OBV, unless I had the longest gestation in the history of humankind, I've since had my baby. And NEW BABY means new everything--new challenges, new joys, and, in my case, NEW BLOG.
All the old posts from evadingmwom have been moved over to my new blog, thesuburbanprairie.blogspot.com . Same blogs as before, NEW LIFE being breathed into it all.
Don't worry; I'm still trying to evade mwom. Come on over!
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Waiting Over Here For Life to Begin
I just poured myself a cup of coffee and I am sitting at the computer sniffing it like a maniac. I'm not going to drink it, of course--are you kidding? The raspberry pie I made last night gives me heartburn; I'm not ready for my cup of acid yet. Not while my stomach is squished up under my rib cage thanks to my expanded uterus. Dude, I have problems with acid reflux when I'm not pregnant. Def not about to do it now.
But I'm still sitting here, reenacting Easter 2007 when I gave up coffee for Lent and would pacify myself by MAKING A POT OF COFFEE and pouring a cup and SNIFF-DRINKING IT. I think there's a lot to be said for the smell of coffee more than the physical jolt. I missed holding a warm cup of coffee smell and I miss it still.
What do I look forward to more, drinking a glass of wine, or drinking a cup of coffee? Probably the wine, since the coffee will be more of a necessity once we've got two little girls in the house, needing diapers changed at 5am and not napping until noon-thirty.
Kiddo is setting up her stuffed puppy Violet at her little table and unloading her grocery cart, serving Violet wooden pizza, a carrot, half a lemon, and a cucumber. I am checking the public library website to see if there is a story time this morning. And most of all, I am paused in a period of waiting like I have never been before: never had to wait and anticipate, EVERY DAY, whether or not Newbie's ready to meet me today.
But I'm still sitting here, reenacting Easter 2007 when I gave up coffee for Lent and would pacify myself by MAKING A POT OF COFFEE and pouring a cup and SNIFF-DRINKING IT. I think there's a lot to be said for the smell of coffee more than the physical jolt. I missed holding a warm cup of coffee smell and I miss it still.
What do I look forward to more, drinking a glass of wine, or drinking a cup of coffee? Probably the wine, since the coffee will be more of a necessity once we've got two little girls in the house, needing diapers changed at 5am and not napping until noon-thirty.
Kiddo is setting up her stuffed puppy Violet at her little table and unloading her grocery cart, serving Violet wooden pizza, a carrot, half a lemon, and a cucumber. I am checking the public library website to see if there is a story time this morning. And most of all, I am paused in a period of waiting like I have never been before: never had to wait and anticipate, EVERY DAY, whether or not Newbie's ready to meet me today.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
More Pregnant Than I Have Ever Been
And yes, I am only 36 weeks along today.
Kiddo was born when I was 35 weeks and 6 days pregnant, and while Vee and I still marvel over how FEW health complications she had (lungs were completely developed, no heart problems, etc), with the exception of baby jaundice, I am grateful that I am more pregnant than I have ever been with Newbie.
It's nice to have that fear off the table. Every day, she grows a little more (AND I GROW A LITTLE MORE. GOOD NIGHT. I thought this POUND A WEEK crap was supposed to stop back in the second trimester. Why have I gained 3 pounds in 5 days?) and gets a little more ready to meet us. I still want another week out of her, and then she's on her own timetable. Who am I kidding? She's always on her own timetable. Kiddo was on her own timetable.
Anyway. Every time I go to the bathroom, I expect to see my mucous plug (THAT'S RIGHT, I SAID MUCOUS PLUG). And every time I get constipated (THAT'S RIGHT, I SAID CONSTIPATED), I think it's the beginning of contractions. I am on such HIGH ALERT for labor to begin that I really need to keep myself occupied with other things.
