Red!

It took 4 coats, but my Bolero red wall is finally done, and the other walls are looking gorgeous in their pale, peachy-beigey-light-tannish color. (Flan! It's Flan!) The Handi-Tak yellow is finally history, and we painted the ceiling a clean, pure white. Tomorrow I will touch up the trim, and hang new electric plates on the walls. I'm really looking forward to having everything done and put away, so I can get back to normal in this house! I'm glad to be done with the red paint--it looks gorgeous, but I had the icky feeling that someone, poking through our garbage, may wonder if I was a serial killer or something. Going on, it looked like ketchup, cleaning up resembled surgery, and the rags in the trash looked rather, um, frightening. But it's done, and it looks fabulous, if I do say so myself. It fits our home, our personalities, and our furniture so much better than that sickening, migraine-inducing yellow.

We decided not to paint the cabinets after all. In discussing it with my FIL, he thought it would affect resale (though the cheap, tacky cabinets we have are not my idea of a big boon to the selling price), and he didn't think everyone would share our taste. (What??? Crazy talk.) But the decision was finally made when he said, "it'll take you the rest of the summer." OK, that's decided then. I still hate them, but I don't want to live on paper plates and take-out for 2 months, so they stay as is. (Or until I win that lottery I never play and get all brand-new cabinets put in by professionals, that is.)

I still want to replace the light fixtures, but the ones that are there are less obnoxious than they were with yellow walls, so it can wait a little while. I haven't decided on cabinet pulls, but those will be changed, too. We also have to order curtains for the living room and our bedroom, choose final colors and paint our bedroom, and buy and install shelving in the laundry room. The never-ending saga of homeownership...

I promise to post pictures when we get it all done and everything put back where it's supposed to be. Please be patient!!! I'll get some up, soon--well, as soon as it's cleaned up and the laundry is done, that is.

In other news, we spent yesterday afternoon at the Arts Fest in town. Found a great little wooden truck for Rowan (which she loves playing with) and a gift for someone who reads this so I'm not going to elaborate but let's just say someone in North Dakota is going to love what they're getting for Christmas. And if they don't, I'll take it because I love it. And I wish I was super-rich and could buy one for everyone I know. OK then.

It was hot, but Rowan enjoyed a bit of time playing with her new truck in the grass and sharing crackers with a caramel colored standard poodle named Toulouse, while some sort of bugs crawled up my shorts and had a feast on the backs of my thighs. We walked around, checking out the booths and people-watching, while Dr. B had a meeting with his student. When he was with us, I noticed that he was greeted by many university kids. "You must be a good teacher, if the students say hello to you in the street," I said. After going home, laying Rowan down for a nap, and pouring a cool drink, two of his other students called and said they had a gift for him. They stopped by and joined us on the patio, bringing with them an adorable Life is Good monkey blanket (they think it's hilarious that Dr. B calls Rowan "Evil Monkey".) You don't see students bringing gifts to professors they hate--so this is proof. He is very good at what he does!

We had supper, and Rowan threw a fit mid-meal. A shot of Tylenol seemed to help, but it reared again, so I gave her a finger full of Orajel, and she stopped crying right away. (I couldn't find my teething tablets, but those were next.) At 3 AM, she woke us up. I sent Dr. B in to soothe her (if I go in, she usually needs to nurse to calm down, but if he goes in, she'll go back to sleep without it.) He said she was hot, so I came in to take her temp while he went down to lower the temperature on the thermostat. She was running around 100.8 or so (she kicked out the thermometer before it really finished, but it was right around there), so we gave her more Tylenol, I nursed her, and she slept with me while Dr. B took up residence in the guest bedroom (for as small as she is, she takes up a lot of space in our bed.) She slept until after 8, and woke without a fever but in a good mood. Off and on today she was fussy and warm, and really had a hard time at dinner once again, despite doses of Tylenol and teething tablets. Her fever at 8 PM was 102.4, so the teething is wreaking havoc with her system. Poor little bug. She's going to sleep with me tonight, and Dr. B will again take the guest bed.

Speaking of which, it is getting late and I've finished my book, so I better head to bed myself. 3 AM comes early...

Motorboat

Motorboat, originally uploaded by TeecNosPos.

When the breastfeeding Mom eats Kashi GoLean Crunch and then feeds her daughter broccoli for lunch, the power could be harnessed to propel a small watercraft (with dual motors).






Thanks to TeecNosPos for the illustration.

I have no cute stories for you today.

Sorry.

Been waiting to be inspired, and it's just not happening. But, stuff is happening, just nothing very anecdotal or cute or funny.

So I'll just make a list of sorts. Take from it what you will. There will be NO FLOW and the grammar is going to be bad. Don't say I didn't warn you.
*****************************************************

Yesterday was Dr. B's birthday. I sent out an email to various area friends to meet for wings and beer if they wanted to come to Quaker Steak and Lube. 25 people showed up. We had no idea we had that many friends here. It was great. Dr. B was thrilled. (And to those who didn't show up, you missed a heck of a par-tay.)

Rowan has 5 teeth now, so she looks less like Vampire Baby. Waiting on #6. She's been really growing lately (30" and 21 lbs. 2 oz) and is looking really leggy. This is bizarre for the two stumpy people who are her parents. She's in the 75% for height and 50% of weight and head size. This is a relief to her ginormous-headed mother. Maybe she'll be able to wear hats someday.

But she hates hats. Rips them off her head and the heads of anyone in her reach who is wearing one. She also hates glasses and sunglasses. Sometimes, she hates her shirt and we find her topless. She has to wear some sort of diaper-covering item, because she has figured those out and likes to remove them and let her cheeks wave in the breeze whenever possible. She is like her father: she loves naked time.

I love the spray sunscreen for babies. I can put it all in her hair (no hats) and if you don't touch it, it dries eventually and doesn't plaster her hair down and make her look like a Guido.

Her latest game involves crawling at lightening speed while you chase her and screaming with laughter. She also likes tossing a ball over her head and behind her, and pushing her chair for her little play table around in a circle. That's pretty funny, too. She's eating everything we are (cut into tiny pieces) and especially loves ice cream. She's also big on chocolate graham crackers, but really makes a mess with those so they are confined to the high chair. She loves her fruits and veggies, and will leave the pasta/potato/rice starchy items and chow down on the green beans or red peppers. She loves black olives, too.

Our living room carpet smells really doggy. Tomorrow I am renting one of those machines to shampoo it. Maybe with next year's tax rebate we'll put down hardwoods in the living room. We now have a take-down shower head so it is my new shower head resolution to bathe the dog more often. (With a bucket, it just sucks, and I didn't do it enough this winter.)

We are choosing paint colors. For our bedroom, I think we're going to do a wall of chocolate brown with some sort of creamy beige elsewhere. The carpet is blue, and that has to stay. Our coverlet/bedding is a pale champagne color. May do a pink pillow or something for a pop.

The kitchen will be a pale peachy-beige (called "flan"). We're going to do the ceiling back to white and paint our cabinets. Bottoms will be a barn red ("bolero!") and the top ones will be some sort of creamy white. Not nailed down yet. Have to go into Sherwin Williams again. This is a pic from their color visualizer. The red wall is Bolero and the beige wall is Flan (it looks darker in our kitchen). Right now it is Handi-Tak Yellow and makes me want to gouge out my eyeballs with a cocktail fork.

Dr. B's folks are coming this weekend. They said they'd help paint, and they are bringing beer from "out west" as our friends here call where we're from. We love them so much. Heh.

Rowan's sleep patterns have been weird lately. Some days, 1 nap, some 2, some 3. Some days she wants to nap at supper time and then stays up really late. One night, she was up until 11. Some days, she won't sleep unless we drive. We ate supper 2 hours away last week just to get her to sleep, after hours of yelling (by her). I also sat in the parking lot at Walmart reading my book to get her to sleep at all the following day (again with the yelling until I had driven 2 blocks and then she was dead to the world). Then, weird days like today, she passes at 12:30 (I hadn't even given her lunch) and sleeps until 4. That's 3 and a half hours!!! She was so happy when she woke up, I put her in a fancy dress and took her for portraits. Can't let that opportunity pass. She even smiled for them!

I'm ticked at Bloglines. It's not working for crap.

I got milk at the Meyer Dairy. It tastes so good I can't stop drinking it. I have to go get more. I ran out of 2% and I'm afraid I'll like the whole milk too much. (We buy it for yogurt making and for Rowan.) I'm not just saying this because it comes in cool, refillable 1950's style glass bottles, either. Though that's a perk.

We got our school district taxes bill today. Ugh.

I love our library. I am reading a lot, and really enjoying it. Gotten into the Ursula Blanchard mysteries. Not as good as Cadfael, but Ellis Peters is dead so I'm out of luck on that one. I'd love some good book recommendations.

Lightening bugs are out. I love that, though it weirds me out a tiny bit. I keep seeing them out of the corner of my eye and thinking someone is sneaking up on me.

