Fortune cookie fortunes always come true.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Child Star
Good Morning! from Ronica on Vimeo.
This is amazing. Pretty much the definition of camera shy.
I guess they'll never make a movie starring her.
Oh well. I'll just have to win the lottery to make my millions. (Maybe I should start playing?)
But you have to admit, she is pretty cute.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
When Making Yogurt
for the first time with your new yogurt maker
(because we can't find our favorite kind here, and France spoiled us)
scorched is not a flavor.
Crap.
.
(because we can't find our favorite kind here, and France spoiled us)
scorched is not a flavor.
Crap.
.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
If
you accidentally put Preparation H on your toe instead of Neosporin, will you get hemorrhoids on your feet?
Oops.
Oops.
Defeat
Rowan is four months old now, and she's starting to develop a schedule. She isn't rigid, but she often takes a morning nap, and sometimes takes an afternoon nap. She likes to go to bed around the same time and wake up around the same time, playing by herself for a few minutes in her crib every morning and greeting me with a grin and a giggle. And knock on wood, she's sleeping through the night. (She won't tonight, because I said that.) I can go out and do errands, but only after the morning nap, and not every day.
When she was little, we'd often strap her in the carseat, go out for dinner, and she'd be great. We could head out late, enjoy our supper, and she'd sleep away, charming the waiters and other restaurant patrons with how good she was.
Dr. B was determined that our child would be different. She'd grow up with our lifestyle, and would naturally take to it. She wouldn't be like other kids, and force her parents to do her bidding. She'd eat artichoke hearts and camembert sandwiches, eschew chicken nuggets and mac'n'cheese, and would behave herself perfectly well in the most trendy/snotty/fancy/of-the-moment restaurants while we leisurely enjoyed a glass of wine and rosemary goat cheese wontons with thai curry lingonberry chutney*.
Last night, Dr. B got home rather late from work. He had a very important phone call with a very important group about a new project that he and a colleague want to try that day, and he had been very nervous about it. The call went well, and he wanted to celebrate. Since he knew I had run errands during the day and taken Lucy for a long walk, he offered to take me out to dinner. But, by the time he got home and we were ready to go, it was 8 PM. And Rowan wasn't having any of it.
We diapered her, put her in her jammies, and strapped her into the car seat. That's when the trouble started. Before we could snap the buckles, she was wailing. Dr. B was not about to be told what to do by a 17 week old baby. He grabbed the car seat, and walked out the door. As I picked up the diaper bag and began to follow him, the tears started. Dr. B stomped to the gate, and then stomped back when I asked him to lock the door to the house. By the time we clicked her into the base in the car, she was going full force. Bloody murder screaming.
Determined, Dr. B set his jaw and put the car in gear. "I'll feed her at the restaurant," I offered. "The place is close, right?"
More screaming from the back seat.
"I'm sorry, Honey. It's just late. She wants to be home, going to bed."
"She can sleep in her car seat. She'll be fine," he said.
"You tell her that."
We stopped at the end of the drive, and Dr. B sighed. We listened to her scream for a few minutes more, and I turned to look at him. "We can go, honey," I said. "There aren't any cars coming."
He sighed deeply. "I'll take you back, and go get the pizza and bring it home," he said, angry but defeated.
As soon as Rowan's car seat was picked up, she stopped crying. As I unstrapped her, she sighed with relief. She ate slowly as if savoring her meal, and muttered not a peep when I layed her down in her crib, even though her mobile was out of batteries and she had to make due with just the womb bear and a soothie.
Dr. B came home just as I walked back down the stairs, loaded down with spicy stuffed banana peppers, BBQ chicken pizza, wine, and yogurt and coffee (the things I had forgotten at the store.)
"You were right," he said as he poured me a glass of wine. "I pushed it and it didn't work, it wasn't fair. To either of you."
"You can reason with just about anyone," I answered, "except a 4 month old baby. There's no messing with her."
Bring on the chicken nuggets.
*I made this up. Sounds gross, doesn't it?
When she was little, we'd often strap her in the carseat, go out for dinner, and she'd be great. We could head out late, enjoy our supper, and she'd sleep away, charming the waiters and other restaurant patrons with how good she was.
Dr. B was determined that our child would be different. She'd grow up with our lifestyle, and would naturally take to it. She wouldn't be like other kids, and force her parents to do her bidding. She'd eat artichoke hearts and camembert sandwiches, eschew chicken nuggets and mac'n'cheese, and would behave herself perfectly well in the most trendy/snotty/fancy/of-the-moment restaurants while we leisurely enjoyed a glass of wine and rosemary goat cheese wontons with thai curry lingonberry chutney*.
Last night, Dr. B got home rather late from work. He had a very important phone call with a very important group about a new project that he and a colleague want to try that day, and he had been very nervous about it. The call went well, and he wanted to celebrate. Since he knew I had run errands during the day and taken Lucy for a long walk, he offered to take me out to dinner. But, by the time he got home and we were ready to go, it was 8 PM. And Rowan wasn't having any of it.
We diapered her, put her in her jammies, and strapped her into the car seat. That's when the trouble started. Before we could snap the buckles, she was wailing. Dr. B was not about to be told what to do by a 17 week old baby. He grabbed the car seat, and walked out the door. As I picked up the diaper bag and began to follow him, the tears started. Dr. B stomped to the gate, and then stomped back when I asked him to lock the door to the house. By the time we clicked her into the base in the car, she was going full force. Bloody murder screaming.
Determined, Dr. B set his jaw and put the car in gear. "I'll feed her at the restaurant," I offered. "The place is close, right?"
More screaming from the back seat.
"I'm sorry, Honey. It's just late. She wants to be home, going to bed."
"She can sleep in her car seat. She'll be fine," he said.
"You tell her that."
We stopped at the end of the drive, and Dr. B sighed. We listened to her scream for a few minutes more, and I turned to look at him. "We can go, honey," I said. "There aren't any cars coming."
He sighed deeply. "I'll take you back, and go get the pizza and bring it home," he said, angry but defeated.
As soon as Rowan's car seat was picked up, she stopped crying. As I unstrapped her, she sighed with relief. She ate slowly as if savoring her meal, and muttered not a peep when I layed her down in her crib, even though her mobile was out of batteries and she had to make due with just the womb bear and a soothie.
Dr. B came home just as I walked back down the stairs, loaded down with spicy stuffed banana peppers, BBQ chicken pizza, wine, and yogurt and coffee (the things I had forgotten at the store.)
"You were right," he said as he poured me a glass of wine. "I pushed it and it didn't work, it wasn't fair. To either of you."
"You can reason with just about anyone," I answered, "except a 4 month old baby. There's no messing with her."
Bring on the chicken nuggets.
*I made this up. Sounds gross, doesn't it?
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Podunk Hospital
Saturday night, Dr. B and I were getting ready for bed, tripping over each other in our tiny bathroom as we tried to brush our teeth, wash our face (OK, mine) and take out our contacts (OK, mine again.) His haus-schuh (German wool clog) brushed over my big toe, and I screamed. "AAAARRGGHHH!!!!! YOU HAVE TO BE MORE CAREFUL!!!"
He took one look at my swollen, pink toe and shook his head.
"Honey, that's infected. It's not getting better. You have to go to the doctor."
Crap.
Yeah, an ingrown toenail. And I have to go to the doctor. Great.
So, the next day I started making calls. Being new to the area, we didn't yet have a regular doc, and I didn't know who to see. In Madison, at the top-rated clinics and hospitals, I would have gone to Acute Care or Urgent Care, been given a referral, and then seen a special foot doctor at the special clinic. Efficient, clean, organized--and don't you dare deviate from the plan. But no matter what, all I would have to do is tell my problem to whomever answered the phone, and I would be shuttled off to the right person/place/time in a wink.
"Um, I don't know. Huh. Hmm. Uh.... Well, I suppose you should see a podiatrist?"
Great. I got the guy with all the information.
"I don't know if we have any around here. You could always come to the ER."
Wonderful. The emergency room. For a toenail.
"Let me send you back to the ER. They should be able to tell you."
OK, fine. ER. They should know.
"Oh. An ingrown toenail? Infected? Huh. I guess you should see a podiatrist."
This is going great. Boy, I have incredible confidence in the medical system, let me tell you.
"Huh. I don't know if we have any around here. Or if they're taking new patients. Maybe you should just come in to the ER."
(Me) "For a toenail? Really?"
"Yeah, it's fine. No big deal!"
OK. The ER for a toenail. I can't quite accept this.
(Me again, expecting a 3 hour wait.) "So, when are you least busy?"
"Ha ha! Oh, you never know. Sometimes it's quiet, then it gets real busy... might even change between the time you call and the time you arrive. We never know! Just come in when you can."
Okey dokey.
So, Monday morning I ate lunch early, packed Rowan into the car, and after dropping off a shelf to be repaired at the glass shop ("We're real busy, it might take until Friday!"), went to the ER. I packed 3 books for her and a book for me, plus puppy dog finger puppets (it's good to have a soon-to-be uncle who works for Manhattan Toy).
We arrived, and I went up to the desk. "I feel kind of stupid about this, but I have an ingrown toenail." She assured me it was no problem, gave me a form to fill out (name, injury, birthdate and SSN. That was it.) I was shown in to be registered in a few minutes. A few minutes later, I was back in a room. And a few minutes later, I saw a doctor. He didn't quite seem to know what he was doing, but he was quick.
"Hmmm... I don't know if I can do anything with this. I can give you antibiotics, but I think you'll need to see a podiatrist. I don't know if there are any in the area."
Broken record?
I sat there, staring at my toe, and wondering if I'd have to drive all the way to Pittsburgh or Philly to see a doctor. For a stupid ingrown toenail. Would Dr. B have to take off work? Could I drive myself? Would I have to be admitted? Are we talking real surgery here?
A few minutes later, he came back.
"If you can wait 25 minutes, we have a PA that can do the surgical procedure for you."
25 minutes? I was planning on 3 hours!!! "Yeah, I can wait."
I fed Rowan, read her a story, and began reading my own book. Then the PA (a Mommy of one boy, who cooed over Rowan's adorable Robeez) came in, with a nurse (a Daddy of 3 girls) who offered to hold the baby.
Then the fights began. 3 more volunteers came into our room during the procedure, arguing over who got to hold the baby (2 Grandpas and a Grandma.)
Yep, we're in a small town.
The PA was excellent, numbing my toe with lots of lidocaine (4 CC's), cutting quickly and efficiently, and showing me afterwards the jagged edge that had been causing the pain. One of the volunteers cleaned up my foot (after reluctantly giving up the baby). Another came to wheel me to my car afterwards, helping me juggle the diaper bag, my purse and the car seat, and neatly folding my prescriptions and instructions and putting them in the bag for me.
I was given antibiotics, and instructions for 5 pain pills every four hours (2 tylenol, 3 advil.) "We could give you something stronger, but since you're breastfeeding..." the doctor said. I looked at him, and pointed to Rowan.
"29 hours of labor. I'll be fine."
Though the hospital may not have been the model of efficiency and experience Madison's are, they took good care of me, and made me feel more like I was being treated by my aunt and uncle, rather than a big city professional. And it was just fine.
So afterwards, I made a quick stop to get a replacement social security card for mine that I can't find and need to get a driver's license here (gotta love a small town--the wait was about 4 minutes.) We then ran to Walmart to get my prescription filled. After 10 minutes spent entering my information, the clerk smiled and said, "that will be 30 to 40 minutes."
You have got to be kidding me. I didn't wait that long in the ER.
Yeah, whatever. A ploy to get you to shop. But I needed groceries, and Dr. B needed a shoe rack for his closet, and I wanted to try to make a Christmas stocking for Rowan and needed some fuzzy chenille yarn, so I got everything taken care of in one stop. After a caramel sundae chez McDo, we headed home. (You have to take antiobiotics with food, you know, and that's food. Really.) I tried to lay her down for a nap after she ate and we took Lucy out for a potty break (during which Fuzz-Face stepped on my bad toe and then nearly tore my arm off trying to eat a cat), but Rowan was too wound up. We played, then went to meet Dr. B for supper out. (I had the duck sandwich, he had the Eddie D'licious.)
And Rowan hit the wall.
After a whole day of crazy errands and being a very good girl, she'd had enough. So, we took turns eating and holding/walking/soothing her, and came home. She ate again, got PJ'd up, and I laid her down. She was passed out after one revolution of the mobile.
That was just about the most productive day I've had since she was born. I may not have unpacked a single box, but I got a lot done. Sometimes, life is a lot easier in a small town.
He took one look at my swollen, pink toe and shook his head.
"Honey, that's infected. It's not getting better. You have to go to the doctor."
Crap.
Yeah, an ingrown toenail. And I have to go to the doctor. Great.
So, the next day I started making calls. Being new to the area, we didn't yet have a regular doc, and I didn't know who to see. In Madison, at the top-rated clinics and hospitals, I would have gone to Acute Care or Urgent Care, been given a referral, and then seen a special foot doctor at the special clinic. Efficient, clean, organized--and don't you dare deviate from the plan. But no matter what, all I would have to do is tell my problem to whomever answered the phone, and I would be shuttled off to the right person/place/time in a wink.