Yet! Since Kiddo came so early, I started "preparing" for Newbie to arrive this early. Hey, when Kiddo showed up, we had like ZERO things done. No dresser, no crib, no co-sleeper set up, hadn't washed her baby clothes, LIKE NOTHING. Newbie, on the other hand, not only has all of these things completed, but I'VE GOT MY HOSPITAL BAG PACKED. There is NOTHING LEFT FOR ME TO DO.
Anyone have any ideas?
Kiddo was born when I was 35 weeks and 6 days pregnant, and while Vee and I still marvel over how FEW health complications she had (lungs were completely developed, no heart problems, etc), with the exception of baby jaundice, I am grateful that I am more pregnant than I have ever been with Newbie.
It's nice to have that fear off the table. Every day, she grows a little more (AND I GROW A LITTLE MORE. GOOD NIGHT. I thought this POUND A WEEK crap was supposed to stop back in the second trimester. Why have I gained 3 pounds in 5 days?) and gets a little more ready to meet us. I still want another week out of her, and then she's on her own timetable. Who am I kidding? She's always on her own timetable. Kiddo was on her own timetable.
Anyway. Every time I go to the bathroom, I expect to see my mucous plug (THAT'S RIGHT, I SAID MUCOUS PLUG). And every time I get constipated (THAT'S RIGHT, I SAID CONSTIPATED), I think it's the beginning of contractions. I am on such HIGH ALERT for labor to begin that I really need to keep myself occupied with other things.
Yet! Since Kiddo came so early, I started "preparing" for Newbie to arrive this early. Hey, when Kiddo showed up, we had like ZERO things done. No dresser, no crib, no co-sleeper set up, hadn't washed her baby clothes, LIKE NOTHING. Newbie, on the other hand, not only has all of these things completed, but I'VE GOT MY HOSPITAL BAG PACKED. There is NOTHING LEFT FOR ME TO DO.
Anyone have any ideas?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
It's the Final Countdown
I'm out of Macro-Hell, and into the final weeks wait for little bambina #2. Which is oddly like Macro-Hell because I have slid back into first-trimester-style nausea in the mornings and before going to bed. I checked with one of the midwives and she said, "Yeah, that will happen sometimes when you got nauseous in your first trimester--it comes back in the third." Raw deal!
I'm in week 35, which was the week that Kiddo was born. I genuinely hope that Newbie does not decide to show up this week, or really next week either, but I can guaran-damn-tee you that if she happens to shoot out those hormones to activate labor ON JUNE 29 (the day I turn 37 weeks), I will not complain.
Why? SORRY, MOM, but I actually don't have a deep desire to go all the way to 40 weeks. If I do, THAT'S NEWBIE'S CALL, but there's nothing in me that "needs" to have a full-term full-term pregnancy. 37 weeks is full-term and CONSIDERING THAT EVERY ONE OF THE 30 POUNDS I HAVE GAINED is centered SOLELY on my tummy, I don't really need the bonus 2 pounds that Newbie would gain between weeks 37-40.
Dudes, I'm not about to be like, "So, it is just SO UNFORTUNATE that I haven't gained weight anywhere else! OMG, poor me! My feet haven't swelled up and my face hasn't gotten fat and my thighs look the same as they did before!" Because ALL OF THOSE THINGS HAPPENED WITH KIDDO, so I've BEEN THERE. It happens.
But it's NOT happening with Newbie. Literally all of my weight is centered around her, which means I have THAT STOMACH. And it means that by the end of the day, my body is so exhausted with carrying all that extra weight in one location that I have to support my tummy with a pillow, lie on my side, lean back to spread the weight out. It actually sucks a lot.
Not to mention the fact that I DIDN'T GET THE PREGNANCY BREASTS/BUTT. It's NOT FAIR! Last time I was fillin' out them jeans and had CLEAVAGE for the first time. Dude, I felt like a pregnant goddess. For the first time in my life, I felt FERTILE AND CURVY.
Now?
I look like a corny adolescent who (cue the sing-song) SWALLOWED A WATERMELON.