Walking Lucy the other night, our neighbors invited us over for burgers. I'd only met them once before. Really nice people. Our age, 2 kids (one is Rowan's age.) That was cool.

Went to a music festival downtown with friends and heard Chicken Tractor. What a name for a band. We ate strange nachos and tried to teach their son to drink from a straw like Rowan. We failed. But he's really cute.

Lucy needs to be shaved again, but I really don't want to do it.

I bought a hose and cleaned our patio really well. There was major crud between the fenceposts. It's much nicer now. We got a little gas grill and small patio set with our tax $, and I hung up some lights. It's all festive now! I love eating out there, and we do even when we don't grill. It's just so pleasant.

I think I'm going to color my hair. I can't deal with it anymore--it's so mousy. A friend's kid described it as "kind of tan". I don't want kind of tan hair! Never went back after the pregnancy, so I give up. Plus, it has pretty much stopped growing. I don't have any idea why, but it just isn't getting any longer. It gets bushier, but not longer. Very weird. Trying to decide if I should go blonder or get crazy and go red. But would I look too much like Cynthia Nixon? That is not my intention. (I used to get that a lot, that I looked like her. I don't agree.)

I put up new pics on Flickr. A few from the Hershey Factory tour (fake tour--plastic candy and pumped in chocolate smell while cows sang at you. It was rather trippy.) and some others.

I am finding more and more old friends on Facebook. Crazy. Neat, though. I just wish I could find my old college roommate. So if you know Jennifer Olson from Hibbing who is/was a pilot for Mesaba, tell her to look me up. (You wouldn't believe how many Jennifer Olsons there are in the world.)

I made Dr. B his favorite cake for his birthday: Yellow cake from a box with chocolate frosting from a can. I even did the layer thing so it looked JUST LIKE THE BOX. It doesn't taste that good, but I'm dutifully eating it anyway. What I do for my husband...

I am re-watching season 1 of Mad Men and eagerly awaiting season 2.

OK, it's late and I have a feeling she'll be up early, so I'm off to turn off the outside fairy lights and go to bed. Hopefully I'll be inspired soon and have some lovely little story to tell you, but for now, this is all you get.

Have a good Tuesday!

Music Geek

It's proven.

On a walk with Lucy and Rowan, we met a new dog. I asked her name.

"Joplin, her name's Joplin," her mom said.

"OH! How cool! Joplin, like Scott Joplin, the famous ragtime composer who wrote the Maple Leaf Rag!" I said, happily scratching the little mutt behind the ears.

There was some uncomfortable silence. Then I looked up, noting Joplin's mom's long hair, broomstick skirt, tank top, and earth shoes.

"Oh. Or like Janis Joplin."

"Yeah. I've never heard of the other guy," she answered.

"Well? If it weren't for Scott, Rock 'n' Roll probably would have never existed!" I cried, desperately trying to backpedal.



This is why I will never be one of the cool kids.

The Sun shines out his...

I am very proud of my husband. Read here to see what he's been up to lately.

Groovy Girl

Rowan dancing to "Un rayon de soleil".
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

Checking up on my blogs today, I listened to a tune Vivi had posted. While it was playing, Rowan started to dance. I grabbed my phone to record her in action, and after a second or two of staring at me, she again caught the groove, and started to "sing" along.

She loves to dance, with or without help, and will groove to anything from the Brandenberg Concerti to AC/DC to French pseudo-Zydeco to commercials and cell-phone ringtones. We played it again and two-stepped around the room. She tired herself out so much, she's down for a nap.


*Note: I proved what a geek I am in that I just spent five minutes trying to decide if it should be 'concertos' or 'concerti'. I went with the Italian, but do also have a good argument for the English version.

Meeting

More soon, but this is from our visit with her cousin of sorts (my first cousin's daughter) in Hershey, PA. I'll get more on the ball soon and get my photos uploaded, but here's a clip. Rowan was determined to give Lilia kisses, and spent the first half hour trying to do just that.

Clean

Rowan and I spent two lovely weeks visiting family back in North Dakota (doncha know), while Dr. B toiled away here, sneaking back for a quick 1-day visit. While I was gone, he kept me updated by phone with what was going on and lots of "how do you..." questions. Basically, he was bored and not eating very well, so he did projects around the house. "It's really a mess around here," he said one night, "I need to straighten up. I leave a lot of crap around when you're not here to pick up or yell at me and when I don't have to worry about Rowan." He promised to pick up and even vacuum for me before I got home, something I had wanted to do before we left but hadn't had the chance until she was asleep (and then didn't want to take a chance on waking her).

We arrived late, collapsing on the sofa (Rowan in the crib) and ignored the house the next day while we celebrated Father's Day. Then Monday came, and I began the big clean-up. I cleaned both bathrooms, mopped the floors (twice, because they were really bad--it had been a while), cleaned the kitchen and started the laundry. I vacuumed the entire house, emptying the canister several times, and put away clothes and various other junk we brought with us.

Dr. B came home.

"Wow! The floor looks... like a floor!" He said. "And the bathroom sink! How did you get it so shiny?"
"I cleaned it. That's what soap does. It leaves a film."
"Is that why you clean it so often?"
"Yeah, that would be why."
"Huh. Well. Um, I don't have any pants for tomorrow. Or underwear. Except the ones I don't like. The skeevy ones."
"Did you do any laundry while I was gone?"

He paused.

"Yes!" he said, with a big grin. "I washed some towels!"

I guess he does need me.

Overwhelming

We're back. The trip was great, and we had an awesome time with family and friends. We survived a very long day of traveling that went surprisingly well, considering the horrid situation (an hour of driving, four airports, three flights with a baby, arriving home at 11PM). Prayers were said faithfully as we taxied down the runway, and Mom/Grandma Judeen intervened, including good baby behavior for most of the flights (save a bit of crying during #2 when she was too tired to function.) Though I got stuck in the very back of the plane in front of the stinky bathroom and penned in by the college student who was way too cool to even acknowledge our existence (I hope she gives birth to triplets with colic who turn into ungrateful teenagers and no one gives her any help EVER), Rowan was a doll and played happily with the window shade, safety cards, airplane magazines, and barf bags and I managed to keep her from pulling the hat off the guy in front of us (I should have let her--jerk put his seat back, leaving me with exactly 3 centimeters of breathing room--breathing the stale air and odorific air-toilet stank). But we made it home, she went to bed, and I consumed mucho chocolate and a glass of wine and caught up with Dr. B. Father's day was spent recovering, and today I've been busy cleaning, doing laundry, and thinking about going grocery shopping. Admittedly, there's a looooooong way to go, but at least I've made a dent. Two weeks away leaves a lot of things undone, and it's not like I left the place spotless and in perfect order when we went. But I'll get to it.

Rowan is still down for a nap, which was much needed, and I've been surfing so as not to wake her (and because I was tired. I did 2 bathrooms, 3 loads of laundry, and cleaned the kitchen this morning, and then made and cleaned up lunch from the empty cupboards when Dr. B biked home to join us.) She had a bit of a meltdown prior, after being scolded for unrolling a full roll of TP, and sobbed and hiccuped herself to sleep in my arms. So, I've been catching up on my reading. Apologies to all my blog buddies--I skimmed. I had over 3500 entries to read. I just couldn't face it. If something really, really important happened in your life that you want me to know about, please email me. I may have missed it.

And now I need to comb my hair for the trip to the store that's quite necessary.

And of course, now the thunderstorm hits. Guess Mom's busy elsewhere. Sigh.

Father's Day

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

A tender moment with a 7 year old.

Aunt LaR: "We're sure going to miss you guys when you leave tomorrow."

Cousin #2 of 4: "Yeah, me too. Especially Rowan."

He sighs and looks wistfully around the room. I smile, expecting a hug, or a nice statement about how great his new cousin is, or maybe even both. A pained look crosses his face.

"Who farted?"

Vacation (have to get away)

Scene: a few months ago. I was helping Dr. B pack for a business trip.

Dr. B: Shirts? Check. Pants? Check. Sport coats, ties. Yep. Socks? 5 pairs. OK, we're good. Underwear?

Me: Here you go.

He began counting because he had accidentally not packed enough on his last trip and had to rewear. Ew.

Dr. B: One, two, three... wait. There's 7. I'm only going for 5 days.

Me: I always pack at least an extra pair.

Dr. B: For what? In case I shit my pants?

Me: Uh, well, yeah. I mean, you never know. What if you eat a curry or something and it just gets nasty? And it's humid so if you wash out in the sink they don't dry and then you have to wear nasty wet shorts and ick! Or just go commando, and because of the curry you really don't want to do that...

Dr. B: So, I've got two extras. That means I can shit my pants twice?