"Um, I don't know. Huh. Hmm. Uh.... Well, I suppose you should see a podiatrist?"
Great. I got the guy with all the information.
"I don't know if we have any around here. You could always come to the ER."
Wonderful. The emergency room. For a toenail.
"Let me send you back to the ER. They should be able to tell you."
OK, fine. ER. They should know.
"Oh. An ingrown toenail? Infected? Huh. I guess you should see a podiatrist."
This is going great. Boy, I have incredible confidence in the medical system, let me tell you.
"Huh. I don't know if we have any around here. Or if they're taking new patients. Maybe you should just come in to the ER."
(Me) "For a toenail? Really?"
"Yeah, it's fine. No big deal!"
OK. The ER for a toenail. I can't quite accept this.
(Me again, expecting a 3 hour wait.) "So, when are you least busy?"
"Ha ha! Oh, you never know. Sometimes it's quiet, then it gets real busy... might even change between the time you call and the time you arrive. We never know! Just come in when you can."
Okey dokey.
So, Monday morning I ate lunch early, packed Rowan into the car, and after dropping off a shelf to be repaired at the glass shop ("We're real busy, it might take until Friday!"), went to the ER. I packed 3 books for her and a book for me, plus puppy dog finger puppets (it's good to have a soon-to-be uncle who works for Manhattan Toy).
We arrived, and I went up to the desk. "I feel kind of stupid about this, but I have an ingrown toenail." She assured me it was no problem, gave me a form to fill out (name, injury, birthdate and SSN. That was it.) I was shown in to be registered in a few minutes. A few minutes later, I was back in a room. And a few minutes later, I saw a doctor. He didn't quite seem to know what he was doing, but he was quick.
"Hmmm... I don't know if I can do anything with this. I can give you antibiotics, but I think you'll need to see a podiatrist. I don't know if there are any in the area."
Broken record?
I sat there, staring at my toe, and wondering if I'd have to drive all the way to Pittsburgh or Philly to see a doctor. For a stupid ingrown toenail. Would Dr. B have to take off work? Could I drive myself? Would I have to be admitted? Are we talking real surgery here?
A few minutes later, he came back.
"If you can wait 25 minutes, we have a PA that can do the surgical procedure for you."
25 minutes? I was planning on 3 hours!!! "Yeah, I can wait."
I fed Rowan, read her a story, and began reading my own book. Then the PA (a Mommy of one boy, who cooed over Rowan's adorable Robeez) came in, with a nurse (a Daddy of 3 girls) who offered to hold the baby.
Then the fights began. 3 more volunteers came into our room during the procedure, arguing over who got to hold the baby (2 Grandpas and a Grandma.)
Yep, we're in a small town.
The PA was excellent, numbing my toe with lots of lidocaine (4 CC's), cutting quickly and efficiently, and showing me afterwards the jagged edge that had been causing the pain. One of the volunteers cleaned up my foot (after reluctantly giving up the baby). Another came to wheel me to my car afterwards, helping me juggle the diaper bag, my purse and the car seat, and neatly folding my prescriptions and instructions and putting them in the bag for me.
I was given antibiotics, and instructions for 5 pain pills every four hours (2 tylenol, 3 advil.) "We could give you something stronger, but since you're breastfeeding..." the doctor said. I looked at him, and pointed to Rowan.
"29 hours of labor. I'll be fine."
Though the hospital may not have been the model of efficiency and experience Madison's are, they took good care of me, and made me feel more like I was being treated by my aunt and uncle, rather than a big city professional. And it was just fine.
So afterwards, I made a quick stop to get a replacement social security card for mine that I can't find and need to get a driver's license here (gotta love a small town--the wait was about 4 minutes.) We then ran to Walmart to get my prescription filled. After 10 minutes spent entering my information, the clerk smiled and said, "that will be 30 to 40 minutes."
You have got to be kidding me. I didn't wait that long in the ER.
Yeah, whatever. A ploy to get you to shop. But I needed groceries, and Dr. B needed a shoe rack for his closet, and I wanted to try to make a Christmas stocking for Rowan and needed some fuzzy chenille yarn, so I got everything taken care of in one stop. After a caramel sundae chez McDo, we headed home. (You have to take antiobiotics with food, you know, and that's food. Really.) I tried to lay her down for a nap after she ate and we took Lucy out for a potty break (during which Fuzz-Face stepped on my bad toe and then nearly tore my arm off trying to eat a cat), but Rowan was too wound up. We played, then went to meet Dr. B for supper out. (I had the duck sandwich, he had the Eddie D'licious.)
And Rowan hit the wall.
After a whole day of crazy errands and being a very good girl, she'd had enough. So, we took turns eating and holding/walking/soothing her, and came home. She ate again, got PJ'd up, and I laid her down. She was passed out after one revolution of the mobile.
That was just about the most productive day I've had since she was born. I may not have unpacked a single box, but I got a lot done. Sometimes, life is a lot easier in a small town.
Friday, September 28, 2007
I Look Exactly Like This
My sister's getting married in November in the Bahamas. And me being the super nice sister I am, I'm going. (Twist my rubber arm.) Dr. B is staying here. I know, that makes no sense to normal people, but to him it is very clear. He must pay off our debt (well, except student loans, the mortgage and the car) before he can do anything fun. He would just feel too guilty. (I don't understand either, but it's like the vacuum--you just don't argue with Mr. OCD.)When I visited my aunt in August, we looked at the website for the resort we're going to be at for the wedding, and I realized that my stained and stretched out t-shirts and 4 year old capri pants just weren't going to cut it. So, I hit the Herberger's and bought a whole bunch of tropical-looking sundresses on 70% off. Got some new sandals, too. Found a bikini, sun hat and cover up for Rowan on clearance at Target. When visiting my sister the next week, we even found a dress for me to wear for the wedding at the BCBG Max Azria outlet. 40 bucks for a 400 dollar dress--not bad.
But, the thing I didn't have was a swimsuit. This being the Caribbean, I didn't think I could weasel my way out of wearing one too easily, and the last one I bought (in 2000 I think) was looking a little tired. It's so old, I'm not even sure the elastic still has the boing factor--I may be able to carry my suntan lotion in the extra room in the booty region.
But I hate suit shopping. Who doesn't? It sucks. The last time I had success was at a Lands' End inlet, after going through about 40 suits. Pick your reason for denial:
Smoosh the boobs
Poochy on the butt
Only fit when I slouch (I have a very long torso)
Two words: Michelin Man
So high in the leg I look like Jane Fonda circa 1983, only fatter
Make my skin look like dead fish flesh
Beefy
Bumpy
Squishy
Those fluorescent lights!
I'd heard Victoria's Secret had good suits. Really good.
Yeah, I didn't believe it either.
But, I gave it a go. To hedge my bets, I got a "long torso" size, 2 piece tankini. Ordered 2 sizes and 2 color combinations, knowing full well that the smaller one wouldn't fit, and expecting that neither one would look decent on me.
But I was wrong. Not about the smaller one fitting. It didn't.
But the other one did. See it up there? I look exactly like that in it. Really!
OK, not exactly. (Her hair is longer.) But I don't look half bad. The tummy pooch is hidden, it's not too high on the legs, the color is (for once) not black, the pattern is very cheerful without making me feel like I should be waiting tables at Cheezburger in Paradise, and it keeps the girls in place without smooshing them much. I actually like it. AND the matching capri pants were on sale for 10 bucks.
How can you beat that?
Friday, September 21, 2007
5 Minutes
Rowan is in a good mood today, but her naps have been short. Often, but short. Since I can't get much done unpacking-wise, I've been using the time to upload photos and videos.
This is my latest favorite, taken yesterday. Click it to head over to flickr to see more photos from the last 3 weeks.
And maybe this time she'll sleep for more than 5 minutes, and I can get a box unpacked.
Yeah, right.
Bootylicious
Booty Dance from Ronica on Vimeo.
This diaper made her butt look big, so Rowan decided to channel Beyoncé and do a booty dance. Topless blonde Beyoncé, that is.
Ha!
Finally. Captured on camera.
Rowan Laughing at her Dad from Ronica on Vimeo.
She really does laugh and smile, occasionally.
Rowan Laughing at her Dad from Ronica on Vimeo.
She really does laugh and smile, occasionally.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
You Know You're A Mom When...
... you start dancing to the muzak at Walmart in the lampshade isle, just to make your baby laugh.
In my defense, I think it was Patti Smith.
In my defense, I think it was Patti Smith.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Celebration
I won't be a *itch and tell you I was in my jeans 2 weeks after Rowan was born.
(Woops. Sorry about that. I just did, didn't I? Oh well, don't think it's anything I did. It's genetics, not willpower.)
But I have to celebrate today.
Thanks to breast feeding, stress, and being too lazy to walk downstairs and get the clean, folded jeans next to the dryer...
(drumroll)
I am wearing my SKINNY JEANS! For the first time in 2 years!
AND I AM EATING CARBS!!!
End brag.
(If it makes you feel better, I do have a big old zit on my forehead.)
(Woops. Sorry about that. I just did, didn't I? Oh well, don't think it's anything I did. It's genetics, not willpower.)
But I have to celebrate today.
Thanks to breast feeding, stress, and being too lazy to walk downstairs and get the clean, folded jeans next to the dryer...
(drumroll)
I am wearing my SKINNY JEANS! For the first time in 2 years!
AND I AM EATING CARBS!!!
End brag.
(If it makes you feel better, I do have a big old zit on my forehead.)
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Vacuum Debate
When we moved to France, we had to store all of our stuff. Dr. B, being the Obsessive-Compulsive that he is, freaked out at the end, and began throwing things away. Important things. Cleaning things.
He tossed my mop. My bucket. My broom. The dustpan. Even... the vacuum cleaner.
"It smells like dog! It stinks anyway. Doesn't work for crap."
Well, it did work (or else all that dirt I emptied out of the cup each time was imaginary.) And yeah, it smelled like dog. Likely, any vac would. Because we have a dog.
He was in the midst of a big freak out about getting us to France, learning the language, dotting all the i's and crossing the t's, having no money, etc., so I didn't argue. I know better than to argue with him when he's in the midst of a big freak out. (Or at least let him win part of it. It's a control issue. Logic schmlogic.)
We came back, and our new home had all hardwood floors. With no need for a big vac, I bought new mops and brooms, and made due with a small hand vac for necessary suck ups. It was fine. I still hate mopping, but it was fine.
Now we're in a place with carpet. Lots of new, nice carpet. And it needs vacuuming.
And so the argument begins.
I need your help. We are discussing the Bissell Lift Off and the Dyson Animal (or not the Animal--whatever, a Dyson anyway.) My sister has the Dyson, and loves it. However, I'm not in love with the ginormous price tag, whether I have a Bed, Bath and Beyond All Hope 20% off coupon or not (currently I don't.) Dr. B is convinced it is better, because the inventor is a scientist and of course scientists know better than people who have been making vacuums for umpteen billion years. I think he's buying into the hype of the brilliant inventor's brilliant marketing scheme, personally. Chances are, the Bissell works as well, or not so much worse that anyone would notice unless you told them. (Don't all people with Dysons tell you they have a Dyson? So you'll notice how clean their floor is, of course. Because you wouldn't have noticed otherwise.) The Bissell has a cool feature, too, that I like--the center part pulls out and is easy to carry around (I'm thinking stairs.) I'm not a neat freak (though my sister might argue), but I do like a clean house, especially with a little one who will eventually be toddling around it.
So, what do you think? All I can find online are a bunch of people who buy one, use it once, and rave about how great it is. Yeah, well, the first time you use a bagless it is pretty amazing to see the dirt. I'm over that. (Last one, the "doggie stinky vac" was a bagless, too.) I want to know if the Bissell does a good job, if it will last, and if it is a good alternative. I just have a hard time spending as much for a vacuum as I did for my wedding gown (which was worth every penny.)
UPDATE: We got the Bissell. It works great, is fairly quiet, moves very smoothly, and doesn't lose the on-board parts every time you move it. If it had a retractable cord, I think it would be the perfect machine. (Well, that and if it vacuumed the house for me while I was taking a nap. That would be even better.)
He tossed my mop. My bucket. My broom. The dustpan. Even... the vacuum cleaner.
"It smells like dog! It stinks anyway. Doesn't work for crap."
Well, it did work (or else all that dirt I emptied out of the cup each time was imaginary.) And yeah, it smelled like dog. Likely, any vac would. Because we have a dog.
He was in the midst of a big freak out about getting us to France, learning the language, dotting all the i's and crossing the t's, having no money, etc., so I didn't argue. I know better than to argue with him when he's in the midst of a big freak out. (Or at least let him win part of it. It's a control issue. Logic schmlogic.)
We came back, and our new home had all hardwood floors. With no need for a big vac, I bought new mops and brooms, and made due with a small hand vac for necessary suck ups. It was fine. I still hate mopping, but it was fine.
Now we're in a place with carpet. Lots of new, nice carpet. And it needs vacuuming.
And so the argument begins.