Ugh. Why do people even SAY that phrase? Like it's POSSIBLE? Or flattering? There was this chick at the thrift store who said it to me, and then told me that she looked exactly the same when she was pregnant, and "I went home from the hospital wearing a mini skirt. All the nurses hated me."
I was like, "Ummmm, A.) I don't even own a mini skirt, B.) I DEF would not be packing it to wear home, and C.) Trying to inspire jealousy in the nurses who brought you Colace and helped change your postpartum pads is JUST CRUEL."
So anyway, my tummy is massive and rocking, literally, all hours of the day since Newbie is A MOVER AND A SHAKER, and I can't wait to meet her. And have her rocking in my arms (as Kiddo says when I ask her, "What do you do with a baby?" and she says, "Hold her and rock her." It's precious. I only create precious children) and TAKE A LOAD OFF!
I'm in week 35, which was the week that Kiddo was born. I genuinely hope that Newbie does not decide to show up this week, or really next week either, but I can guaran-damn-tee you that if she happens to shoot out those hormones to activate labor ON JUNE 29 (the day I turn 37 weeks), I will not complain.
Why? SORRY, MOM, but I actually don't have a deep desire to go all the way to 40 weeks. If I do, THAT'S NEWBIE'S CALL, but there's nothing in me that "needs" to have a full-term full-term pregnancy. 37 weeks is full-term and CONSIDERING THAT EVERY ONE OF THE 30 POUNDS I HAVE GAINED is centered SOLELY on my tummy, I don't really need the bonus 2 pounds that Newbie would gain between weeks 37-40.
Dudes, I'm not about to be like, "So, it is just SO UNFORTUNATE that I haven't gained weight anywhere else! OMG, poor me! My feet haven't swelled up and my face hasn't gotten fat and my thighs look the same as they did before!" Because ALL OF THOSE THINGS HAPPENED WITH KIDDO, so I've BEEN THERE. It happens.
But it's NOT happening with Newbie. Literally all of my weight is centered around her, which means I have THAT STOMACH. And it means that by the end of the day, my body is so exhausted with carrying all that extra weight in one location that I have to support my tummy with a pillow, lie on my side, lean back to spread the weight out. It actually sucks a lot.
Not to mention the fact that I DIDN'T GET THE PREGNANCY BREASTS/BUTT. It's NOT FAIR! Last time I was fillin' out them jeans and had CLEAVAGE for the first time. Dude, I felt like a pregnant goddess. For the first time in my life, I felt FERTILE AND CURVY.
Now?
I look like a corny adolescent who (cue the sing-song) SWALLOWED A WATERMELON.
Ugh. Why do people even SAY that phrase? Like it's POSSIBLE? Or flattering? There was this chick at the thrift store who said it to me, and then told me that she looked exactly the same when she was pregnant, and "I went home from the hospital wearing a mini skirt. All the nurses hated me."
I was like, "Ummmm, A.) I don't even own a mini skirt, B.) I DEF would not be packing it to wear home, and C.) Trying to inspire jealousy in the nurses who brought you Colace and helped change your postpartum pads is JUST CRUEL."
So anyway, my tummy is massive and rocking, literally, all hours of the day since Newbie is A MOVER AND A SHAKER, and I can't wait to meet her. And have her rocking in my arms (as Kiddo says when I ask her, "What do you do with a baby?" and she says, "Hold her and rock her." It's precious. I only create precious children) and TAKE A LOAD OFF!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Macro-HELL
I'm not "preg-nausea" sick any more, but DUDE, you should have SEEN me at this time last week! Vee had to stay home from work for TWO DAYS because I couldn't handle life!
Why?
FUCKING MACROBID!
Do you know what Macrobid is? While I have ABSOLUTELY NO SHAME about saying that I had to go on an antibiotic for an EXTREMELY COMMON PREGNANCY-RELATED CONDITION that I have ONLY HAD ONE OTHER TIME BEFORE (when I was pregnant with Kiddo), I understand not everyone wants to know about, you know, THAT KIND OF STUFF. So if you want to know what it treats, CLICK HERE.