Laundry is going, lists have been made, and the packing is waiting. We take off tomorrow. Rowan and I are flying back to Norski-land for 2 weeks, and Dr. B will join us for his folks' 40th anniversary BBQ. Unfortunately, he can't stay, but we will spend some time there because we can and because it's cheaper for us to stay around than to fly back immediately. We'll start in Bismarck (Dad is driving to Fargo to pick me up, because it wasn't originally in the plans when I made the reservations) and then hitch a ride with my SIL and nieces and nephews to Grand Forks on Thursday. Big party, water park, Rowan's birthday--fun plans. And hopefully, a chance to see a few old friends from our college years.

And (here's the shocker) I'm planning on leaving my laptop at home. *GASP!* I know, it's hard, but I just can't do the airport with a baby that is hell bent on going going going plus all the security crap and the weight. Both families have computers, several each actually, so I'll be able to check my mail and stuff, but may not post as often. I'll be too busy sitting in the hot tub, shooting pool, eating some Fighting Sioux Champion Chip ice cream (Dick, you better stock up!) and dunking chips in my favorite Blue Moose spicy spinach cheese dip. (I have the recipe, but I still enjoy going there for a bowl, plus my favorite beer of all time on tap. I hope it's still on tap.) Though my 'to take' list is already two columns long, I'm going to try to limit the stuff, and do laundry while there. I usually pack enough for three armies (with extra underwear), so I'm going to try to be more conservative about it. It is civilization after all, and they have Target there. And Old Navy, for which Coinstar and Dr. B's pockets gave me a lovely gift card, so I do plan on hitting it hard. (Aside to the Old Navy people: we NEED one in State College. There's a good spot right next to Target.)

The trip wasn't expected or planned originally, but we are so glad we have the chance to go and spend some more time with our families. So, if you're reading this from Bismarck or Grand Forks, we'll be there soon! Give us a buzz!

One Word

Recently, a friend emailed me wanting me to describe her in one word, and pass it on to everyone I know, waiting for responses from all of them.

I didn't.

I was a little scared of the words people would use to describe me. (She responded with "classy" which I liked so I just stuck with the one response.)

Now, MamaBear hits me with this one. OK, I'll bite! Repost it if you want--and send the link, because I'd love to read them!

*****


YOU CAN ONLY TYPE ONE WORD!

Not as easy as you might think. Change the
answers to suit you and pass it on. It's really hard to only use one
word answers.


1. Where is your cell phone? charging

2. Your significant other? wonderful

3. Your hair? frustrating

4. Your mother? Heaven

5. Your father? Williston

6. Your favorite thing? food

7. Your dream last night? forgotten

9. Your dream/goal? happiness

10. The room you're in? cluttered

11. Your hobby? reading

12. Your fear? loneliness

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? France! :)

14. Where were you last night? library

15. What you're not? zen

16. Muffins? Delicious!

17. One of your wish list items? pedicure

18. Where you grew up? Fargo

19. The last thing you did? read

20. What are you wearing? jeans

21 Your TV? dusty

22. Your pets? important

23. Your computer? overused

24. Your life? chosen

25. Your mood? excited

26. Missing someone? always

27. Your car? hybrid!

28. Something you're not wearing? socks

29. Favorite store? Target

30. Your summer? anticipated

31. Like someone? Most

32. Your favorite color? red

33. When is the last time you laughed? today

34. Last time you cried? forgotten

35. Who will repost this???? You!

Du Pain Américan

Dr. B called at 5 PM. "I'm on my way home! Grab the girl, and let's go to the farmers' market!" Unfortunately, she had just gone down for a nap, so when he arrived (he'd had the car all day), he told me to go to the market before it closed at 6. I didn't expect much fresh produce to be left, but picked up some honey, apples, and eggs from the Amish couple, and then headed over to the bakery stand. After a sample, I chose something delicious to bring home.

"I got some bread!" I said, "Chocolate bread with walnuts and golden raisins! AND it has chocolate butter!!!"

"Chocolate butter?" Dr. B said.

He sliced a hunk for each of us, and slathered it thickly with the scrumptious creamy spread.

"Chocolate butter. So pretty much frosting."

"Yeah. So?"

"Fine with me," he said, and took a big bite.

Bye-bye, Poop Smell!!!*

When I was a kid, my dad would sometimes get into these moods. Mom called them "Handy Andy" moods--he'd decide something had to be done, fixed, or upgraded and usually the results were less than desirable. One weekend at the lake cabin, he decided the little electric heater we only used once every three years was too noisy. After about 3 hours "fixing" it, during which it exploded in his face and singed off his eyebrows and eyelashes, he left it, cover off with two screwdrivers sticking out of it. "Done!" he said. The screwdrivers stayed there for the rest of the summer and fall. I guess they don't teach you how to fix little heaters in Master Electrician/Electrical Engineering school.

This weekend, when Dr. B, who is decidedly not an electrician, uttered the fatal words, "I'm gonna do a project!" I got a little scared.

All of a sudden the bathrooms both had fans that were too noisy, inefficient and energy-wasting. And of course, it would be easy to do. Simple. No problem! He found the perfect fan. Energy efficient! Quiet!! And extremely, incredibly effective!!!

"It'll clear a fart from the room in 3 seconds FLAT!!!"**

Whatever.

After assuring me that this was absolutely necessary and I would be so happy he'd done it, he headed off to Lowe's.

8 hours, 2 more trips to Lowe's, 500 bucks and a hole in my kitchen ceiling later, it was finally done.***

Oh well, at least he'll have to repaint the kitchen for me now.




*Yes, I am 14 years old. I am still giggling.

**Turns out he was right. It really does suck the poop smell right outta there!!! No more need for candles and a box of matches--we've got Dr. B's ultra-mega-poop-stink-sucking Fan!!!)

***Well, the downstairs one was. He's saving the other one for next weekend. But of course, the cover is off and I have to look at the dirty nastiness that is inside the old one for a week. I could clean it, but meh.

With Crap Extract for Extra Crappy Flavor

I went into the "Oriental" Grocery next to Blockbuster the other night, looking for curry paste and some snackins for our movie night.  I wandered through the isles, noting that most of the food was not in English or French or anything I could read.  Note to self: must be an authentic "Oriental" grocery (the American version of the word, not the French, which would refer to Arabic stuff).  I was floored by the huge display of one-serving sized bags of poofy crispy strangely-flavored and oddly-shaped snacks, and thrilled by the bizarre characters on the packaging.  This particular little yellow whale with a crown and a knowing smirk caught my eye.

Then I read the ingredients. Please note the next-to-last one.

 

You know I had to buy it.  And actually, it was quite delicious.  Good crap!

Blogged with the Flock Browser

She was Lassie in a former life

As I posted earlier, Rowan has got the stair-climbing bug. I planned to buy a new gate the other night, but due to the fact that my brain was completely fried, I forgot to get one when I went to Walmart after supper (teething=Mommy with no brain cells functioning at 9 pm). We had friends over for supper yesterday, so I spent the day cleaning and preparing the various things for tacos with rice and beans during Rowan's naps, and didn't find time to get to the store. Today, with a clean house and a fridge full of leftovers, I knew I had to get one, and while I was at it, needed to scan in some old photos for a gift for my in-laws that my SIL is working on and refill some prescriptions, so decided we'd head to Target once we were both up and clean.

Rowan took a nice long nap from noon-2:20, during which I had a shower, my own lunch, and even dried my hair and put on some makeup. (Woot!) She woke up, and I fed her some lunch (she loves meatballs, potatoes and peas, just like her Norski Momma!) and gave her a bath. After dressing her, I ran upstairs to look for my thumb drive for the photos, carefully placing the gate at the bottom, and making sure the tension was as tight as I could get it. While digging through various little baskets and boxes of small crap you don't throw but really probably don't need (buttons, collar points, chapsticks, etc.), I heard Rowan let out a cry.

"You're fine, Rowan," I called, knowing she couldn't have done herself much harm.

She cried a little more, then it got quiet. I kept digging through the baskets, loading change into a Zippie to take to the Coinstar, and wondering why we saved all this junk (but not throwing it either.)

Then I heard a sharp BARK!

A sick feeling of dread came over me.

I ran to the upstairs gate, and there was Rowan, climbing over the tension gate, which had fallen on her, determinedly headed for the stairs.

Lucy got an extra cookie with peanut butter on it, and lots of kisses and praise.

And when I got home with the new gate, Rowan had to be put in baby jail in order for me to set it up, because she made a beeline for those stairs every time she was set down.

We'll just call her our little lemming*.



(*Yes, I know it's a Disney Hoax, but just go with me on this one. This kid has either got a death wish, or Danger is her middle name. And it's not. It's Amelia.)

Speedbaby

I had a few things to do. Toothpaste to put in the linen closet, a pair of socks to stick in a drawer, something else--nothing important, all quick. I didn't think it was a big deal to leave the gate down at the bottom of the stairs. Rowan was playing with her toys, Lucy was snoozing next to the couch.

Two minutes, that's all it took--two minutes.

I guess this is proof that my daughter really loves me and wants to be with me all of the time.

In those two minutes, my 11 1/2 month old daughter climbed 10 stairs.

She didn't fall, thank God (and with some serious help from her guardian angels, I'm sure). But I'll be buying one of those more permanent type gates with a door for the bottom of the stairs, too. And pronto. Yikes.