I need your help. We are discussing the Bissell Lift Off and the Dyson Animal (or not the Animal--whatever, a Dyson anyway.) My sister has the Dyson, and loves it. However, I'm not in love with the ginormous price tag, whether I have a Bed, Bath and Beyond All Hope 20% off coupon or not (currently I don't.) Dr. B is convinced it is better, because the inventor is a scientist and of course scientists know better than people who have been making vacuums for umpteen billion years. I think he's buying into the hype of the brilliant inventor's brilliant marketing scheme, personally. Chances are, the Bissell works as well, or not so much worse that anyone would notice unless you told them. (Don't all people with Dysons tell you they have a Dyson? So you'll notice how clean their floor is, of course. Because you wouldn't have noticed otherwise.) The Bissell has a cool feature, too, that I like--the center part pulls out and is easy to carry around (I'm thinking stairs.) I'm not a neat freak (though my sister might argue), but I do like a clean house, especially with a little one who will eventually be toddling around it.
So, what do you think? All I can find online are a bunch of people who buy one, use it once, and rave about how great it is. Yeah, well, the first time you use a bagless it is pretty amazing to see the dirt. I'm over that. (Last one, the "doggie stinky vac" was a bagless, too.) I want to know if the Bissell does a good job, if it will last, and if it is a good alternative. I just have a hard time spending as much for a vacuum as I did for my wedding gown (which was worth every penny.)
UPDATE: We got the Bissell. It works great, is fairly quiet, moves very smoothly, and doesn't lose the on-board parts every time you move it. If it had a retractable cord, I think it would be the perfect machine. (Well, that and if it vacuumed the house for me while I was taking a nap. That would be even better.)
Saturday, September 15, 2007
The Deal
Dr. B has been very busy at work, building his new program and wanting to impress (or at least not tick off) the people around him, so managing the household is pretty much left up to me (except for the AM and PM Lucy walks--he takes care of them.) With a house full of boxes and a 3.5 month old baby, I don't exactly have all my ducks in a row yet, but I'm working on it, slowly but surely. After waking up several days in a row with an aching back, I gave myself a little more slack when it comes to unpacking (and it helped--my back feels much better now). Dr. B promised to help more on the weekend, and I took him at his word. As long as I was able to sit on the couch again, find clean towels, clothes and dishes, and had a bed to sleep in, I could survive.
On Friday night, we were invited to a colleague's home for supper and dog-acquainting. Rowan had another of her no-nap days (after several blissful sleeping-through-the-night and 3 hour nap days), so I was a bit frazzled when he got home from the U. After helping him to find a pair of casual pants to wear (searching his closet and the laundry bin, and subsequently rejecting 5 or 6 options for various reasons), I asked him to change her pants and her outfit so I could also change out of my unpacking clothes, slap on a little lipstick and fluff up my hair.
He laid her on the couch, and got ready to change her pants. Overheard, from upstairs...
"It's naked time! Whoopee! Naked time! Are you ready?"
"Goooo!!!!" (that was Rowan.)
"Ok, here we go. Are you wet or poopy? Just wet. OK, no problem."
He pulls the diaper out from under her.
"Alright. So, I have to reach over there for another diaper. Now, don't pee. It will be just a second, so don't pee. Do we have an understanding?"
"Gaaaahhh!" (Rowan again.)
I am sure you can see where this one is headed.
He reaches for the diaper, and in that split second--you got it.
Pee.
All over the couch and his carefully chosen pants.
"Hey! Ack! What the... Argh! We had a deal! We had an accord!!! I thought we had an understanding!!!"
Rowan: "Goooo!!!"
Then, she giggled.
Yep. She knows exactly what she is doing.
On Friday night, we were invited to a colleague's home for supper and dog-acquainting. Rowan had another of her no-nap days (after several blissful sleeping-through-the-night and 3 hour nap days), so I was a bit frazzled when he got home from the U. After helping him to find a pair of casual pants to wear (searching his closet and the laundry bin, and subsequently rejecting 5 or 6 options for various reasons), I asked him to change her pants and her outfit so I could also change out of my unpacking clothes, slap on a little lipstick and fluff up my hair.
He laid her on the couch, and got ready to change her pants. Overheard, from upstairs...
"It's naked time! Whoopee! Naked time! Are you ready?"
"Goooo!!!!" (that was Rowan.)
"Ok, here we go. Are you wet or poopy? Just wet. OK, no problem."
He pulls the diaper out from under her.
"Alright. So, I have to reach over there for another diaper. Now, don't pee. It will be just a second, so don't pee. Do we have an understanding?"
"Gaaaahhh!" (Rowan again.)
I am sure you can see where this one is headed.
He reaches for the diaper, and in that split second--you got it.
Pee.
All over the couch and his carefully chosen pants.
"Hey! Ack! What the... Argh! We had a deal! We had an accord!!! I thought we had an understanding!!!"
Rowan: "Goooo!!!"
Then, she giggled.
Yep. She knows exactly what she is doing.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Welcome to Cardboard City
So we're here! Officially Pennsylvania residents, and we're doing our part to fill up the local dumpster with cardboard. We've got a teeny path through which we can walk, but we're sleeping in our own beds and Dr. B even cleared me a spot on the couch where I can sit down tonight. Yes, sit! I'm excited.
I've come to a few conclusions: we have too much junk. I have waaaaaayyyy too much cooking/serving/eating/drinking stuff. (Perhaps this is why I am not a size 2.) I have way too many shoes. And clothes. And handbags. And books (but you can't blame me entirely for that one.)
Though we don't have as much kitchen space or basement storage, we do have big closets, 2 linen closets (we had zero in the other place), and central air. Hallelujah for that! Our internet was hooked up today, and as soon as I find the router, we'll even be wireless. We'll figure it all out, though it may take a while.
Rowan is growing and changing every day. Her newest trick is to wait until we are busy doing something and start fussing, until we run over to check on her. Then she laughs at us.
Great. Manipulation starting at 3 months old.
However, she is loving the stinky feet game, which is pretty fun for all involved. You smell her feet, say "Pew!" in a high pitched voice, and she laughs. It's pretty adorable, I must say. (And her feet don't stink yet, unlike her Mom's.)
So, you may hear from me occasionally, when I take a break from unwrapping more crap we really don't need but keep moving around with us anyway.
Right now I'm going to bed. It's been a long day.
I've come to a few conclusions: we have too much junk. I have waaaaaayyyy too much cooking/serving/eating/drinking stuff. (Perhaps this is why I am not a size 2.) I have way too many shoes. And clothes. And handbags. And books (but you can't blame me entirely for that one.)
Though we don't have as much kitchen space or basement storage, we do have big closets, 2 linen closets (we had zero in the other place), and central air. Hallelujah for that! Our internet was hooked up today, and as soon as I find the router, we'll even be wireless. We'll figure it all out, though it may take a while.
Rowan is growing and changing every day. Her newest trick is to wait until we are busy doing something and start fussing, until we run over to check on her. Then she laughs at us.
Great. Manipulation starting at 3 months old.However, she is loving the stinky feet game, which is pretty fun for all involved. You smell her feet, say "Pew!" in a high pitched voice, and she laughs. It's pretty adorable, I must say. (And her feet don't stink yet, unlike her Mom's.)
So, you may hear from me occasionally, when I take a break from unwrapping more crap we really don't need but keep moving around with us anyway.
Right now I'm going to bed. It's been a long day.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Ergo Sum
If a tree falls in the woods...
So, do I exist?
Try it for yourself.
Hmmm... maybe this means I should actually still be living in France...
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tub
Rowan loves baths. Loves being in the water, waving her arms and legs, doesn't mind getting her face wet or even "going under". Just like her Daddy, she is a water baby. She'll sit in there until the water is cold, and not fuss a bit.
But a little advice: it's a good idea to put in your ear plugs before you take her out.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Abundance
Tomorrow my father is coming to pick up me and the kid (dog is staying at the in-laws'), and we're off to a wedding, and then 10 days at his house in Bismarck, with excursions to visit the GG's (Great Grandparents). So tonight, I packed.
Oy vey. (Am I allowed to say that?)
Thanks to the incredible generosity of my sister-in-law (who recently mailed another 3 boxes of clothes) and gifts from friends, Rowan has enough clothes to outfit the entire state of North Dakota. And maybe Pennsylvania, too.
And me? Yeah, I've always been a clothes-horse. And the fear of no Old Navy in State College forced me to pick up a couple of tops and pairs of capris. You know, because I'll be deprived of inexpensive, trendy clothes that are made in China. (Yes, there's one in Altoona, 45 minutes away. I've already staked it out.)
Plus, with the cloth diapers, disposables (for when we're not at home), burp rags, play mats, blankies, nuks, vitamins, gripe water and wipes, well... let's just say it's a good thing I brought the big suitcase.
And I'm only taking stuff for 10 days. Yikes.
Looks like we'll be mailing stuff to our new home. Maybe we should have bought a bigger house?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Nature Girl
Nature Girl from Ronica and Vimeo.
Our little girl loves to be outside, and walking up and down the sidewalk is sometimes the only thing that calms her down. Yesterday was a beautiful day, so we spent some time lying under a tree staring up at the leaves. She has also recently discovered her fist, so it was an exciting time, to say the least!
I have no idea what we'll do come January.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Birthday Gift
I got this for my birthday.
Not perfume. No jewelry. Not a new outfit.
And I don't care.
Yeah, I'm a Mom. It's not all about me anymore.
This thing totally rocks. She loves it. She lays under it, squeaking and waving her arms and looking at herself in the mirror until she passes out from exhaustion.
I sit nearby, eating chocolate, reading blogs, folding diapers, watching TV, and not trying to soothe a baby who's crying and fussing for no apparent reason.
At least today. (I make no promises about tomorrow.)
Oh, and did I tell you the best part? The mat is machine washable (for those spit up stains. She's already christened it. Twice.)
PS: Thanks for all the birthday wishes!
Not perfume. No jewelry. Not a new outfit.
And I don't care.
Yeah, I'm a Mom. It's not all about me anymore.
This thing totally rocks. She loves it. She lays under it, squeaking and waving her arms and looking at herself in the mirror until she passes out from exhaustion.
I sit nearby, eating chocolate, reading blogs, folding diapers, watching TV, and not trying to soothe a baby who's crying and fussing for no apparent reason.
At least today. (I make no promises about tomorrow.)
Oh, and did I tell you the best part? The mat is machine washable (for those spit up stains. She's already christened it. Twice.)
PS: Thanks for all the birthday wishes!
Monday, August 13, 2007
I Look Like a Monkey, and I Sing Like One, Too
Yesterday was another one of them. Hell days. She started the night before, and carried it over into Sunday. 2 naps, 15 minutes each. The rest of the time? Yelling and crying. Lots of it. (Some from me, admittedly.)
She finally went to sleep around 11, and I knew, I *knew* that tomorrow would be better. It had to be.
After all, it's my birthday.
I woke up, peered over the end of the bed into the portable crib, expecting a sweet smile and a lovely nursing session, followed by another hour of sleep curled up together in the big bed.
And I got a rude awakening.
No smile.
Oh crap... I thought.
Yep. She's now got the stamina for two full days.
I think I cried just about as many tears as she did.
But, finally she settled down around 3 PM and we all jumped in the car to drive to Fargo to pick up the Jimmy, newly and very expensively repaired, and to go out to Johnny Carino's for my birthday dinner. I got a good start on the baby bolero I'm knitting for her (thanks, Flare!), and she was an angel, most of the time (except for about 5 minutes around Hillsboro, but I don't blame her. That sugar beet plant stinks.)
We got home, and I had to use my "crank the music and sing really loudly right in her face making up the words you don't know" trick for about a half an hour, but she's sleeping again.
I think I subbed too many days in music classrooms, if all that calms her is loud music and me singing my heart out.
Too bad I didn't get a karaoke machine for my birthday...
She finally went to sleep around 11, and I knew, I *knew* that tomorrow would be better. It had to be.
After all, it's my birthday.
I woke up, peered over the end of the bed into the portable crib, expecting a sweet smile and a lovely nursing session, followed by another hour of sleep curled up together in the big bed.
And I got a rude awakening.
No smile.
Oh crap... I thought.
Yep. She's now got the stamina for two full days.
I think I cried just about as many tears as she did.
But, finally she settled down around 3 PM and we all jumped in the car to drive to Fargo to pick up the Jimmy, newly and very expensively repaired, and to go out to Johnny Carino's for my birthday dinner. I got a good start on the baby bolero I'm knitting for her (thanks, Flare!), and she was an angel, most of the time (except for about 5 minutes around Hillsboro, but I don't blame her. That sugar beet plant stinks.)
We got home, and I had to use my "crank the music and sing really loudly right in her face making up the words you don't know" trick for about a half an hour, but she's sleeping again.
I think I subbed too many days in music classrooms, if all that calms her is loud music and me singing my heart out.
Too bad I didn't get a karaoke machine for my birthday...
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Following Zeb the Zebra
Following Zeb the Zebra from Ronica and Vimeo.
My first video upload--I hope this works. This is Rowan with her new Zebra toy. She loves to watch the black and white patterns on the bottom of its feet!
