.

I think I'll get dressed and get out. Maybe take Edward to the park. It's a nice enough day. There might even be a little bit of sun, if I'm lucky.

It's been nearly a week since the bombing at the Westin-Bellevue. It seems both much more recent and long in the past. My condolences and sympathy to those who were injured and to those who lost loved ones. It is a tragedy.

I was fortunate. My feet look as if they've gone through a paper shredder and I had some smoke inhalation along with a couple of minor burns, but otherwise I'm fine. My injuries are for the most part my own fault; I couldn't work in the heels that I wore, and took them off. A high IQ does not always translate into common sense. I'd give almost anything if Stephen would mock me for it.

Stephen was not so lucky. He was in the foyer when the bomb went off. I'm sitting at his bedside as I write this. Falling debris broke his back, and in spite of surgery, he'll never walk again. I'm in a wheelchair until my feet heal enough to walk on again, but he's never going to leave his. Although it's irrational--I most certainly am not responsible for the actions of the bombers--I can't help but feel guilty. He was only there because I bullied him into going with me. If I'd gone alone, he would've been safe at home with Paul. Paul says he doesn't blame me, that Stephen doesn't blame me, but I'm not so sure--Stephen won't talk to me. He won't talk to anyone right now.

The guilt is absolutely crushing. I've had consultants flown in, I've hired private duty nurses, I have the best room in the hospital. If he wants to return to his job, I'll have the whole damn building modified for him. Give me anything computerized and I can fix it, but I can't do anything to fix him. This isn't anything that numbers and schematics and equations can solve, and no matter how much I will it, I can't change things. Stephen always said that sooner or later, I'd hit a problem that I couldn't think around or power through. I guess he was right. I'd be willing to bet he never thought that problem would involve him so intimately.

I don't know who's done this. All fingers seem to be pointing to the House of Spades. Do I think they did it? No. It doesn't fit their pattern. They've been totally non-violent; their actions are more eye catching nuisances such as the pranks with the SPO, or distributing information or the application of graffiti. They're hackers, and in my experience--no, I will not say anything about that--hackers are not given to violence. There was no reason for them to target the banquet; there was no gain in it for them. What would it serve to target benefactors of the University of Washington? A significant number of attendees were university faculty and staff, which tends toward the liberal viewpoint here. Why target those who would be most likely to support your cause? A more likely target--and I am NOT saying that they would do such a thing--would be the SPO itself. And most terrorists are more than happy to take credit for their destruction. No one has taken credit for this. No, I don't think it's House of Spades, but someone who wants it to look as if they've done this.

I have a fair number of contacts here and there. I've begun looking into it, completely unofficially, of course. If I find those responsible, I will ruin them. Unofficially, of course.

Vindictive? Oh yes, I am.

I got to work this morning, and Stephen, my PA, had left a cup of coffee, a brioche, and this on my desk:



I may only fire him four times today instead of five. *g*

Honest to god, I have nothing against cats. Fine animals, gorgeous, good companions. But they're not really pets you take out on a leash, like dogs. More like furry rugs that drape across your lap. Or across your keyboard, if you're trying to type.

I see people with cats on leashes every once in a while, and it always looks funny as hell.

I was out today, and had just come out of Stahl's Bakery--god, the bread those people make is incredible--and saw a couple walking down the street toward me. The woman had a cat on a leash, a pretty thing, marked like a Siamese, but all fluffy. She's walking along, and suddenly comes up short, because the cat had evidently had enough of this foolishness and flopped bonelessly onto the sidewalk. The woman called, and tugged the leash, but cats are masters of passive resistance and wouldn't be moved. A kung-fu I am one with the earth sort of thing. The woman called and tugged again, but nope, the cat's not moving, just ignoring her. Dogs want to please you, but cats? They expect you to please them. So the woman rolls her eyes and goes to pick up the cat, who now has a very smug cat expression. A sort of aha, I won yet again look. All cats I've ever known are really good at that expression. *g*

Made my afternoon a bit more amusing, anyway.

To those who were chosen in the lottery, my congratulations if you're happy, my condolences if you're not. It's been my experience in talking with people who've been matched that it's more the latter than the former. I'll find out for myself soon enough, I suspect.

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