I love Gay Carrington

Why isn't Hollywood like this anymore? I'd rather watch a plastic doll talk than anything Lindsay Lohan stars in...

Saving NRG

My husband is admittedly Obsessive-Compulsive. He has high standards, and is as stubborn as a goat. Yes, I love this about him, but it also drives me nuts. Once he decides something is better, that becomes the law, and we can never do it another way again.

I can't buy cheaper coffee, because he prefers the fancy-whole-bean-freshly-roasted-ground-seconds-before-brewing-stuff, which he must go through a very careful ritual of preparing. This means that I never make the coffee, because he has decided that his way is best, and even if I do it EXACTLY the SAME WAY it won't be good enough because I probably didn't put the precise amount of pressure on the grounds when I tamped them which is unnecessary for an automatic drip but he's decided it's better so it has to be done. (Why yes, he's insane! Welcome to my life.) We must have the freshest of the fresh and the strongest of the strong and everyone who doesn't share our taste is a WIMP!!! If he prefers it slightly, we must have it because there's NO GOING BACK!!! It took 2 years for him to accept the fact that I'm not going to go out every single day to buy $4 loaves of fresh bread that's not even as good as what we got in France, because he had it in France and it was better so that's how it has to be!!! (Why yes, the urge to beat him over the head with a baguette has a strong hold on me...)

Then, the recession hit, we chose for me to stay home with Rowan, we had new bills for student loans and a car and a mortgage and he found out that one salary doesn't go as far as he dreamed it would. We had to cut corners. This was not easy for him. He got angry because the cupboards weren't filled with his favorite foods all the time, and he couldn't just go to the store and buy fresh croissants and cheeses imported from Spain and French wine because it wasn't in the food budget anymore. I made him eat potatoes (oh the horror!) and didn't spend hours preparing his favorite dishes because I was busy raising our daughter. Sometimes, dinner included corn. CORN! And we're not talking organic sweet corn roasted in the husks over mesquite briquettes--it was frozen, out of a bag. This was torture to him. So I began to get crafty, knowing his OCD nature, and to give new justifications for things. And it was working.

"I'm only going to the grocery store once a week, because it doesn't make any sense to waste the gas for several trips when I can plan ahead and go once. So if we're out of something, you can just be patient until the next trip." (Which means "Suck it up. So we're out of chips. Big whoop. You don't need them anyway.")

And

"I didn't get any cheeses, because they were all from so far away and required so many fossil fuels to bring them to us. I just thought that was too wasteful and bad for the environment."

So, he eats Vermont cheddar. And he likes it! You see where I'm going with this? Yeah, you could call me a loca lova volca local-food eater, but if I claimed that he would start to demand that everything we ate be grown within 25 miles of our door, and it would just get obsessive and overly expensive and I don't even want to go there. (I'll buy local when I can, promise.)

So we're doing things, a little at a time, and it's making a difference in our budget, and hopefully the environment, too. But still, we found our electricity bill rather high. He started doing research (again obsessively) and declared we had to sell our upright freezer. I suggested we start by unplugging it. Then, we had to replace the fridge. Which is a year old. He did more research, and found there would be no reason for that. He checked every appliance in the house. Nope, all new, all efficient. We got an estimate on replacing the windows. Holy big chunk of change, Batman. Nope, not gonna happen, so we looked into thermal curtains. We already had switched to CFL's, and I suggested he lower the temperature on the water heater. But still, it was bothering him. He knew there was something else that could be done that would magically fix the high electricity bill.

Last night, I had a dream that I walked in the bathroom and he had removed the light fixture from the wall.

"It's so you don't have the temptation to turn on the light," he said. "We can pee in the dark!"

I woke up soon after and told him about it.

"Sounds like something I'd do," he said.

That's it. I'm hiding his tools.

I call my baby nasty names.

Before Rowan was born, we called her Zizou. She kicked like a soccer player, so it really did fit. Since she showed up, she's been labeled a lot of things. Sweetpea, Starshine, Sweetie, Honey, Pea (not to be confused with Pee), Pooper (well, yeah, that's gross, but at least it's only one icky nickname), Sunshine, Sugar, Sugar-Booger, Booger (OK, 2 more icky nicknames), Boog, Punkin, Stinker, Evil Monkey, Pickle, Sweaty Betty, Stinky and probably another forty or fifty names that I can't think of right now.

Today, she earned a new one. She got a new tooth.

But it's not in the usual, cute place mirroring her bottom two that came in a few months ago.

Nope, not our girl. I guess having a dog has influenced her. The new one? It's a canine.

So now, she's Fang.

I don't care if my Mother's Day gift is insulting.

mother and daughter, originally uploaded by pomegranates.

Happy Mother's Day, to all you other mothers out there. I hope you had a great one!

Today, for me, was wonderful. I was remembered by friends and family (which was wonderful), and Dr. B treated me like a queen. He may not have showered me with cards and flowers (fine with me), but he tried to do things that were really meaningful.

OK, yeah, I did have a little something to do with that.

Last night, before bed, I got to thinking. The night before, I had about 4 hours sleep total. Rowan took a long time to go down, and woke at 5:30 and decided she was up. Period. We were having a friend over to BBQ, so her nap time was not available to me because I was getting the house and food ready. I was worn out. When our friend left, we all lied down for a nap. Rowan's was about an hour. Dr. B slept for about 3 1/2 hours. By the time I got to lie down (as soon as I could after our friend left), I got a stinkin' 30 minutes. I was wiped.

So, I said to Dr. B, "since tomorrow's Mother's Day, if Rowan wakes up at 5 AM, can you go deal with her?" He agreed immediately, and we headed up to bed.

At 1:30 AM, she started crying.

"But it's not even 2 yet!" he yelled, sitting up with a start.

I smiled and rolled over, and relished the fact that I didn't have to get up. "She doesn't care what time it is," I said.

He headed into her room, quieted her, and slept with her in his arms in the guest bed, while I stretched out in our big bed and fell back to sleep.

This morning, he brought her in to nurse at 7. When she was done, I brought her down to where he was in the kitchen making himself breakfast, handed her over, and turned to go back to bed. A bit panicked, he asked for help making her breakfast first. I warmed her oatmeal, pulled out the tofu and applesauce to mix in, and handed him the spoon. I honestly don't remember climbing the stairs.

At 9:30, he came in and handed her to me again, and said he needed a shower. I held and played with her until he was done. Then I handed her back, and went back to sleep until 10:48.

This was payback for that 3 1/2 hour nap.

Soon after I woke, she went down for her morning nap, and Dr. B joined her. I ate a little chocolate for breakfast (diets don't exist on Mother's Day), read my email and blogs, and took a shower. After a nice lunch (I cooked! On Mother's Day! Above and beyond the call of duty, I tell you...) we got ready and went out. We did a little shopping, and then drove to Selin's Grove, Pennsylvania for dinner at the Selin's Grove Brewpub (very good--great beer, and their spinach artichoke dip is to die for!)

I had more trouble getting her to bed tonight, so I sent Dr. B up to finish her off. (Lately, I will get her to sleep, but as soon as my toe crosses the threshold to leave, she wakes up and screams. After 4 such episodes, I needed to call in reinforcements.) While he laid down with her again (and fell asleep--he's still up there), I played with my new toy, my Mother's Day gift. Some people might think this is an insulting present, but I am completely and utterly thrilled with it. I chose it myself, and I know it will make my life easier. Yes, I have things that do this already, and yes this is another appliance that I really didn't *need*, and yes it is an energy sucker and wasteful, but I don't care. It works. It sucks. All those stupid little bits that are everywhere right now and driving me nuts, sucked up with no bending and scraping. And it spits and wipes, so hopefully she won't have grungy knees on her sleepers anymore. It makes cleaning easier. And easier means less stressful, which to me is as valuable as a day at the spa. Yay for insulting presents that make my life easier!!!

Happy Mom's Day!


***Illustration by pomegranates on flickr, creative commons licensed. Please check out her other stuff!!! And thanks, pomegranates, for licensing it for use and letting me blog it!

Hungry Camera

After taking a few photos and videos, my memory card came up full. Full? It's huge! This was a red flag, so I hooked it up and started to dig around rather than just letting iPhoto do its thing, and I found a bunch of videos stuck on my camera that never got put in my computer for some reason. Last night I transfered them to my computer, but fearing a crash (it would be my luck) I wanted to save them somewhere else. Can't lose those precious gurgles, after all.

Enter Flickr, who now stores video, too (though there are a few longer ones it won't take.) I'm busy loading them to the site, and need to do some serious editing as it says they were all taken yesterday, for some reason not being able to access the date they were actually filmed.

Looking back, it's hard to believe she was really that little, hairless, and helpless. The whirling dervish is now called Hurricane Rowan, and has real, actual hair (not just the downy fluff) sprouting from her noggin--pale, blonde and straight just like her Maman. She's grown gradually noisier, stronger, and more purposeful, and it's amazing for me especially to watch these, because the little changes meld into one another for me. Things I thought I saw are just not there, and others I've already forgotten. Watching now, it's incredible to see how far she's come in such a short time.