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Meltdown
Our little girl is having more good days than bad days now, and has strings of 3 or 4 days in a row when she takes naps, is happy when she's active, and is generally no trouble at all. She's beginning to smile, follows us with her eyes, loves staring at the TV and the pink star that hangs from the bouncy chair, and is "cooing" (though to me it sounds more like squeaks, squawks, and some "Maaaagghhooowaaaghhoooiiikk????") Her GI tract is figuring itself out, and we no longer dread the one big poop every three days that is thick and sticky--she's now more regular and "looser". This is a very good thing. (And yes, I have become the typical new mom that discusses her kid's poop on a regular basis. Sorry.)
But she still has bad days.
When we'd talk to our family from Madison, they thought we were exaggerating. "Oh, all babies have times like that," they'd say. "Babies cry, it's what they do!" and "But she's good most of the time, you just have to be patient when she has a fussy time."
Dr. B and I knew that they had no idea what kind power Rowan has.
As she screamed for the third hour in a row, Dr. B would say to me, "she's not a nuclear reactor. She has to wear out sometime and fall asleep." Most days, he's right. But not always.
Now, I am back in North Dakota staying with my inlaws, and Dr. B has begun his new job in Pennsylvania. Rowan was great on the trip despite the issues we had, and had several good days after that, leading my inlaws to believe that she was a wonderful, easy baby.
Then it came.
Black Wednesday.
Or, as Jean called it, "The Day From Hell."
Up at 8:30, she had a fussy morning. Lots of crying.
No nap.
More crying.
Lunch time.
Again with the crying.
Coffee with Jean's school gang, and again, no nap.
And more crying.
Afternoon. We were dead. All three of us were in desperate need of a nap, but no dice. More crying. No nap.
"She can't go on like this!" Jean said. "She's got to wear out. I am beat. I don't know how she does it."
We drove around. And around. And around. So long, in fact, that she got hungry again and we had to go home and feed her.
Late afternoon. Dick came home. "What have you been doing to my granddaughter?" he joked.
"You're lucky I like you, or I'd hand her off to you and go to the movies. And take a nap there." I said.
Again, more crying and no nap.
Supper. More crying. No sleeping.
Coffee. (Decaf). Ditto.
Dilly Bar. More of the same.
She finally conked out at 11 PM.
Jean, the next day, in a phone call to her son:
"You're wrong. I'm pretty sure she is a nuclear reactor."
But now, at least, I have an ally. Jean understands. And when people say, "oh, she's such a good baby!" I have someone to exchange "if you only knew" looks with.
*Note: after an "episode", she will usually have a few good days. She made it until Monday this time, but at least when she was awake she wasn't crying this time. Though she was up from 3 AM to 10 PM.
Maybe she'll be a doctor. Seems like she could handle the hours during residency. At least once every 3 or 4 days.
But she still has bad days.
When we'd talk to our family from Madison, they thought we were exaggerating. "Oh, all babies have times like that," they'd say. "Babies cry, it's what they do!" and "But she's good most of the time, you just have to be patient when she has a fussy time."
Dr. B and I knew that they had no idea what kind power Rowan has.
As she screamed for the third hour in a row, Dr. B would say to me, "she's not a nuclear reactor. She has to wear out sometime and fall asleep." Most days, he's right. But not always.
Now, I am back in North Dakota staying with my inlaws, and Dr. B has begun his new job in Pennsylvania. Rowan was great on the trip despite the issues we had, and had several good days after that, leading my inlaws to believe that she was a wonderful, easy baby.
Then it came.
Black Wednesday.
Or, as Jean called it, "The Day From Hell."
Up at 8:30, she had a fussy morning. Lots of crying.
No nap.
More crying.
Lunch time.
Again with the crying.
Coffee with Jean's school gang, and again, no nap.
And more crying.
Afternoon. We were dead. All three of us were in desperate need of a nap, but no dice. More crying. No nap.
"She can't go on like this!" Jean said. "She's got to wear out. I am beat. I don't know how she does it."
We drove around. And around. And around. So long, in fact, that she got hungry again and we had to go home and feed her.
Late afternoon. Dick came home. "What have you been doing to my granddaughter?" he joked.
"You're lucky I like you, or I'd hand her off to you and go to the movies. And take a nap there." I said.
Again, more crying and no nap.
Supper. More crying. No sleeping.
Coffee. (Decaf). Ditto.
Dilly Bar. More of the same.
She finally conked out at 11 PM.
Jean, the next day, in a phone call to her son:
"You're wrong. I'm pretty sure she is a nuclear reactor."
But now, at least, I have an ally. Jean understands. And when people say, "oh, she's such a good baby!" I have someone to exchange "if you only knew" looks with.
*Note: after an "episode", she will usually have a few good days. She made it until Monday this time, but at least when she was awake she wasn't crying this time. Though she was up from 3 AM to 10 PM.
Maybe she'll be a doctor. Seems like she could handle the hours during residency. At least once every 3 or 4 days.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
There's No Place Like Home...
We made it. Finally.
The movers came, packed, loaded, and took all of our junk (of which we still have way too much) off to Pennsylvania. Dr. B loaded Wonda the Honda on Friday morning, and drove all the way to State College while I helped the movers finish everything, cleaned our house, and got ready to stay at a dear friends' that night. Rowan was an angel, until I locked the door. Then all the bad luck that seemed to cruise right past us during the move came crashing in.
As we were loading the (now screaming) baby into the car, (near as we can figure) some yoho came by and stole my bag.
Not the one with the computer or the one with the Ipod.
They took the one with all my makeup, toiletries, hair dryer, glasses, contact lenses, prescriptions, dirty laundry and my favorite capri pants. Plus Rowan's cute new outfit from her second cousin Angie. Everything I needed for the next few days. Check that, months. They even got my toenail clippers and eyebrow plucking things.
Argh!
We went back and scoured the area, but it was nowhere to be found. So, Target was hit and even just replacing a small portion of those items was quite a hit to the pocketbook.
Rowan had a fussy night, and I had insomnia. (Sigh.) Our friends were angels, helping us, feeding me and putting up with a screaming baby and a frustrated mommy who didn't even have shampoo to shower away the icky moving grit.
But, Saturday morning dawned, and the inlaws came to pick us up.
Then we tried to fit all our stuff we did have in their Jimmy.
Whoa.
Maybe it was a good thing I didn't have that bag. (Note to self: buy smaller suitcase. With that, Lucy's crate, and Rowan's car seat, there wasn't much space.)
So, I breathed shallowly on the way up to Minneapolis. We stopped for dinner at another good friend's house. It was wonderful.
Driving into Fargo at 12:30, trying to wake up for fear that my contact lenses would need to be surgically removed from my eyes, I heard a WHAM!!! from the backseat.
We hit a deer. Came out of nowhere, and took out the headlights and rammed the front real good.
We drove slowly on the side of the road, flashers blinking and a state patroller following us into the next town, where most of the lights were out for some unexplained reason. Found the first hotel with lights on, and got a room. There were no cribs left, so Rowan slept with me, and Lucy slept right next to me on the floor. The next morning, we had breakfast, rented another SUV (which my inlaws are presently driving back to Fargo because they wouldn't let us return it up here), and came home.
It felt so good to walk through those doors.
So now we're here, with spotty cell phone reception (call me at Jean and Dick's if you can't get me), comfy couches, air conditioning, and Harry Potter.
And the all-important swing that Great Aunt B. let Rowan borrow. Thank you, B! That's a lifesaver, that is.
So now? Time to rest and relax and do nothing. (Except the cooking and cleaning--Cinderellie owes her in-laws, BIG TIME.)
The movers came, packed, loaded, and took all of our junk (of which we still have way too much) off to Pennsylvania. Dr. B loaded Wonda the Honda on Friday morning, and drove all the way to State College while I helped the movers finish everything, cleaned our house, and got ready to stay at a dear friends' that night. Rowan was an angel, until I locked the door. Then all the bad luck that seemed to cruise right past us during the move came crashing in.
As we were loading the (now screaming) baby into the car, (near as we can figure) some yoho came by and stole my bag.
Not the one with the computer or the one with the Ipod.
They took the one with all my makeup, toiletries, hair dryer, glasses, contact lenses, prescriptions, dirty laundry and my favorite capri pants. Plus Rowan's cute new outfit from her second cousin Angie. Everything I needed for the next few days. Check that, months. They even got my toenail clippers and eyebrow plucking things.
Argh!
We went back and scoured the area, but it was nowhere to be found. So, Target was hit and even just replacing a small portion of those items was quite a hit to the pocketbook.
Rowan had a fussy night, and I had insomnia. (Sigh.) Our friends were angels, helping us, feeding me and putting up with a screaming baby and a frustrated mommy who didn't even have shampoo to shower away the icky moving grit.
But, Saturday morning dawned, and the inlaws came to pick us up.
Then we tried to fit all our stuff we did have in their Jimmy.
Whoa.
Maybe it was a good thing I didn't have that bag. (Note to self: buy smaller suitcase. With that, Lucy's crate, and Rowan's car seat, there wasn't much space.)
So, I breathed shallowly on the way up to Minneapolis. We stopped for dinner at another good friend's house. It was wonderful.
Driving into Fargo at 12:30, trying to wake up for fear that my contact lenses would need to be surgically removed from my eyes, I heard a WHAM!!! from the backseat.
We hit a deer. Came out of nowhere, and took out the headlights and rammed the front real good.
We drove slowly on the side of the road, flashers blinking and a state patroller following us into the next town, where most of the lights were out for some unexplained reason. Found the first hotel with lights on, and got a room. There were no cribs left, so Rowan slept with me, and Lucy slept right next to me on the floor. The next morning, we had breakfast, rented another SUV (which my inlaws are presently driving back to Fargo because they wouldn't let us return it up here), and came home.
It felt so good to walk through those doors.
So now we're here, with spotty cell phone reception (call me at Jean and Dick's if you can't get me), comfy couches, air conditioning, and Harry Potter.
And the all-important swing that Great Aunt B. let Rowan borrow. Thank you, B! That's a lifesaver, that is.
So now? Time to rest and relax and do nothing. (Except the cooking and cleaning--Cinderellie owes her in-laws, BIG TIME.)
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Primp
Pre-Baby:
Plan outfit carefully, with appropriate undergarments. Iron as needed.
Shower, shave, shampoo, condition, cleanse with some lovely-smelling shower gel, pumice feet.
Paint toenails, with base coat, two coats of color (Berry Berry Broadway is my favorite), top coat.
Paint fingernails, with base coat, two coats of color (more understated than toes, Sheer Sugarplum is my top choice), top coat.
Apply anti-perspirant, body lotion, perfume.
Carefully apply makeup, including foundation, concealer, blush, eyeshadow (two types), eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, mascara (lashes appropriately curled, of course).
Dry and style hair, using several hair care products for that touseled look.
Choose jewelry, scarves and shoes to compliment outfit.
Don appropriate outerwear for the weather.
Apply a final coat of lipstick and/or gloss, checking teeth to make sure there are no stray lipstick marks.
Post-Baby:
"Honey?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you see the poop stain on my shirt?"*
*Yes, I really did ask this just before leaving the house.
***NOTE: The movers have packed the house, Dr. B is leaving this morning for PA, and my job is to clean the place while avoiding a baby meltdown when they load the truck. Dr. B will be taking the cable box, remote, and router thingee back to the cable company on his way out of town, so I will be wireless-less for a few days. Please be patient, and I'll post comments as soon as I can! My in-laws are coming to get us tomorrow, and we'll be back in the land of Ice and Snow, Tornadoes and 109 degree heat by late Saturday night.
Plan outfit carefully, with appropriate undergarments. Iron as needed.
Shower, shave, shampoo, condition, cleanse with some lovely-smelling shower gel, pumice feet.
Paint toenails, with base coat, two coats of color (Berry Berry Broadway is my favorite), top coat.
Paint fingernails, with base coat, two coats of color (more understated than toes, Sheer Sugarplum is my top choice), top coat.
Apply anti-perspirant, body lotion, perfume.
Carefully apply makeup, including foundation, concealer, blush, eyeshadow (two types), eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, mascara (lashes appropriately curled, of course).
Dry and style hair, using several hair care products for that touseled look.
Choose jewelry, scarves and shoes to compliment outfit.
Don appropriate outerwear for the weather.
Apply a final coat of lipstick and/or gloss, checking teeth to make sure there are no stray lipstick marks.
Post-Baby:
"Honey?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you see the poop stain on my shirt?"*
*Yes, I really did ask this just before leaving the house.
***NOTE: The movers have packed the house, Dr. B is leaving this morning for PA, and my job is to clean the place while avoiding a baby meltdown when they load the truck. Dr. B will be taking the cable box, remote, and router thingee back to the cable company on his way out of town, so I will be wireless-less for a few days. Please be patient, and I'll post comments as soon as I can! My in-laws are coming to get us tomorrow, and we'll be back in the land of Ice and Snow, Tornadoes and 109 degree heat by late Saturday night.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Kabillion
We bought a home, found temporary housing for Dr. B, planned a 6-week stay in ND for me, the girl and the pup, and now are in the midst of a kabillion things that we have to do to prepare. We have movers coming to pack and haul everything, but that doesn't change the fact that things are a disorganized mess, and the house is in serious need of cleaning (yeah, like that's going to happen!) We're selling surplus items on Craig's List, hoping to see friends before leaving, and trying to ignore the fact that we're leaving the town we love so much (though from our week in SC,PA, we are pretty sure we're going to love it there, too.)