So if you want to waste a lot of time, go hit my flickr. I won't feel hurt if you don't, though. They're mostly for me.

She likes it!

Rowan has always been a good eater. From the first licks of non-alcoholic Strawberry Daquiri in the Bahamas (thanks so much for that, Chad) to bowls of grits mixed with chicken and mixed veggies last night, she eats it all, even the lima beans. Her only requirement is variety--should we give her one thing too many times, she'll reject it and throw a little tantrum in the high chair, flinging the food all over the floor. She is currently off bananas, Cheerios and yams for this reason.

As we sit down to dinner, she eats along side us, and this has worked great. She behaves well at the table, and is good in restaurants, too. Lately, however, she's begun to notice when her food is different than Mom and Dad's. She'll stare pointedly at our dinner, and then look down to her plainer fare, and stop eating.

So, lately she's become even more adventurous in her food offerings. Tandoori chicken and basmati rice. Philly cheesesteak. Fresh lemons from my iced tea. We did find one thing she didn't like at all, which actually surprised me since I craved it while I was pregnant--root beer. She spit the entire mouthful down her shirt, but then stopped grabbing my styrofoam cup out of my hand, so I guess it was a mixed blessing.

Yesterday, continuing in her whirling dervish phase, she made a beeline for the corner of the kitchen to try something new. Luckily, I caught her before she had swallowed.

I don't think Lucy's Canine Crunchies were designed for babies of the human variety.

H-E- double hockey sticks

Well, it's over. What is not-so-affectionately called Hell Week in Dr. B's department due to three banquets, countless lectures, and lots of clapping and fake smiling for awards for people you've never met. Salmon, steak, salmon and steak, and steak and some sort of fish that wasn't salmon. Rolls with so much rosemary they tasted like Pine Sol. Learning to make a bishop's hat with my place card because I was so bored during the lecture on petroleum-in-Oklahoma BUT IT'S DIFFERENT BECAUSE IT'S SHALE AND SOME SORT OF *SPECIAL* SHALE AND THEY HAVE TO DRILL SIDEWAYS!!! WOOO EEEE!!! (ugh.) And of course that was the night where the ever-so-generous oil companies didn't pay for any wine. Three different dressy outfits because there is overlap with all of the banquets, three days of shaving my legs and cutting myself repeatedly because I'm a klutz, two babysitter nights (requiring a somewhat-clean house) and one playdate. But, having a babysitter meant we could linger afterward and have a glass of wine with friends, which we enjoyed immensely.

And now? Rowan has a bear of a cold, because her playdate playmate is a daycare boy, and that's just what happens. Poor little bug is congested, hoarse, and not sleeping well. Thus, we are not sleeping well. I took the first night, Dr. B took last night, but he doesn't have Mommy-radar, so I heard her every time she cried before he did, even though he was sleeping with her in his arms in her bedroom. And then Lucy decided she needed a walk at 1:30 AM. BECAUSE WE'RE ALL UP ANYWAY! Party time at the Brownsons'!

Last night, we finally got her to sleep around 9 and pulled out the movie I had run to rent after supper (from our video store which is closing and we're not very happy about that.)

We spent the next hour and a half searching for the remote because we can't hit play on the DVD player without it. Moving couches. Pulling out cushions. Checking every drawer and cabinet. We never found it. Finally, around 10:30 we gave up and watched an episode of Red Dwarf before going to bed.

Dr. B has a lecture to go to tonight, and another reception, so he'll be home a bit later than normal. I think I'll watch Juno on my laptop. Maybe we'll find the remote by the time she goes to Kindergarten.

Big Bird and the Boobie

I never saw this, that I remember, but it is a nice way to explain it to kids!

Comfort

She took a two hour nap this morning. I mopped the floors after seeing the grunge that was on one knee and one foot of her sleeper pajamas. Her crawling is, um, very interesting. (And I swear I just mopped last week, but YUCK!)

She had a bath, we played, had lunch, and I folded laundry, which she didn't throw on the floor. She let me watch Ugly Betty online and didn't pull the laptop to the floor while chewing on the charging cord.

Then she took a two and half hour nap this afternoon, waking up smiling. We went for a walk. Then, it was time for goûter. Rocky Road for me and grapes and bread, chopped into tiny bits, for her. Now she's running around her playstation carrying the top of a cardboard box, and giggling as the dog licks grape juice from the tips of her fingers.

She hasn't destroyed anything. She's slept when asked and for long periods of time. My hair hasn't been pulled, my mouth hasn't been probed, she hasn't drawn blood. No screaming. No crying. She didn't go back to the dog's dishes after I said 'no' and moved her away. She's been happy, in a good mood, easy to be around.

She gives me big hugs when I pick her up. After curling my hair for the banquet tonight, she looked at it in wonder, touching a curl gently with her fingertips and smiling.

Mom's been gone ten years today, but there's no doubt. She's still watching over me. And our little girl.

Thanks, Mom. Today has been a wonderful gift.

I am terrified of the toilet.

It's time. She's mobile. Upwardly, downwardly, backwardly and forwardly. Kind of wonkily, actually. Hello Adverbs! I love you today!

She's sort of crawling, with one knee and one foot, and making quick progress into whatever she shouldn't be into. She pulls herself up on the furniture, and cruises along, as quick as a wink. She's even tried pulling herself up on Lucy, who doesn't like it very much.

I have learned:

• toys aren't fun unless they can inflict serious bodily harm. Or kill you.
  
• electrical cords are delicious, like spaghetti! Especially the sparky ones.
• little bits of unidentified crud are meant to be eaten. A dog who gets 3-5 walks a day brings in a lot of unidentified crud. (Mom now vacuums daily.)
  
• the bottoms of shoes are tasty and should be licked frequently! Especially outside ones.
  
• Buttons are meant to be pushed, dials are meant to be turned, and all music should be played at level 11.
• Doggie water dishes are baby pools. With added spit!
• Things in drawers or baskets should be out of them and thrown on the floor. Ditto for stuff on shelves.
  
• If you think she won't get into it, she'll get into it faster. Especially when you aren't looking or have your pants around your ankles or have a pot boiling over.
• Dogs don't like to be pulled up on by a 20 pound baby. They don't like vacuums either.

So, we've begun to babyproof. Candles are mostly gone, save the 'necessary' bathroom one for the stinky moments. Sit-around-cute-decor-crap is put away. Baskets of magazines have been recycled and closeted. Plugs are plugged, cords are tucked behind the couches, and stuff is pushed back to an unreachable area on each end table. Plexiglass has been ordered to cover the stereo/cable TV/ computer equipment and cords, and any tippy furniture has been screwed to the wall. She is a climber--she already started with her dresser drawers. At 10 months! And people wonder why we call her the evil monkey.

And the next paycheck plans include a mounted gate for the top of the stairs, toilet locks, drawer locks, cabinet locks and any other assorted baby safety crap that becomes an absolute necessity when I'm standing in the store.

They'll be able to smell a sucker like me a mile away.

"Insurance"

Living in Madison, we were part of some of the best HMO's and insurance programs in the country. We never worried about care--they told us where to go, who to see (and allowed us to change easily if we didn't click with our doc, or to choose a doc we liked), what to do, and we never paid out of pocket for anything except prescription copays, which were never more than 15$ (even for pricey migraine meds). We had it good.

Then came Pennsylvania.

After the third bill came in saying the insurance wouldn't cover it, we were really starting to get ticked off. Dr. B is under enough stress being a first year professor. He doesn't need to add this crap. He put the bills in his briefcase, and set up a meeting with the insurance people on campus.

Then he started having chest pains. I wanted to take him to the ER, but he refused. After arguing with him for a while, I knew the only way to get him in was to manipulate the entire situation. I didn't like doing it, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

After calling our insurance company and getting the OK, and trying to set up an appointment for him and getting told to take him to the ER right away (I set one up just in case he was really stubborn), I called.

"What time are you done with work? I'll come pick you up."

I neglected to tell him where we were going. He figured it out en route, but couldn't argue any more.

And after six hours waiting, pacing the halls with the baby and eating horrid vending machine food, he got the diagnosis.

"We don't know."

Great.

They did an EKG, blood tests and an Xray, as well as a bunch of other stuff, and nothing was apparent. He's stressed*. He's pretty sure that's the reason, but the doctor at the ER wouldn't tell him much of anything.

Today, I got a call from the business office of our health care provider. She wasn't happy about resubmitting a bill to insurance with a changed code, but she was doing it. (Well, I wasn't happy about getting a 200$ bill for some tests I didn't ask for, that they say I did. Who would ask for a comprehensive screening panel when you've got chapped lips? I didn't even know the words "comprehensive screening panel". Give me a break.) I'll still have to pay for part of it, but hopefully they'll get it changed and resubmitted so I don't have to fork over the entire bill.

And now I have a new mantra when I go to the doctor.

"But, will my insurance cover it?"

The things you learn when you leave Wisconsin...



*He promised to take a nap today, and I'll nag him more about taking bike rides, meditating and doing yoga. Asking him to stop obsessing and worrying about stuff is like telling the grass not to grow, but I'll do my best to counteract what I can.

I love it!

I love it!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

I finally got around to loading some photos from the last few weeks, including some from the reception weekend, as well as more recent ones. There are a few shots from a picnic we took this weekend, as well as one that's a bit NSFW from this afternoon--but you'll only see it if you're allowed as a flickr friend, so if you are, don't be lazy and not login--it's worth the price of admission! ;) Let's just say Rowan decided that there were much more entertaining things to do than take a nap...

This one (above) was taken at Bucca di Beppo. We stopped at the one nearest our hotel in Eagan for lunch, starving after a very early wakeup and two flights, and it turned out they weren't open for lunch, because they are in an industrial area without a lot of local traffic during the day. But, the owner saw us leaving and felt bad that we were disappointed. He said because they were prepared for catering everything was ready, so we were invited in and enjoyed a delicious Italian meal with a restaurant all to ourselves! I'd call it Midwestern hospitality, but as Dr. B said, "the owner is from Mexico. This is Mexican hospitality!" He was right. The owner stopped by our table several times to chat, and he was a really nice, warm and friendly guy. We were not disappointed, and we highly recommend this location to anyone! As you can see, Rowan highly approved! (She thought the bread was the bomb.)

I've also uploaded am trying and failing to upload my first video to Flickr---will have to move a bunch from Vimeo. This one is Rowan playing with her Grandma while we got ready for the reception.

And if you're in PA and a registered Democrat, go vote tomorrow!

Frenzy

Vacuum. Dust. Change the sheets. Sweep the floor. Clean the bathrooms. Dust the baseboards. Mop the floors. Wipe down the appliances. Laundry laundry laundry. Clean, dry, fold, put away. Plan the meals. Shop. Make the meals. Pack a lunch. Iron the shirts. Pay the bills. Sort the mail. File the papers. Wash the diapers. Box up the outgrown clothes. Fill the drawers with the ones that are still too big. Make the phone calls. Set up the appointments. Pick up the toys. Sewing projects. The dog needs a walk. Knitting projects. Thoughts of going back to work. Cleaning out closets. Plans to cull, give to Goodwill, get rid of those things I've saved that I don't want, don't need, never liked in the first place so why did I keep them? Keeping up the chatter.

Trying, so hard, to keep myself busy so I don't remember. So I don't think about it.

It's coming.

Ten years. The anniversary. Ten years since she died.

Even still, it comes back, familiar and strange. When you're busy, doing, making, being the responsible one. Trying to not let it in. But it's there. It comes.

The sounds. Ksh! Chip! The smell of cigarette smoke. The door to her room, still closed. The garbage sacks full of clanking cans, sour dripping, ashes.

The phone ringing and ringing and ringing.

No one wants to talk about it anymore. They turned out fine, they are responsible adults. She really was a great mom, considering. Too bad it happened that way, but now they've moved on. Look how happy they are now. See, it's OK.

But it's not.

I still need her. I still miss her every day of my life. And I still hate that she couldn't stop, wouldn't, until it was too late.

Ten years gone, and it's as raw as ever.

Evidence

Rock and Rowan, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Well, despite the fact that I completely forgot to take any pictures at my sister's reception last weekend, there is photographic proof that it happened on my flickr site. I take no credit--these were on my Dad's camera (and some are funky because the setting got messed up) and he sent them to me. There will be more coming, from Josh's brother, who took a lot, and even managed to get a photo of one of the dolphins swimming by.

This one's my favorite, though. Well, I am a little biased.

Doublemint Doublememe

Tagged with two memes in one day, but I waited to post the second so you wouldn't get memed out (if you're not already). This one is from my cousin, Dee.

Two names you go by:
1. Mama (well, Rowan actually says, "Mamamamamamamamamama!")
2. RonBon (Nikki is the only one that calls me that, but she still does, even 20 years later!)

Two things you are wearing right now:
1. hausschus
2. REI fleece jacket in sort of a cornflower blue and black. It's my current favorite "bathrobe". (Yes, I'm still in my flannel jammies.)

Two of your favorite things to do:
1. read
2. dance

Two things you want very badly at the moment:
1. to have a good dream with my mom in it (they feel like visits)
2. to know what to do about next year

Two favorite pets you have had or have now?
1. Lucy
2. Sammy (he was everyone who knew him's favorite dog ever. How's that for good grammar?)

Two people who will fill this out: (therefore these are my tags! You're it!)
1. Andie
2. Vivi (because I'm going to totally meme-spam her. Heh.)

Two things you ate last night: (Too many things, really. Thank heavens for breast feeding or I'd be a house right now.)
1. vanilla ice cream swirled with raspberry sorbet
2. bite-size chocolate chip cookies
(Dr. B was on a business trip to Pittsburgh and didn't get home until an hour and 45 minutes AFTER he said he'd be home and he wasn't answering his phone--because it wasn't ringing--and he thought I was sleeping so he didn't want to wake me and I wasn't and I was totally freaking out.)

Two things you ate today:
1. toast with natural organic peanut butter and 3 berries jam
2. homemade plain yogurt

Two people you last talked to:
1. Rowan
2. Dr. B

Two things you're doing tomorrow:
1. if I say vacuum, maybe I'll do it.
2. ditto for change the sheets.

Two favorite holidays:
1. Christmas (I just wish it wasn't so much work.)
2. Halloween (does anyone say Arbor Day?)

Two favorite vacations:
1. France (I got a whole year!)
2. New Orleans (I've been 3 times. Love the food, the culture, the music, the history.)

Two Favorite Drinks:
1. Arnie Palmer (unsweetened brewed iced tea and lemonade mixed together--favorite summer drink ever.)
2. root beer float (that counts, right? Ice cream melts into a liquid, so it's a drink!)

Birthday:
August 13 (The Ides of August! Whatever that means...)

Now copy, paste and blog it. I look forward to it!

Proof that I'm the biggest dork that ever lived.

Me, as a brunette. And a queen., originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

From the Tudors website. I am such a goober.

And yes, I would totally wear that dress.

(By the way, don't tell Dr. B about the one I did of him. It's really bad!)

What's Up, Doc?

I had an appointment with the neurologist yesterday. I was excited, thinking through my history and planning what to say as I showered and blew my hair dry, hoping he'd have some ideas. Wondering if he'd take a CT scan. Could he prescribe massages? (Hoping). Would he want me to be a part of some migraine study, since they were so weird, and so unpredictable and so changeable? Was my head going to explode, or would he have a miracle cure?

I got to the appointment, went through my history sketchily, thinking he'd ask for copies of all my medical records. I listed the drugs I'd tried, the ways the migraines had changed over the 13 years I've had them, the lengths I'd gone to to stop them.

"Well, Ronica, you're a classic case."

What? Huh? When? Who?

Wait a minute. I've been going to doctors for these for years, and now I find out I'm a classic case???

Turns out, I have a chronic case of low seratonin. It can cause migraines, fibromyalgia (which my MIL has), and depression (which is common in my family.) When I was pregnant, it was high, and now that I'm 10 months out, it's dropping again. Thus, my headaches.

He prescribed higher doses of Imitrex and injections, and said I could go back on the amytriptylin if they got really bad again, so I headed happily to Target to get the new prescriptions filled, smiling as I drove down the street with the windows wide open and singing along with the CD.

My problem is solved! I know why! And now I know at least partly why my mom struggled as she did, and why other members of my family have struggled with depression and migraines. We have low seratonin! We're not freaks, it's just a medical thing!!! YAY!

I dropped off the scrips and toodled around the store, picking up the things I'd forgotten at the grocery store the day before and grabbing a few extras that of course we had to have. I went back to pick them up and check out before stopping at the Redbox to drop off our free rental of Sweeney Todd.

"Um, Mrs. B, do you know how much these scrips cost?" the pharmacist asked.

"I know they're pricey, but not exactly, no." I said.

"This one's 150 dollars with your insurance. This one's 97 dollars. I thought I'd let you know first. We get migraines, too," she gestured to another pharmacist assistant, who nodded and began shaking her head at the price, "and I don't know if you...uh... well..."

"Um, can I just not take them today?"

"Sure! No problem!" she smiled. "We'll keep them on file for when you need them."

I sighed with relief, and then headed toward the checkout, making one stop.

In the seratonin isle.

Thank God for chocolate.

Se7en

My friend Sarah tagged me with a meme, and since y'all know I'll do anything you tell me (OK, maybe not anything), here goes.

Seven Weird Things About Me.

(I'll have a hard time limiting it to just 7.)

1. Bright lights often make me sneeze uncontrollably. (Thank goodness for Kegels. There is no 'p' in my ants and I really want to keep it that way.)