So posts may be infrequent for a bit, and I'm not sure when I'll get pictures up on Flickr (working on it!), but I do have to share this one with you.
Our lives may be caught in a whirlwind right now, but we do have the most beautiful little girl in the whole wide world. Don't you agree?
PS: She wore a hat for a few days, which made some of the hair in the front of her head rub off. She kind of looks like Ed Asner, but it's growing back. And her eyelashes are getting really long, so it kind of makes up for the baldie-mullet look.
So posts may be infrequent for a bit, and I'm not sure when I'll get pictures up on Flickr (working on it!), but I do have to share this one with you.
Our lives may be caught in a whirlwind right now, but we do have the most beautiful little girl in the whole wide world. Don't you agree?
PS: She wore a hat for a few days, which made some of the hair in the front of her head rub off. She kind of looks like Ed Asner, but it's growing back. And her eyelashes are getting really long, so it kind of makes up for the baldie-mullet look.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
House
This week, we're spending some time in our future hometown, State College, PA. It's a charming college town, nestled in the Allegheny Mountain Range of the Appalachian Mountains, and is full of students and people who really, really like Penn State. (And we thought Bucky Fever was bad...) Cute shops and restaurants are everywhere, the mountain views are amazing, and there are lots of neat little towns in the area to explore.
We went house hunting, found a townhouse, made an offer, and signed the papers, so we are officially
But it's cute. Not a lot of storage, but completely updated and redone throughout, so I never have to set foot in Home Depot. (Phew!)
Only problem is that it's not available when we need it, so we are planning a trip for me, the girl and the dog back to ND to visit family in August, and Dr. B will come alone for a while and live somewhere (still working on that.)
Scary, but exciting. I think we're going to like it here. More details soon...
Friday, July 06, 2007
Warning
Rowan was up today at 5 AM. After nursing, changing her clothes and sheets (she either wet everywhere or just got really, really sweaty while sleeping), and rocking her for a while, Dr. B took over and let me go back to bed before putting her back down around 7.
She slept until 11 AM.
I awoke at 10, ate breakfast, drank coffee, read my email, made the bed, cleaned the bathroom, showered, got dressed, combed my hair, brushed my teeth, put in my contacts and even moisturized before she woke up.
I think this means we're in for it tonight. Beware.
And if you hear wailing off in the distance? It's her.
Or me.
(Just close your windows tight.)
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Fountain
The first week as a new mom was tough. There were lots of people around, I was exhausted, my hormones were waaaaayyyy whacked out, it was really HOT, and Rowan screamed. A lot. You know, once everyone had gone back to their air-conditioned hotel rooms. (Sigh.)
A few days later, everyone left, my hormones calmed down, and the Ambien helped me sleep a little bit. (Doctor approved, btw.) Dr. B was a big help, and things started to get easier.
But it was still really HOT, and she still screamed. A lot.
Then Dr. B went back to work. And I was all alone with her. And I was scared.
The first day wasn't bad, though. She had a few fussy times, but slept well for the most part.
Then came day 2 (bum Bum BUUUMMMMMM!!!!)
After a night where she allowed me a total of 4 hours of sleep (not consecutive), she woke at 5. And didn't go back to sleep. At all. She wouldn't let me set her down for a second, or she would scream with amazing fury. She was gassy, and before each fart would scream. Then she'd fart. Then she'd scream some more. And it was hot. Really hot. So, we sat in her nursery, lights off, fan on, drapes drawn.
She sat leaning on my chest. And nursed a lot. I sweated a lot, the sweat dripping off my greasy, hormonal face. I watched banal morning television, and desperately wanted a shower.
Then, around 9 AM, she pooped. This was great news, as she had some issues with the whole pooping thing prior to this. I happily changed her diaper.
Then, around 9:30, she pooped again.
And again at 10:15.
And at 11.
And 12:30.
I gave birth to the Bellagio of Poop. Holy Crap.
So, I lay on the couch in my underwear and a tank top, eating granola bars and teddy grahams, drinking water, nursing her every hour and a half, holding her on my chest, changing dirty diapers, and flipping channels.
Just as she started to calm down and *think* about sleeping, the batteries in the remote control died.
As I was mid flip.
And I had just happened to land on ... motorcross. Great.
Finally, around 1, she fell deeply asleep and I was able to shower. That lasted all of 20 minutes, and she was wide awake again. And wanted to nurse. Again. My boobs felt like humongous raw sacks of pain.
At 2 PM, I had had it. It was 92 degrees, and I couldn't take another minute in our hot house. I loaded the screaming banshee in the car, and we went for a drive. I was nearly hallucinating from exhaustion, tears running down my face, begging her to sleep. It took me about 25
minutes of driving before she closed her eyes. At 2:45, I returned home, set her car seat down, and fell onto the couch and passed out.
Dr. B called a little after 3 and came home early, let me cry for a while, took her and changed her diaper (I admit, I was scared to check. And yes. She pooped AGAIN.) Then he poured me a glass of wine and brought me a whole box of chocolate truffles.
And she started screaming again.
So we took another drive until she fell asleep, and went out to dinner. For some reason, she slept the whole time. I guess all that screaming wore her out.
Thankfully, the days since then haven't been nearly as bad, and we are starting to develop a bit of a routine. She's not sleeping through the night by any means, but now will go 4-5 hours at a stretch, allowing Mom to sleep more deeply without the Ambien. I am still not getting a lot done during the day, but each day I go without crying is a victory. It's getting easier to enjoy her--watching her take in the world around her, seeing her turn her head when she hears my voice, wiping her face when she slops milk all down her face as she eats. I wish I could say it was easy now, but it's not. The doctor says she's perfect, and is doing incredibly well. She's gained a lot of weight in her first two weeks of life, so I guess I am doing my job right, even though it may not always feel like it. It's hard, but it's getting easier.
But it will be worth it. She is worth it. And when she wraps her little arms around my neck, I can feel the future tugging at my heart strings. And it feels good.
A few days later, everyone left, my hormones calmed down, and the Ambien helped me sleep a little bit. (Doctor approved, btw.) Dr. B was a big help, and things started to get easier.
But it was still really HOT, and she still screamed. A lot.
Then Dr. B went back to work. And I was all alone with her. And I was scared.
The first day wasn't bad, though. She had a few fussy times, but slept well for the most part.
Then came day 2 (bum Bum BUUUMMMMMM!!!!)
After a night where she allowed me a total of 4 hours of sleep (not consecutive), she woke at 5. And didn't go back to sleep. At all. She wouldn't let me set her down for a second, or she would scream with amazing fury. She was gassy, and before each fart would scream. Then she'd fart. Then she'd scream some more. And it was hot. Really hot. So, we sat in her nursery, lights off, fan on, drapes drawn.
She sat leaning on my chest. And nursed a lot. I sweated a lot, the sweat dripping off my greasy, hormonal face. I watched banal morning television, and desperately wanted a shower.
Then, around 9 AM, she pooped. This was great news, as she had some issues with the whole pooping thing prior to this. I happily changed her diaper.
Then, around 9:30, she pooped again.
And again at 10:15.
And at 11.
And 12:30.
I gave birth to the Bellagio of Poop. Holy Crap.
So, I lay on the couch in my underwear and a tank top, eating granola bars and teddy grahams, drinking water, nursing her every hour and a half, holding her on my chest, changing dirty diapers, and flipping channels.
Just as she started to calm down and *think* about sleeping, the batteries in the remote control died.
As I was mid flip.
And I had just happened to land on ... motorcross. Great.
Finally, around 1, she fell deeply asleep and I was able to shower. That lasted all of 20 minutes, and she was wide awake again. And wanted to nurse. Again. My boobs felt like humongous raw sacks of pain.
At 2 PM, I had had it. It was 92 degrees, and I couldn't take another minute in our hot house. I loaded the screaming banshee in the car, and we went for a drive. I was nearly hallucinating from exhaustion, tears running down my face, begging her to sleep. It took me about 25
minutes of driving before she closed her eyes. At 2:45, I returned home, set her car seat down, and fell onto the couch and passed out.Dr. B called a little after 3 and came home early, let me cry for a while, took her and changed her diaper (I admit, I was scared to check. And yes. She pooped AGAIN.) Then he poured me a glass of wine and brought me a whole box of chocolate truffles.
And she started screaming again.
So we took another drive until she fell asleep, and went out to dinner. For some reason, she slept the whole time. I guess all that screaming wore her out.
Thankfully, the days since then haven't been nearly as bad, and we are starting to develop a bit of a routine. She's not sleeping through the night by any means, but now will go 4-5 hours at a stretch, allowing Mom to sleep more deeply without the Ambien. I am still not getting a lot done during the day, but each day I go without crying is a victory. It's getting easier to enjoy her--watching her take in the world around her, seeing her turn her head when she hears my voice, wiping her face when she slops milk all down her face as she eats. I wish I could say it was easy now, but it's not. The doctor says she's perfect, and is doing incredibly well. She's gained a lot of weight in her first two weeks of life, so I guess I am doing my job right, even though it may not always feel like it. It's hard, but it's getting easier.
But it will be worth it. She is worth it. And when she wraps her little arms around my neck, I can feel the future tugging at my heart strings. And it feels good.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Belle
New photos are up on Flickr (click the above photo to go there). I'll blog soon, I hope, but for now it is a little difficult--hard to type with a baby in your arms or leaning against your chest (her favorite spot.)
Plus, we soon have to start packing for the big move to Pennsylvania. Anybody free to wrap china?
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
...It Pours
We got a phone call today.
Nothing's in writing yet, but it looks like we'll soon be packing up this lovely nursery and moving to Pennsylvania.
Prayers answered. Thank you for all your kind thoughts!
Woo-hoooooo!!!!!
Nothing's in writing yet, but it looks like we'll soon be packing up this lovely nursery and moving to Pennsylvania.
Prayers answered. Thank you for all your kind thoughts!
Woo-hoooooo!!!!!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
our new family!
She's here, after 29 hours of labor. Long story, and I don't have the energy to write it now, but know that she's beautiful, and perfect, and has a heck of a set of lungs on her! (I just wish she didn't like to give us a concert every morning from 2-5.)
Rowan Amelia
born June 9, 2007; 8:03 AM
7 lbs. 5 oz., 19.5 inches long
Light brown hair, great big eyes, and she smells like a sugar cookie.
We love her so very much.
More later, when we've recovered a bit...
More pictures on my flickr page, and more to come.
Oh, and if you've tried to call, sorry--I don't often get a chance to answer the phone. When she's not eating, awake or screaming, I'm doing my very best to sleep. It doesn't always work, but I'm trying. I would love to hear from you soon, but will need a little time to adjust.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Water
I think my water may have broken, at about 3:20 this morning. I have had some intermittent back pain, and couldn't sleep any more, and really, really needed some peanut butter toast. I read until 6:30, then called the nurse.
So right now, we're getting things ready, showering, eating breakfast, walking the dog (him), putting away clean towels and scouring the sink (me), and preparing to go in and find out if it has.
Broken? I stay and have a baby.
Not? I come home and blog about how frustrated I am.
So if you don't hear anything, you know what's happening.
Comments won't be posted until I get back (as there's no Wifi at the hospital), whether that's in a few hours or a few days, so please post them only once. Thanks!)
So right now, we're getting things ready, showering, eating breakfast, walking the dog (him), putting away clean towels and scouring the sink (me), and preparing to go in and find out if it has.
Broken? I stay and have a baby.
Not? I come home and blog about how frustrated I am.
So if you don't hear anything, you know what's happening.
Comments won't be posted until I get back (as there's no Wifi at the hospital), whether that's in a few hours or a few days, so please post them only once. Thanks!)
Thursday, June 07, 2007
No News is No News
Nothing's happening yet, but there is some major severe weather on the way.
If you don't hear anything from our end, it could be that the power is out and we can't post.
Hopefully, the baby will come and everything will be fine.
But wouldn't that be a story to tell, if she chose the biggest storm of the century to make her appearance? My daughter, a drama queen?
I wouldn't be surprised...
If you don't hear anything from our end, it could be that the power is out and we can't post.
Hopefully, the baby will come and everything will be fine.
But wouldn't that be a story to tell, if she chose the biggest storm of the century to make her appearance? My daughter, a drama queen?
I wouldn't be surprised...
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Due
I found this on a roll that was missed in my camera bag, so I decided to spend the afternoon of my due date walking around Walmart for an hour and wait for it to be developed, hoping it would launch me into labor.
It didn't.
But, there are new photos on Flickr, so click that one to go there, if you like. There's a few of the nursery (in progress--the finished room is on the roll that's currently in the camera), some of the April shower, one of the May shower, a few taken this last week when my cousin visited, and some Dr. B took to record what I looked like during my last trimester of pregnancy.
I am smiling, so obviously those were taken before I got completely fed up with the whole being pregnant thing. My due date has come (and nearly gone) and I am still here, swollen, bloated, crampy and waiting. Unfortunately, a due date is not an expiration date.
The nursery is ready, there is extra toilet paper in the closet, the fridge is stocked (except for fruit, yogurt and eggs which we keep eating), and there are even new tomato plants and eggplant plants on the porch (though I haven't potted the eggplants yet.) Lucy has had an excursion to the country for exercise, gotten her rabies shot, and even got a new bag of peanut butter cookies in her Boîte à Toutou.