2. I hate semicolons; I rarely use them. (HA! I used one!) So does my husband. Another reason we're a good match besides the runny eggs and the toilet-paper-over-the-top thing.

3. One of my favorite breakfasts is cold tuna casserole. With a diet Coke. And a pudding pop. (They make them again!)

(Waiting patiently while you get over the grossness of that revelation. Mushy peas, soggy potato chip topping, tuna, cola and chocolate-vanilla swirl. I know. Disgusting.)

4. Men's feet creep me out. Even nicely pedicured ones. Therefore, I hate mandals and I really, really hate man-flip-flops, with the only exception being the fisherman sandals that pretty much cover everything. I tolerate Dr. B's Chacos because he is my husband and I know his feet are clean. (At least I hope so.)

5. I hate it when people write LOL. If you can't think of a better way to tell someone they're funny, don't. I usually don't say anything because I don't want to offend any commenters who've used it, but now you know. It drives me crazy.

6. I have a sick, sick love of Spaghetti-O's with meatballs. I've been known to eat them straight out of the can, at room temperature. And despite all my stinky-cheese lovingness, I also enjoy Velveeta. ICK! I know!!! (But hey, I hate Doritos and pepperoni pizza, so there you go.)

7. I get really irritated by grammatical errors like misplaced apostrophes, your/you're, their/there/they're, ask/axe (I know it's 'dialect' but it still bugs me), "cute" spellings and when people misspell chipotle. (It's not chip-OL-te. It's chip-OT-le. Chip Oat Lay.) So much so, I considered carrying around a Sharpie and fixing them on signs. Dr. B stopped me.

I mean, cum on, dont' you know witch is witch? Your not telling me this bug's you? Their are so many reason's to axe me why I do'nt like it. Doncha wanna axe?

(Yes, I did that on purpose to make a point. Irritating, isn't it?)


So, now I want some other weirdos to come out of the woodwork. Vivi, MamaBear, Danny*... show me your quirks. (Moo hoo ha ha ha ha haaaaa!!!)

(*And yes, that was a shameless way to find out if he reads me. He follows my twitter, so maybe he does? Hoping, hoping...)

Gone!

It's finally done! Yaaaaayyyyy!!!! (jumping up and down)

Combinations of Excedrin, Advil Cold and Sinus, Benadryl, Vicodin, an injection of Toradol and a fair amount of yoga.

I'm a bit sore, but I can finally relax and not worry that in the next half hour life will become unbearable. When we get back from our trip, I will have an appointment with a neurologist, so hopefully we'll be able to figure something out. I'm not ready or willing to stop breastfeeding yet, but if these escalate again, I might have to. I hope not, but it's better to take care of myself, for Rowan. Though it was a totally different situation, that's one of the things I am still angry with my mother about. I can't do it to my little girl--she deserves to have to put up with me for a long, long time!

Note to self: must do yoga more often. It does help. Now if I could just find a yoga studio in this dinky burg that has day care. I'd love to be back in a regular class.

Thanks for all your concern and well wishes. When you're suffering, it helps just knowing others are out there wishing it wasn't so.

Confusion

I went in to the Physician's assistant today. "Why are you here?" the nurse asked. "Migraine. Day 6," I said, and was surprised to hear a little catch in my throat.

No, I'm not in horrible pain this time. But still. 6 days is too long. And it reminds me of the time when I had the never-ending migraine. The 3 month one. 4 ER visits. 1 CT scan. 9.9 on the pain scale. Morphine. Blood on the brain? (No). One side of my body going numb. Not sleeping, for days and days. Not eating because any spice made me sick. Then eating bland food constantly just because then I couldn't taste the tinfoil in my mouth. The rusty icepick in my eye, twisting.

Not a fun trip down memory lane.

The PA listened to my story, convoluted and twisted and full of "oh, and one time?" and "uh, I forgot, I also tried this and this and this..." She didn't know what to do for me. I've been down this road before and it looks like I'm headed there again.

She set me up with a neurologist for next week. I don't know what they'll be able to do, but at least the ball is rolling. The PA said there wasn't much I could take because of breastfeeding, and wondered when I was going to stop. "I want to make it to a year," I said, "but..."

A year seemed so long back then. Now? It's almost tomorrow. Too soon. I'm not ready to think about stopping yet. She's just a little baby, isn't she? She still needs me.

So today she gave me an injection of Toradol. I've had them before, and they can help. I got several decent hours, and Dr. B even commented. "Your face, you look... like you must feel a little better," he said. I could still taste the tinfoil, but it was better.

But, she had cautioned, I really shouldn't breastfeed Rowan on this. Pump and dump time.

Fine. Since I had fed her just before the appointment, I figured she could wait until her dad got home to have some milk. He had fed her bottles before, and he could probably get her to take it this time. I fed her solids--turkey and rice with sweet potatoes and peas, and applesauce. I carefully thawed 7 oz. of breastmilk, pumped back in October, and prepared a bottle. Handed it to him, and left the room to do the dishes, so she would eat.

And just like when I tried last week, she wouldn't take the bottle.

She was fine as a newborn, fine as a 4 month old, but now that she's 9 months +, she doesn't want anything to do with it. She won't take a sippy cup, either. With both of them, she just plays with the nipple or spout, smiling and biting at it, but not actually sucking anything out of it.

"What do I do?" he asked.

"She needs it," I said. "She hasn't had any since 1:30, and she's got to be thirsty, and needs her milk." I remembered what a friend's husband had done while she worked and he was the at home parent with the kid who wouldn't take the bottle. "You'll just have to throw it in."

I brought out a Tupperware cup, a relic from my own childhood, with a curved edge. "Pour a little in the cup at a time, and kind of throw it in her mouth when you can." Rowan loves to drink from a real cup, but she doesn't really get the whole gravity thing yet, and is pretty sure that by bending her head down toward the cup, the liquid will enter her mouth from the downward angle. It doesn't really work that way.

I watched him as he tried to get more milk in her mouth than down her pajamas. He failed miserably, but since there was 7 oz. in the bottle and she usually only drinks around 3 at a feeding now, I wasn't too worried. He carried her to the kitchen sink, stripped her to her diaper, and washed her off. A pair of clean pajamas, a dry diaper (not sure if it was pee or milk or water, but it was wet), and she was tucked into bed.

And here I sit, with so many thoughts swirling through my mind. Worried and confused and concerned. Wanting her to grow up and be independent and to stay little and need me forever. Wishing my body wasn't doing this to me, again, because it keeps me from being what I want to be, for her. Angry, that it's yet another thing I can't control or protect her from.

And hoping, that maybe by tomorrow it will be gone. At least for a little while.

Cross Your Fingers

I have an appointment with a physician's assistant at 2:20 today. Hopefully, she'll be able to give me something that will stop this. I know her, though, and I know she'll suggest 8 billion berries and twigs first. (Sorry, lady, but organic bear toe jam is not going to take away a 6 day migraine.)

I also have a hair cut scheduled for Thursday. Yay! My first since November. Yeah, it grew out really well, so I just let it. Planning on a little more length for this summer, so am just going to have her shape it up. I want to leave it longer anyway, so I can do this for the reception this weekend.

I've been busy planning in my head, and just bought us a new suitcase, smaller than what we had because we were tired of paying over-pack fees. Trying to decide which clothes to bring for Rowan, because she's got so many cute ones, and wishing it were warmer so we could break out the cute spring dresses and anklets. I'm looking forward to having Dr. B with me to navigate the airports--it will be much easier than when Rowan and I had to do it on our own.

I'm really looking forward to our trip. Time alone with Dr. B where he's not talking about work, seeing family and friends, and just getting away to a city. I love our life here, but I prefer a larger metropolitan area. There's just an energy that you can't find here, and I really miss it. Plus, we'll be back in the midwest, where everyone is overly friendly and no one comments on our accents, or lack thereof--I'm from Fargo, and every time I mention that, I hear, "but your accent isn't strong at all!" Note to everyone who's seen the movie: PEOPLE FROM FARGO DON'T TALK LIKE THAT. And Joel and Ethan Coen should have known better.

And maybe, just maybe, we'll even go for Thai. Ooooh, my mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Symptoms

I have a list.

A long list, of all the projects and things I'd like to accomplish. Sewing. Knitting. Sorting. Purging. Clearing out the old, the unused, unwanted, not needed.

And yet, here I sit. Nauseous. Achy. Woozy. Crabby. Unable to do anything. My sense of balance off, causing me to tip to the side and nearly fall. Craving chocolate and sweets, and having them make me even more sick when I succumb. The taste of tinfoil in my mouth. My sense of smell heightened, triggering yet even more nausea.

No, I'm not pregnant. I have a migraine. A whopper, day 4. Could have been many things--the change in seasons, change in air pressure, Easter being over, dog stress, bills, an upcoming trip to Minneapolis for my sister's reception, the looming 10-year anniversary of my Mom's death. All contribute, but that doesn't change the fact that it's here. Weighing on me.