The finished and overdue library books are returned, my hair is freshly cut and styled, and I even finished knitting that scarf I started for my stepsister a long time ago. Even Lucy is freshly trimmed (thanks to Dr. B with the clippers on the porch).
The new-to-us baby stuff is 409'd and washed, the G diapers are loaded and ready, and there is a brand-new crib, with freshly ironed dust ruffle, lined with a duck and frog sheet and waiting for its occupant to make her appearance.
But we are still waiting. On the job for him, and the baby for both of us. Feels a bit like suspended animation--difficult to keep busy, not get too bored, and try to keep the house clean for the visitors that will come as soon as we make the announcement (though we know they love us and don't care if the bathroom is spotless.) We get a lot of "have you had it yet?" phone calls. It's nice to talk to people, but if I hear that question one more time, I think I'll scream.
Maybe that will trigger labor. One can hope.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
The Motherlode
With no labor in sight, I taught a full day on Friday. French at a middle school--not a bad assignment. It was a tougher school, but generally, the kids in French classes aren't too difficult, I know the subject matter very well, and I've found that they tend not to mess with me too much when they see just how pregnant I am. Though I'm not very "big" on the scale of pregnant women due to my freakishly long torso (one girl asked me yesterday if I was 4 or 5 months along), an announcement of my due date being "Wednesday", usually results in a few jaws scraping the floor. Even the tough kids back off when they hear that, telling me about their mothers or aunts or sisters who are expecting, and hoping I don't go into labor right then and there. Heh! Whatever works!!!
After school, I planned to hit a garage sale I'd seen listed on Craig's List. Y'all know I love me my Craig's List. After a successful find a few weeks ago of a complete starter set (with extras she added when I arrived) of G diapers for about 1/4 of the cost online, I had a sneaking suspicion that my Craig's List luck may have run out, but decided to perservere nonetheless.
This sale was listed as "everything you need for baby", so I hoped to find a few things we didn't have yet, though I didn't count on it. I was showing up at the end of the day on day 1 of a 2 day sale, so I knew my chances weren't great.
As it happened, we were in a tornado watch, so the sale people were pulling things inside when I showed up, about 3:30. They didn't have anything I needed. I was a little disappointed, but figured I'd just have to keep watching the website for more, and I'd eventually find things.
"We don't have any of those things, but you should check their sale," the lady said, pointing down the street. "Keep driving around--there are lots of sales in the neighborhood."
And boy, was she right!!!
I found an exersaucer jumperoo, a swing, an older style baby gym, a travel bed and an antique wooden Jenny Lind highchair, that I will probably strip and refinish to match our table set and the hutch my grandfather built.
For all of this, I paid about what I would have paid for our highchair. (And that one was plastic.) And, I'm recycling!!!
Today, my cousin and her husband are going to help us pick up our crib, and then we should be pretty much set.
Except for one little thing.
After school, I planned to hit a garage sale I'd seen listed on Craig's List. Y'all know I love me my Craig's List. After a successful find a few weeks ago of a complete starter set (with extras she added when I arrived) of G diapers for about 1/4 of the cost online, I had a sneaking suspicion that my Craig's List luck may have run out, but decided to perservere nonetheless.
This sale was listed as "everything you need for baby", so I hoped to find a few things we didn't have yet, though I didn't count on it. I was showing up at the end of the day on day 1 of a 2 day sale, so I knew my chances weren't great.
As it happened, we were in a tornado watch, so the sale people were pulling things inside when I showed up, about 3:30. They didn't have anything I needed. I was a little disappointed, but figured I'd just have to keep watching the website for more, and I'd eventually find things.
"We don't have any of those things, but you should check their sale," the lady said, pointing down the street. "Keep driving around--there are lots of sales in the neighborhood."
And boy, was she right!!!
I found an exersaucer jumperoo, a swing, an older style baby gym, a travel bed and an antique wooden Jenny Lind highchair, that I will probably strip and refinish to match our table set and the hutch my grandfather built.
For all of this, I paid about what I would have paid for our highchair. (And that one was plastic.) And, I'm recycling!!!
Today, my cousin and her husband are going to help us pick up our crib, and then we should be pretty much set.
Except for one little thing.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Theme Park
J.K. Rowling gave the thumbs up to plans for a Harry Potter Theme Park in Florida.
I totally want to go.
Honey, can you take my cloak to the cleaners? I'm too busy waxing my broom.
Yippeeeee!!!
I totally want to go.
Honey, can you take my cloak to the cleaners? I'm too busy waxing my broom.
Yippeeeee!!!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
False Alarm
I'm still here.
Despite all the calls from concerned family members ("Have you had it yet?"), we haven't had it yet. I had back pain on Monday, but nothing happened. A few Braxton Hicks contractions, but no "real ones". The water has not broken. And Zizou, apparently, still has plenty of room to roam--I can watch my belly heave and burble like the ground near the San Andreas Fault.
Yesterday, while enjoying lunch out with my awesome cousin and her super cool husband (who's in the traveling show of Mamma Mia!, now playing in Madison), I started having some weird contraction-type things.
Except these were not at all what I expected.
I felt like a little tiny Klingon was in my pelvis zapping me with a taser. Or a cattle prod. Definitely something electrical.
They continued randomly while I "taught" for two hours at a local middle school (and sat through the first half of Shrek 2 and High School Musical, again), and then disappeared.
They reappeared around 10 PM. About every 10 minutes. And they hurt. I started sweating.
And worrying.
Why now? I am so tired!!! I just want to sleep. Please, not now. Just wait until morning, OK? Please???
To be on the safe side, after half an hour of hemming and hawing, I decided to cancel my teaching job for today. (Honestly, it wasn't too hard a decision--it was a tough assignment, and I wouldn't have looked forward to it even if I wasn't pregnant.)
They kept up, slowing to about every half hour, until approximately 2 AM. Then I fell asleep. Of course, I still woke up every hour or so to pee (what else is new?), but the contractions (if that's what they were) didn't come back. I started to feel guilty. That's a lot of diaper money I just flushed.
Then about 4 AM I had a thought. A wonderful, fabulous thought.
When I woke at 6:30, I called the sub office. I asked for this day to be taken from my "PI" account (personal illness). That means I get paid for today. We get one day for every 20 worked. I had forgotten. Yay for unions!!! I went back to bed, and slept until 9.
And this morning? Feels like normal. I'll let you know. There's no wifi at the hospital, despite the otherwise-state-of-the-art birthing suites, but I've trained Dr. B to moblog photos to my flickr page from his phone, so if there's anything to report, you'll see it there first. Even if it is just a picture of me looking sweaty, frustrated and angry.
Let's hope that happens soon!
Despite all the calls from concerned family members ("Have you had it yet?"), we haven't had it yet. I had back pain on Monday, but nothing happened. A few Braxton Hicks contractions, but no "real ones". The water has not broken. And Zizou, apparently, still has plenty of room to roam--I can watch my belly heave and burble like the ground near the San Andreas Fault.
Yesterday, while enjoying lunch out with my awesome cousin and her super cool husband (who's in the traveling show of Mamma Mia!, now playing in Madison), I started having some weird contraction-type things.
Except these were not at all what I expected.
I felt like a little tiny Klingon was in my pelvis zapping me with a taser. Or a cattle prod. Definitely something electrical.
They continued randomly while I "taught" for two hours at a local middle school (and sat through the first half of Shrek 2 and High School Musical, again), and then disappeared.
They reappeared around 10 PM. About every 10 minutes. And they hurt. I started sweating.
And worrying.
Why now? I am so tired!!! I just want to sleep. Please, not now. Just wait until morning, OK? Please???
To be on the safe side, after half an hour of hemming and hawing, I decided to cancel my teaching job for today. (Honestly, it wasn't too hard a decision--it was a tough assignment, and I wouldn't have looked forward to it even if I wasn't pregnant.)
They kept up, slowing to about every half hour, until approximately 2 AM. Then I fell asleep. Of course, I still woke up every hour or so to pee (what else is new?), but the contractions (if that's what they were) didn't come back. I started to feel guilty. That's a lot of diaper money I just flushed.
Then about 4 AM I had a thought. A wonderful, fabulous thought.
When I woke at 6:30, I called the sub office. I asked for this day to be taken from my "PI" account (personal illness). That means I get paid for today. We get one day for every 20 worked. I had forgotten. Yay for unions!!! I went back to bed, and slept until 9.
And this morning? Feels like normal. I'll let you know. There's no wifi at the hospital, despite the otherwise-state-of-the-art birthing suites, but I've trained Dr. B to moblog photos to my flickr page from his phone, so if there's anything to report, you'll see it there first. Even if it is just a picture of me looking sweaty, frustrated and angry.
Let's hope that happens soon!
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Sea Monkeys and Decoder Rings
We're still waiting.
My due date is fast approaching, and Dr. B still doesn't know about the job. And that's just the way it is.
We feel like kids who've ordered something from the back of a cereal box, or Highlights magazine, or an Archie comic.
6 to 8 weeks, it said.
It could be four. They could send it early. I mean, how hard can it be? Things come early sometimes, don't they?
And we wait. And there's nothing.
OK, Six. Here we are. Six. It's gotta be any day now. We're ready. We've prepared. We've got it going on. It should be here, right away!
And we wait. And there's nothing.
So we wait, for eight. Or ten. Because it could be ten. Or even (gulp) twelve. (Both Dr. B and I were first babies, and we were both late. Very late. I was 25 days late. He was a month late. And you wonder why we can never show up on time for a party?)
Last week, Dr. B got frustrated and emailed the big U to find out the status. Turns out he is "one of the top two or three" and they are asking for funding for more than one. But the guy that does funding is in Ghana. So it will be a while yet. It helps to know, though.
On Wednesday, I got a call from my MIL.
So, how you feeling?
Fine.
Anything yet?
No. A few contractions, but nothing big. Doc says I'm 70% effaced, and still only 1 cm. dilated. Could be tomorrow, but it could be in three weeks. No way of knowing.
Huh. I was hoping.
We'd tell you, you know.
I know. It's just...
Just what?
Well, my friend's daughter is due three days after you, and she had hers yesterday.
Oh.
Yeah, but she had a ceserean. She was quite heavy, so maybe she had diabetes or preeclampsia or something. I don't know.
Well, ceserean's can be scheduled, you know.
Yeah, I know. I was just hoping. I thought maybe you were there already. At the hospital. You know, since she had hers, and you're due before her...
J, we will call you.
I know. I just am so excited. I thought for sure. I mean, it's just days now, until your due date. Fourteen days! Just days! I thought maybe...
No, J. We'll call you. You'll know.
So, she's ready. Her school district is already out (lucky them, Madison goes until 6/15) and she's ready to join us to help when the baby's born. I've accepted jobs for through next Friday, figuring I'd rather earn diaper money than sit at home and stare at my ginormous gut and wonder when she's going to make an appearance. I can always cancel them if I'm too tired or in labor.
Yesterday, I woke up in a very strange state. For one, it was twenty to ten. TWENTY TO TEN!!! I haven't slept that late since we lived in France. Huh, must have been a hormone shift or something. (Today I stayed in bed until 9. Still pretty good for me.) Then, I noticed my bump had definitely shifted downward. There was no longer the high rise under my boobs, and I was 1 inch bigger around the middle (now 43 inches.) I spent the morning having a wonderful, selfish weekend (eating cookies that taste like the Girl Scout Peanut Butter patties and cold pizza in my jammies, drinking caffeinated coffee, emailing, reading blogs, reading a really fluffy novel and watching the Tudors.)
I then spent the rest of the day doing productive crap, like laundry, cleaning, reorganizing, writing thank you notes, and putting new stuff away. The nesting happened more in the last month--this was just frustrated energy more than anything. I didn't feel compelled, just disgusted with my messy house and tasks left to complete.
After supper, Dr. B and I decided to go to a movie. It had been a long time since we've been to the theater, so we were anxious to go. He ate popcorn (all before the previews were over, as is his compulsion) which I skipped, thinking that avoiding the salt would help me avoid my nightly foot swelling, and I used the bathroom three times before Johnny Depp came on-screen. Hoping.
Yeah, right. Pirates of the Caribbean 3 turned out to be a bit confusing for me. Mainly because I had to get up to pee approximately 27 times. You miss a lot when that happens. I guess it was too loud for little Zizou, because she was dancing like she just don't care, making her Mommy nearly wet her pants every 8.3 minutes. My pelvis ached with every step I took to and from the bathroom (27 times), I couldn't get comfortable for the life of me, and my feel swelled up so bad the skin felt like it was going to split.
I've gained 20 pounds with this pregnancy, and I'm pretty sure at least 8 of it is in my feet (mostly the right one). I look like a blonde half-Hobbit (I guess just the right side is Hobbit). The shoe envy is killing me--I see so many super cute shoes I want, but all my poofy pieds will fit into (and that's only with some shoving and mooshing around of the foot skin) is my Mephistos or my Birkenstocks, on the last notch. Plus, I don't know if my feet will have grown, as is often the case. I want a haircut, too, but I'm afraid it will all fall out after the baby's born. So I thought, maybe a handbag? Then I look at the price and think, "that will buy a lot of diapers." Even my clothes, the cute maternity things I was so excited to wear, are looking pilly and old. Amazing after only a few months--they charge an arm and a leg, and then the dumb things look like crap after one pregnancy. It's a racket, I tell you!