As usual, I'm nervous about taking my medicines. The ones that don't work but are approved for breastfeeding mothers. The ones that kind of work, sometimes. The ones that do work if I catch it at the right time, but don't always. Unfortunately, there's no magic pill.

I put it off until I can't stand it anymore. Then, it's not enough.

And now I worry again. That she won't take the thawed milk I have for her in the fridge, because it comes from a bottle and not from me. That she'll get crabby and start to scream. That I'll get crabby and start to scream.

I want to feel better. I wish I wasn't complaining. I'm sorry. I just need it to go.

Voilà mon passeport!

J'adore les Flight of the Conchords! Even when they absolutely butcher the French language, do a terrible impression of Maurice Chevalier, and picnic in sorbet-colored togs a stripey scarves while cavorting with baguettes.

C'est si bon!

Stand Up and Cheer!

Stand Up and Cheer!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Good luck at regionals, Fighting Sioux Hockey!

Rowan's here in PA, cheering you on!

(You can take a girl out of North Dakota, but you can't take North Dakota out of the girl!)

In the Ool

No topic is sacred. Especially at the bar. I love DadLabs videos.

So, do you?

And we thought a newborn baby didn't let you sleep.

Lucy, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

We had a potluck last night, at 8 PM, with Dr. B's student group, and since I'd nixed the bowling event they planned a while ago, we were obligated to go to this one. Of course, 8 PM on an Easter Sunday is not exactly my idea of good timing, but what do I know? Before leaving for the shindig, I laid the tinfoil that the jerk chicken legs had baked on down for Lucy, as a little treat.

Anyway, Rowan was a really good girl, both during the long Easter service yesterday morning, and during the after-her-bedtime potluck party. We got home, and Rowan did her new trick of not wanting to sleep unless one of us was with her. I took the shift, since he'd done last night, and crawled into bed with her in the nursery.

At 3 AM, he woke me up. Lucy had woken him up every 15 minutes to go outside, for the past 4 hours. Something was wrong. We tried calling the vet's emergency line, but since they hadn't seen her yet, the answering service would not call the vet on call. Great. Since we still have Madison cell phones, I called the ER Vet there. They were very helpful and kind, but basically said they couldn't do anything for us from there.

Dr. B was upset. Angry. Paranoid. Of course, it was all my fault. It must have been the chicken that made her have to pee. Or the babyfood jars I sometimes let her lick out. Or the chili I made the other night (that HE let her have.)

"And she has a bulbous growth on her head!!!" he shrieked.

Bulbous growth? What? I took a look.

"It's a woodtick," I said, as I yanked it out, gave her an antihistamine, pulled out the bits I could get with a tweezer and applied some Neosporin. "There's nothing more we can do until she sees the vet at 7. I gotta get some sleep," I said, and tried to go back to bed.

Dr. B was still pretty upset, which he made very clear every time he opened and shut the front gate to take her out to pee.


Thump! Jingle jingle jingle. WHAM! ka-chuck ka chuck. (long pause in which I try to fall asleep and fail.) WHAM! ka-chuck ka-chuck. Jingle jingle jingle. Thump!

Fine.

"I'll take the next shift," I said at 4. From 4-5:30, I lay in my coat on the couch and got up to take her outside to pee every 10 minutes. (Note: I used the back door so I wouldn't wake him. Ahem. Yes. Still cranky about this.) At 5:30 I had to nurse Rowan, and his alarm went off, so he got up and started getting ready for the day. I took Lucy out again during his shower, and put a few leftover muffins into his briefcase. After giving me a 20-minute lecture on all the things it could be that he had googled while I was lazily sleeping away, and what horribly bad dog-parents we were because of course it is all our fault and she's probably going to die or need a thousand-dollar surgery, he prepared to take her in to the vet's office before his 8 AM meeting so they could start any tests they needed to do.

I slunk off to bed for a few minutes before Rowan woke up (it was 4 minutes, really), and then got up and got dressed. He came home between meetings, and I grabbed myself a leftover muffin and a cup of coffee and prepared to go drive him to his other meeting across town (the bus to there is too infrequent) and head back to the vet at 9:20. I was already exhausted, and it was only 8:35. He had fallen asleep laying on the floor in Rowan's room, face down in front of her play mat. Before we left, he apologized for yelling at me and being angry. He knew it wasn't the chicken. All the way to his meeting, he was fighting tears and swallowing hard, trying to convince himself that he had done everything he could. (My husband is such a softie.)

The vet was very kind and reassuring. Turns out she has a very wicked Urinary tract infection, and no, it did not come from the jerk chicken (though he got a chuckle out of that). In fact, it was nothing we did wrong. It just happens this way sometimes in older dogs, and they can't be sure where it came from. She was peeing lots of blood, but her drawn bloodwork looked "great for a 10 year old dog", the tick spot looked fine, and nothing else seemed wrong, aside from having a bit of tartar on her teeth (which we're planning on taking care of soon anyway.) The vet didn't see any kidney stones on the Xray, which was a big relief to us. He said it probably "just exploded" and that's why she really hadn't shown signs of a problem before last night. The puking she did at 6 AM was likely just nervousness, and she didn't have Lyme disease.

Of course, it was 300 bucks to find all that out, but at least we know she's going to be OK.

Now I wonder what the bill will be for the shrink for Dr. B. ;)

Hiiiiiiii-Yaaaahhh!!!

You Are Miss Piggy

A total princess and diva, you're totally in charge - even if people don't know it. You want to be loved, adored, and worshiped. And you won't settle for anything less. You're going to be a total star, and you won't let any of the "little people" get in your way. Just remember, piggy, never eat more than you can lift!

The Muppet Personality Test

I'm both embarassed, and a little flattered.

Sugar, Sugar! Ba ba ba ba buh baaaaahhhhh!!!!

Amigurumi Blueberry Bunny Rabbit Lollipop Candy- Easter, originally uploaded by Amigurumi Kingdom.

I started this post earlier, and thought, "oh, how wonderful it would be to put in a real poll for people to take!" I started Googling. I wrote the post. The poll didn't work. Trying to figure out why, I googled some more. Then realized it was a template problem. Googled some more.

I now have about 47 tabs open on how to fix this problem, and I've gotten absolutely nowhere.

Except, of course, to the bottom of the candy bowl.

Easter candy is a very special thing, because unlike Halloween candy which is mainly just orange and black regular candy, and Christmas candy which is mainly just starlite mints in a cane shape, Easter candy is completely unavailable at any other time of year. So much so that my mom, bless her heart, used to buy Mini Eggs for me and freeze them so I could have them any time I wanted. The shells all fell off, but they were still delicious. And yummy frozen, too. You think I'd actually wait for them to thaw? Pshaw. I think she may have also done this for my sister, who is a Peep Freak. But then again, Rock probably just hid them under her bed. She was known for having up to 5 years worth of Halloween candy under there, so I'm pretty sure there must have been some Peeps, too.

Anyway, since this is a timely post, I might as well just ask you to leave your answer in the comments and I'll figure out this poll thing eventually.

Here's my question:

What's your favorite Easter Candy?

My options were going to be: Peeps (they're cute as heck but I hate actually eating them, sorry Kyliemac ), Cadbury Mini Eggs (my personal fave), Cadbury Cream Eggs (the yolks creep me out a bit), Cadbury Caramel Eggs (you should just surrender 3 teeth when you buy one they have so much sugar), Jelly Beans (I go for black ones, but also like making "lipstick" from the red ones), Malted Milk Eggs (for Mama Bear), or Reese's Peanutbutter eggs (for Flare.) Or whatever else floats your boat.


So, what's rotting your teeth about now?

The Door

Fridge, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Vivi posted a photo of her fridge door, and it got me thinking about how much I love to look at people's fridges when I'm over at their house. Unlike the medicine cabinet (which is officially snooping), the fridge is out there, available, and shows a lot about the people who live in that kitchen.

I'd love to have a neat, clean fridge. I'd love to love modern design and "clean lines" (if I hear that one more time, I'll scream) and have a neat, clean, spare, organized house that looks like it comes from a magazine.

But I don't. My house is a cluttered place, full of all the little interesting things that fill my life. It's not the big, open space you see in magazine layouts. It's small. We look a bit more like a Pottery Barn catalog meets garage sale than like a Modern Living design. Our furniture is a combination of old and new, cozy, somewhat traditional but not really, but the Scandinavian element is less about empty surfaces and sleek furniture and more about wood, Carl Larssen prints and Dala horses. We admire people with style like that, but it's just not us.

So here it is, my fridge. Actually, the freezer, too (we have an upright). At the bottom is a pic of Rowan that graces the door, just to make it fit in the mosaic. To see the real ones, and find out what all that crap is, click through and take a look at my photoset--there are notes all over the photo.

And now, I wanna snoop in someone else's house. I tag Flare, Katia (because I know she'll never do it) and my cousin Mama Bear. If you want to participate, please do, and let me know! I want to see!

What's on your fridge?