So here I am. Fat, puffy, ugly, with zits, a bushy blonde head, wearing pilly clothes and ugly shoes, and without the new handbag I'd really love to get.
Waiting for our Sea Monkeys and Decoder Ring.
Sigh.
Pass the cookies.
My due date is fast approaching, and Dr. B still doesn't know about the job. And that's just the way it is.
We feel like kids who've ordered something from the back of a cereal box, or Highlights magazine, or an Archie comic.
6 to 8 weeks, it said.
It could be four. They could send it early. I mean, how hard can it be? Things come early sometimes, don't they?
And we wait. And there's nothing.
OK, Six. Here we are. Six. It's gotta be any day now. We're ready. We've prepared. We've got it going on. It should be here, right away!
And we wait. And there's nothing.
So we wait, for eight. Or ten. Because it could be ten. Or even (gulp) twelve. (Both Dr. B and I were first babies, and we were both late. Very late. I was 25 days late. He was a month late. And you wonder why we can never show up on time for a party?)
Last week, Dr. B got frustrated and emailed the big U to find out the status. Turns out he is "one of the top two or three" and they are asking for funding for more than one. But the guy that does funding is in Ghana. So it will be a while yet. It helps to know, though.
On Wednesday, I got a call from my MIL.
So, how you feeling?
Fine.
Anything yet?
No. A few contractions, but nothing big. Doc says I'm 70% effaced, and still only 1 cm. dilated. Could be tomorrow, but it could be in three weeks. No way of knowing.
Huh. I was hoping.
We'd tell you, you know.
I know. It's just...
Just what?
Well, my friend's daughter is due three days after you, and she had hers yesterday.
Oh.
Yeah, but she had a ceserean. She was quite heavy, so maybe she had diabetes or preeclampsia or something. I don't know.
Well, ceserean's can be scheduled, you know.
Yeah, I know. I was just hoping. I thought maybe you were there already. At the hospital. You know, since she had hers, and you're due before her...
J, we will call you.
I know. I just am so excited. I thought for sure. I mean, it's just days now, until your due date. Fourteen days! Just days! I thought maybe...
No, J. We'll call you. You'll know.
So, she's ready. Her school district is already out (lucky them, Madison goes until 6/15) and she's ready to join us to help when the baby's born. I've accepted jobs for through next Friday, figuring I'd rather earn diaper money than sit at home and stare at my ginormous gut and wonder when she's going to make an appearance. I can always cancel them if I'm too tired or in labor.
Yesterday, I woke up in a very strange state. For one, it was twenty to ten. TWENTY TO TEN!!! I haven't slept that late since we lived in France. Huh, must have been a hormone shift or something. (Today I stayed in bed until 9. Still pretty good for me.) Then, I noticed my bump had definitely shifted downward. There was no longer the high rise under my boobs, and I was 1 inch bigger around the middle (now 43 inches.) I spent the morning having a wonderful, selfish weekend (eating cookies that taste like the Girl Scout Peanut Butter patties and cold pizza in my jammies, drinking caffeinated coffee, emailing, reading blogs, reading a really fluffy novel and watching the Tudors.)
I then spent the rest of the day doing productive crap, like laundry, cleaning, reorganizing, writing thank you notes, and putting new stuff away. The nesting happened more in the last month--this was just frustrated energy more than anything. I didn't feel compelled, just disgusted with my messy house and tasks left to complete.
After supper, Dr. B and I decided to go to a movie. It had been a long time since we've been to the theater, so we were anxious to go. He ate popcorn (all before the previews were over, as is his compulsion) which I skipped, thinking that avoiding the salt would help me avoid my nightly foot swelling, and I used the bathroom three times before Johnny Depp came on-screen. Hoping.
Yeah, right. Pirates of the Caribbean 3 turned out to be a bit confusing for me. Mainly because I had to get up to pee approximately 27 times. You miss a lot when that happens. I guess it was too loud for little Zizou, because she was dancing like she just don't care, making her Mommy nearly wet her pants every 8.3 minutes. My pelvis ached with every step I took to and from the bathroom (27 times), I couldn't get comfortable for the life of me, and my feel swelled up so bad the skin felt like it was going to split.
I've gained 20 pounds with this pregnancy, and I'm pretty sure at least 8 of it is in my feet (mostly the right one). I look like a blonde half-Hobbit (I guess just the right side is Hobbit). The shoe envy is killing me--I see so many super cute shoes I want, but all my poofy pieds will fit into (and that's only with some shoving and mooshing around of the foot skin) is my Mephistos or my Birkenstocks, on the last notch. Plus, I don't know if my feet will have grown, as is often the case. I want a haircut, too, but I'm afraid it will all fall out after the baby's born. So I thought, maybe a handbag? Then I look at the price and think, "that will buy a lot of diapers." Even my clothes, the cute maternity things I was so excited to wear, are looking pilly and old. Amazing after only a few months--they charge an arm and a leg, and then the dumb things look like crap after one pregnancy. It's a racket, I tell you!
So here I am. Fat, puffy, ugly, with zits, a bushy blonde head, wearing pilly clothes and ugly shoes, and without the new handbag I'd really love to get.
Waiting for our Sea Monkeys and Decoder Ring.
Sigh.
Pass the cookies.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Worry
Last week, I was pretty worried. I worried about labor--whether it would go OK, that I wouldn't be able to handle it, that I wasn't ready.
Last week, I worried about Dr. B's job prospect. That he wouldn't get a call. That he would get a call, and it would be a "no". That they would never call and he'd be worried for months.
Last week, I cried. I yelled. I was depressed. I was overjoyed.
Last week, I had zits like you wouldn't believe. I think it was a hormone surge.
Today, I am feeling pretty good. I still have heartburn, an aching back, occasional contractions, and difficulty sleeping, but I'm pretty used to that by now. I've let go of my labor worries. It will happen as it does, and we'll deal with it.
I've let go of the job worries. We know he's in the top 2. We know they want both candidates. We know they might not get funding for both, and if they don't, he might be the one who doesn't get it. But we'll deal with it, which ever it is. Something will turn out, it always does.
Things will work out for us. We know this. We've been through the worst, losing my mom, and we've survived. We've put ourselves out there, moving to France, and we've thrived. We've made it through very tough stuff, and we've only gotten stronger and our love for each other has only grown deeper.
And soon, we'll have a new little life to add to our family. We're excited to welcome her, to get to know her, to find out who she is and what she's like.
The only nightmares I've had lately is finding out that this her is a him, and I have only girl clothes in the drawers. (I had a dream last night that the baby was a boy. A boy with a penis so big it went down to his ankles. Dr. B didn't believe I was telling the truth, so when he picked up his son, little Zizou peed all over his face.)
But even if that does happen, we'll be fine. We'll survive. We'll thrive. (After all, pee washes off.)
Last week, I worried about Dr. B's job prospect. That he wouldn't get a call. That he would get a call, and it would be a "no". That they would never call and he'd be worried for months.
Last week, I cried. I yelled. I was depressed. I was overjoyed.
Last week, I had zits like you wouldn't believe. I think it was a hormone surge.
Today, I am feeling pretty good. I still have heartburn, an aching back, occasional contractions, and difficulty sleeping, but I'm pretty used to that by now. I've let go of my labor worries. It will happen as it does, and we'll deal with it.
I've let go of the job worries. We know he's in the top 2. We know they want both candidates. We know they might not get funding for both, and if they don't, he might be the one who doesn't get it. But we'll deal with it, which ever it is. Something will turn out, it always does.
Things will work out for us. We know this. We've been through the worst, losing my mom, and we've survived. We've put ourselves out there, moving to France, and we've thrived. We've made it through very tough stuff, and we've only gotten stronger and our love for each other has only grown deeper.
And soon, we'll have a new little life to add to our family. We're excited to welcome her, to get to know her, to find out who she is and what she's like.
The only nightmares I've had lately is finding out that this her is a him, and I have only girl clothes in the drawers. (I had a dream last night that the baby was a boy. A boy with a penis so big it went down to his ankles. Dr. B didn't believe I was telling the truth, so when he picked up his son, little Zizou peed all over his face.)
But even if that does happen, we'll be fine. We'll survive. We'll thrive. (After all, pee washes off.)
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Freeform Cheesecake
Once upon a time, I told you about an awesome new recipe.
Then, like the next day, they took the recipe off the website. Fearing retribution from the scary Food Network Lawyers, I didn't dare post it myself.
But I guess the show re-aired, and they reposted.
So go, quick, download it. Make it. It's worth it. Great for summer, not too sweet, and tastes absolutely divine. I'm thinking about making a bucket of it to keep in the fridge. Seriously.
Freeform Cheesecake Served Over Fresh Fruit (Michael Chiarello)
And thanks bunches to my friend Christine for making it for dessert at the incredible baby shower you threw for us today. It was WONDERFUL! You spoil us. I feel so loved!!!
Then, like the next day, they took the recipe off the website. Fearing retribution from the scary Food Network Lawyers, I didn't dare post it myself.
But I guess the show re-aired, and they reposted.
So go, quick, download it. Make it. It's worth it. Great for summer, not too sweet, and tastes absolutely divine. I'm thinking about making a bucket of it to keep in the fridge. Seriously.
Freeform Cheesecake Served Over Fresh Fruit (Michael Chiarello)
And thanks bunches to my friend Christine for making it for dessert at the incredible baby shower you threw for us today. It was WONDERFUL! You spoil us. I feel so loved!!!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Justice
Joe's killer is going to jail. 57 years, with 30 years of extended supervision after he's released.
I guess he'll have a long time to think about what he did, and the Nobel Peace Prize he didn't win. (see link)
Bad things happen to good people, and our justice system does the best it can to make the perpetrators pay for it. Unfortunately, there's no real way to make up for something as horrible as this.
It's just so sad.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
New Digs for Him
Some of you science geeks may already read Dr. B's blog, Nanomech in Photovoltaics, but you may not be aware of his new blog, on the Nature Network. He was contacted by the journal Nature (yeah, the one you hear quoted periodically on NPR) to be one of their first science bloggers.
He's promised to make me a button for it at some point, but for now, please click the link above if you're interested in the latest news in modern solar cell technology, or his thoughts on scientific philosophy or even just the latest thing that got him thinking.
For Dr. B, reading books on Bayesian Data Analysis or Quark theory or Quantum Physics is "down time, fun stuff!"
Well, that and Stargate.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Mother's Day
My very first Mother's Day is today, though the blessed event hasn't occurred yet. I guess it counts, since it's pretty clear there's a real, live human being in there, ready (pretty much) to join us, though it's still very surreal to me.
I've been remembered, with cards, gifts, fresh pain au chocolat for breakfast, and flowers. Dr. B gave me a very special gift, to remind me that just because I'm a soon-to-be Mommy, I'm still a Hot Wife to him, though I may feel not so sexy due to hormone fluctuations, hot flashes, mega-zit explosions, leaky bits, funny smells, constipation, parts of my body I can no longer see, tight clothing, funky cowlicks, puffy feet, interesting color changes, cankles, parts of me that now sit permanently on other parts of me, and of course, the ubiquitous enormous bump in the front. I won't mention my thankfulness for certain other pregnancy symptoms I haven't had to deal with, because it's not over until it's over. (Or until the Fat Lady sings, and I have a feeling I'll need some recovery time before I'm in any mood to do that.)
But today, I admit, I've got the blues. Maybe it's due to hormones. Or the weather (it's rather gloomy here.) But I think it's more due to missing my mom, who we lost in 1998, before we could celebrate Mother's Day that year. My anger over the reasons for her death is long gone. I understand now. I've accepted it. I know that I couldn't have saved her. I tried, so many times. But it wasn't up to me. I know this. But it still hurts, that she's gone. That she left us so early. Knowing what she is missing.
I've been missing her more and more as this pregnancy has gone on, wishing she was here to share our excitement, joy, and impart the practical and frank wisdom she was known for. I've had a few dreams of her, and I know she is watching, but it still aches that she's not here. It's amazing how fresh it can feel, even after nearly a decade. I've carefully washed and pressed the little dresses she saved for me, the blanket she bought for our baby over 9 years ago, when we were only newlyweds, and the baptism dress and blanket she stored away from my own baptism in 1973. I've hung the antique lithographs of children she collected in Zizou's nursery, and placed the "Mother's Prayer" plaque that hung above my own crib nearby. I'm grateful to have all these things, reminders of her, and of how much she already loved her grandchild, years before she came into the world. But I'd rather have her.
I worry. That I am not prepared. That I'm not going to 'do it right' when it comes to labor. That something will go wrong. That I won't be able to handle it. That I'll make some major mistake. That I won't be a good mom. That I won't be as good as she was.
I know that all these fears are irrational, and that I've been preparing the best way possible for as long as I can remember. (Ten years of teaching is nothing to shake a stick at.) I know I'll do fine, and will have great support from family and friends, that my instincts are good, that she'll love me no matter what.
But still. That little voice won't stop saying, "what if?"
I wish there was a direct phone line to Heaven.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I miss you.
I've been remembered, with cards, gifts, fresh pain au chocolat for breakfast, and flowers. Dr. B gave me a very special gift, to remind me that just because I'm a soon-to-be Mommy, I'm still a Hot Wife to him, though I may feel not so sexy due to hormone fluctuations, hot flashes, mega-zit explosions, leaky bits, funny smells, constipation, parts of my body I can no longer see, tight clothing, funky cowlicks, puffy feet, interesting color changes, cankles, parts of me that now sit permanently on other parts of me, and of course, the ubiquitous enormous bump in the front. I won't mention my thankfulness for certain other pregnancy symptoms I haven't had to deal with, because it's not over until it's over. (Or until the Fat Lady sings, and I have a feeling I'll need some recovery time before I'm in any mood to do that.)
But today, I admit, I've got the blues. Maybe it's due to hormones. Or the weather (it's rather gloomy here.) But I think it's more due to missing my mom, who we lost in 1998, before we could celebrate Mother's Day that year. My anger over the reasons for her death is long gone. I understand now. I've accepted it. I know that I couldn't have saved her. I tried, so many times. But it wasn't up to me. I know this. But it still hurts, that she's gone. That she left us so early. Knowing what she is missing.
I've been missing her more and more as this pregnancy has gone on, wishing she was here to share our excitement, joy, and impart the practical and frank wisdom she was known for. I've had a few dreams of her, and I know she is watching, but it still aches that she's not here. It's amazing how fresh it can feel, even after nearly a decade. I've carefully washed and pressed the little dresses she saved for me, the blanket she bought for our baby over 9 years ago, when we were only newlyweds, and the baptism dress and blanket she stored away from my own baptism in 1973. I've hung the antique lithographs of children she collected in Zizou's nursery, and placed the "Mother's Prayer" plaque that hung above my own crib nearby. I'm grateful to have all these things, reminders of her, and of how much she already loved her grandchild, years before she came into the world. But I'd rather have her.
I worry. That I am not prepared. That I'm not going to 'do it right' when it comes to labor. That something will go wrong. That I won't be able to handle it. That I'll make some major mistake. That I won't be a good mom. That I won't be as good as she was.
I know that all these fears are irrational, and that I've been preparing the best way possible for as long as I can remember. (Ten years of teaching is nothing to shake a stick at.) I know I'll do fine, and will have great support from family and friends, that my instincts are good, that she'll love me no matter what.
But still. That little voice won't stop saying, "what if?"
I wish there was a direct phone line to Heaven.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I miss you.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Laundry
At this point, I'm too big to wear any of my non-maternity stuff (obviously), it's too hot to wear any of the long sleeved things from this winter, and I am very limited in my clothing options. Like I said yesterday, I'm doing laundry all the time, and wishing I had more to choose from. Because I'm baking a baby, I'm usually too hot, but since I'm also teaching little kids, I can't be flashing the world my goods. Maternity clothes, though much improved in the last few years, are designed by people who must generally assume that you want to show the world your boobs now, before they sag down to your knees. (I may be grateful later, but at the moment, I tend to feel a little uncovered.)
I've always loved clothes. Since I was a little girl, my favorite play toys were a barrel of my Mom's old clothes and my imagination. My sister and I would put on plays, settle the prairie, throw lavish weddings (with the aid of my Mom's beautiful flower gardens), teach school (a favorite of mine), run restaurants, and pilot our own cruise ships. I have always planned carefully what to wear the night before each day, shopped for the perfect outfit at a bargain price, and I remember what I was wearing at nearly every important event in my life. (I still remember exactly what I was wearing and eating when I met my husband for the first time. I was worried about onion breath, but I loved my shirt. He didn't.)
Dr. B says this is part of my OCD coming out. (He's worried about Zizou--with his and my history of obsessive-compulsiveness, she's doomed.) I love to shop, and love even more to get a good deal.
In the last few days, I've been wishing for something new to wear that will be cool enough, conservative enough, and cheap. I didn't want to buy anything, because I could be meeting my little girl at any time now, and it seems stupid to buy new at this point. So yesterday, I went to Target and scanned the clearance racks in the "regular" section, thinking if I found a little light cardigan sweater to throw over my maternity tanks, I'd be satisfied, and could still wear it after the baby is born. I was also hoping to maybe find something "loose and comfortable", as they suggest in the birthing classes, that would still look decent to come home from the hospital in. After all, there may be photo ops involved. However, it's hard to know what my shape will be like when this gigantic lump is deflated.
But I got incredibly lucky.
I found this dress and this jacket. Neither are maternity, but both fit right now. The dress is a super soft jersey, with a loose, empire waist that hangs nicely on me now, and should also when the baby's born. The jacket matches perfectly, and will also look cute with jeans (when I can fit into them again) and a tank. They are in that shade of smoky blue that flatters my eyes very nicely, and paired with a wooden beaded necklace and some metallic wedges from Old Navy, I'll actually feel pretty stylish, despite the gargantuan hump on the front of my body.
Now here's the really lucky part. The dress was $4.99. The jacket was $8.49.
It doesn't get much better than that.
(PS: AND Dr. B comes home from his conference today!!! Yay!!!!!!)
I've always loved clothes. Since I was a little girl, my favorite play toys were a barrel of my Mom's old clothes and my imagination. My sister and I would put on plays, settle the prairie, throw lavish weddings (with the aid of my Mom's beautiful flower gardens), teach school (a favorite of mine), run restaurants, and pilot our own cruise ships. I have always planned carefully what to wear the night before each day, shopped for the perfect outfit at a bargain price, and I remember what I was wearing at nearly every important event in my life. (I still remember exactly what I was wearing and eating when I met my husband for the first time. I was worried about onion breath, but I loved my shirt. He didn't.)
Dr. B says this is part of my OCD coming out. (He's worried about Zizou--with his and my history of obsessive-compulsiveness, she's doomed.) I love to shop, and love even more to get a good deal.
In the last few days, I've been wishing for something new to wear that will be cool enough, conservative enough, and cheap. I didn't want to buy anything, because I could be meeting my little girl at any time now, and it seems stupid to buy new at this point. So yesterday, I went to Target and scanned the clearance racks in the "regular" section, thinking if I found a little light cardigan sweater to throw over my maternity tanks, I'd be satisfied, and could still wear it after the baby is born. I was also hoping to maybe find something "loose and comfortable", as they suggest in the birthing classes, that would still look decent to come home from the hospital in. After all, there may be photo ops involved. However, it's hard to know what my shape will be like when this gigantic lump is deflated.
But I got incredibly lucky.
I found this dress and this jacket. Neither are maternity, but both fit right now. The dress is a super soft jersey, with a loose, empire waist that hangs nicely on me now, and should also when the baby's born. The jacket matches perfectly, and will also look cute with jeans (when I can fit into them again) and a tank. They are in that shade of smoky blue that flatters my eyes very nicely, and paired with a wooden beaded necklace and some metallic wedges from Old Navy, I'll actually feel pretty stylish, despite the gargantuan hump on the front of my body.
Now here's the really lucky part. The dress was $4.99. The jacket was $8.49.
It doesn't get much better than that.
(PS: AND Dr. B comes home from his conference today!!! Yay!!!!!!)
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
I'm Back!
The computer is working, albeit with a loss of everything I had on it (thank goodness for Flickr). All my music, knitting patterns, pictures, recipes, and miscellaneous other crap I stored on it is gone. Since I've had this computer for 3 or 4 years and never had a problem (and this problem was much less expensive to fix than a new computer would have cost), it really doesn't bother me that much. Macs are kind of like Hondas: they work until they don't. (And it's not often that they don't.) Thankfully, I didn't have tons of really important data on the computer, and my blog is still up. Somewhere, in some box, I have backups of that as well.
So now, I have a brand spankin' new hard drive (about 5 times as big as the last one), and the same keys with all the letters worn off.
Ahh, it's good to be home.
Although I worried some people a bit, the baby's not here yet. At my appointment yesterday (36 weeks), the doc said I'm dilated 1 cm. and 50-60% effaced (she touched the baby's head!!!), but I could stay there for another 4 weeks. I said, "Does that mean the baby could come soon?" and her answer was, "I make no predictions." It could be tomorrow, it could be mid-June. Right now, Zizou is very active, and her new favorite activity is to grind her head into my lower belly and pelvis hard, causing me to groan and nearly making me pee my pants. (She especially likes to do this when I'm walking around at Target.) You can see my belly move on its own if you watch, which is rather freaky. I can't yet see feet, as Aimee did, but I sure do feel them. (And usually push them back in--it's never too early to start discipline!)
There's no hiding the pregnancy now, and catching sight of myself in the mirror is always a shock. I'm bumping into things with my belly, and misjudging how much space I need to get through. I still feel like myself, and sometimes forget I have this humongous bump on the front of my body. This doesn't work well when reaching for a bowl in the cupboard above the stove. (Yes, I have burnt my belly. Smooth move, I know.)
The nursery is mostly done, and I'm pleased with how it's turning out, though our crib hasn't yet arrived. I also found some stuff today that I'm going to Martha into a cool wall-hanging thing for the wall. (Yes, the word Martha is now a verb. Please make a note.) I'll share pics when I can. (We are still filmies here--no new digital yet.) We're not 100% ready, but I don't think we could ever be. Finding the energy to do everything I want to do is very difficult. I am still working, though it's getting harder, and the kids are getting wilder as the temperature climbs. I'll keep going until I can't anymore, because soon enough I'll be at home full-time.
But until then, I better get downstairs and put some more clothes in the dryer. I need something to wear tomorrow, and I've only got so many things that are big enough and cool enough for the projected temperatures (and mine--I'm always hot.)
Good night!!!
So now, I have a brand spankin' new hard drive (about 5 times as big as the last one), and the same keys with all the letters worn off.
Ahh, it's good to be home.
Although I worried some people a bit, the baby's not here yet. At my appointment yesterday (36 weeks), the doc said I'm dilated 1 cm. and 50-60% effaced (she touched the baby's head!!!), but I could stay there for another 4 weeks. I said, "Does that mean the baby could come soon?" and her answer was, "I make no predictions." It could be tomorrow, it could be mid-June. Right now, Zizou is very active, and her new favorite activity is to grind her head into my lower belly and pelvis hard, causing me to groan and nearly making me pee my pants. (She especially likes to do this when I'm walking around at Target.) You can see my belly move on its own if you watch, which is rather freaky. I can't yet see feet, as Aimee did, but I sure do feel them. (And usually push them back in--it's never too early to start discipline!)
There's no hiding the pregnancy now, and catching sight of myself in the mirror is always a shock. I'm bumping into things with my belly, and misjudging how much space I need to get through. I still feel like myself, and sometimes forget I have this humongous bump on the front of my body. This doesn't work well when reaching for a bowl in the cupboard above the stove. (Yes, I have burnt my belly. Smooth move, I know.)
The nursery is mostly done, and I'm pleased with how it's turning out, though our crib hasn't yet arrived. I also found some stuff today that I'm going to Martha into a cool wall-hanging thing for the wall. (Yes, the word Martha is now a verb. Please make a note.) I'll share pics when I can. (We are still filmies here--no new digital yet.) We're not 100% ready, but I don't think we could ever be. Finding the energy to do everything I want to do is very difficult. I am still working, though it's getting harder, and the kids are getting wilder as the temperature climbs. I'll keep going until I can't anymore, because soon enough I'll be at home full-time.
But until then, I better get downstairs and put some more clothes in the dryer. I need something to wear tomorrow, and I've only got so many things that are big enough and cool enough for the projected temperatures (and mine--I'm always hot.)
Good night!!!
Monday, May 07, 2007
[Crickets]
So, don't expect to hear from me for a few days.
My computer went Kablooey last night, and will be out of my hands for a few days, at least. I'll try to check my email at schools when I can, but my access will be very limited. Any comments will be published when I can, so please be patient and don't repost them eight times. I will get to them, when I can.
So, if you need to get ahold of me, you may have to write me a letter (on paper! Yes, you can do that still!!!), call on the phone, or get out the old tin cans and string.
I hear the Pony Express has a really good reputation. Guaranteed service in 3 months or less.
Sigh.
My computer went Kablooey last night, and will be out of my hands for a few days, at least. I'll try to check my email at schools when I can, but my access will be very limited. Any comments will be published when I can, so please be patient and don't repost them eight times. I will get to them, when I can.
So, if you need to get ahold of me, you may have to write me a letter (on paper! Yes, you can do that still!!!), call on the phone, or get out the old tin cans and string.
I hear the Pony Express has a really good reputation. Guaranteed service in 3 months or less.
Sigh.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
You're Kidding Me!
At the doctor's office...
Nurse: "OK, down two pounds since last week."
Me: "But I had a Frosty for lunch!"
Nurse: "That must be some diet!"
Note: Zizou really likes Frosties. Chocolate ones. It fills in all those empty places the Oriental Chicken Salad can't.
Nurse: "OK, down two pounds since last week."
Me: "But I had a Frosty for lunch!"
Nurse: "That must be some diet!"
Note: Zizou really likes Frosties. Chocolate ones. It fills in all those empty places the Oriental Chicken Salad can't.
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