Hey, no one said it was easy on a girl. For what it's worth, I NEVER HAVE ANY SYMPTOMS, so I have doubted my diagnosis both times, but I made a night nurse double-check my folder and she claimed the bacteria was present and accounted for, so I took my meds.
Because of my acid reflux, I was like, "Dudes, can I get a liquid suspension instead of a pill?" because when I had to pill it back in '07, it was THE ROUGHEST TEN DAYS OF MY LIFE. I would seriously cry and gag twice a day when I had to take those horse suckers. I am a girl who chews Flintstones vitamins, ok? Not. Pill. Friendly. So they called one in, and when Vee came home with it, he told me, dazedly, that it cost $100. I was like A HUNDRED DOLLARS? Our co-pay is $10!
No, man, our co-pay is USUALLY $10 and can go as high as $100. When you're taking a medication that normally costs $550 out of pocket, I guess you should thank God for insurance. And besides, I was like I DESERVE IT! No pills for me!
The sucky thing was that I was supposed to drink 2 teaspoons of this neon yellow liquid FOUR times a day now. For seven days. Tevs, doggy, it was still better than choking down pills! It was flavored like a really sick "banana" and within 30 minutes of drinking it, my pee came out THE EXACT SAME NEON YELLOW. Didn't want to know that? DUDE, I'M PREGNANT! If the worst thing you're reading is that my pee was neon yellow, you are going to want to STAY AWAY as I get closer to delivery, because the birth story for Kiddo is going to be NOTHING in comparison to the detail you're going to get with Newbie.
So: neon yellow pee. Not the coolest side effect in the world, but not too bad, all things considered. I'm gulping down my doses dutifully through five and a half days, when I wake up feeling like my lungs are compressed, I have a cough, a headache, and all of my muscles feel like I just moved out of a second story apartment in Iowa City. Vee had already left for work, so I got Kiddo up and changed her diaper, and then immediately went to the bathroom.
WHERE I VOMITED.
Four times. NEON YELLOW. With Kiddo sobbing beside me as, between heaves, I tried to implore her to "go find Kitty, go find Elmo."
It was the most offensive thing in my life. I NEVER, NEVER vomited during my first pregnancy, and I had been SOLIDLY over my nausea for three weeks. I WAS FIFTEEN WEEKS ALONG! Too late to vomit for the first time! My first instinct was to blame the antibiotic. So I did. And got out the good old list of side effects, WHICH I WAS DISPLAYING (vomit, headache, muscle ache, lung compression). My call to the nurse hotline resulted in being told I needed to finish the course, which made me start crying.
Friends, I am not lying to you when I tell you this: within 30 minutes of the next nine doses, I felt my symptoms kick into full gear. As they would start to wear off after about 4-5 hours, it was time for another dose which started the cycle again.
I felt like I was dying. It was worse than my nausea by FAR. Vee stayed home from work those two days and DAMN GOOD THING because I couldn't function.
I took my final dose last Thursday at 11am. The next morning, I woke up with NO SYMPTOMS AND NO PAIN, and Googled Macrobid to find tons of hell-lists of similar-symptomed and pained individuals reporting their experience.
What do I say? STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MACROBID, especially if you're pregnant, and even if you've taken it before with no side effects. I took a ten day course back in 07 with no "problems" other than nausea and was five and a half days in before my hellstorm. THERE ARE OTHER DRUGS; TREAT IT ANOTHER WAY!
I know I will!
Why?
Do you know what Macrobid is? While I have ABSOLUTELY NO SHAME about saying that I had to go on an antibiotic for an EXTREMELY COMMON PREGNANCY-RELATED CONDITION that I have ONLY HAD ONE OTHER TIME BEFORE (when I was pregnant with Kiddo), I understand not everyone wants to know about, you know, THAT KIND OF STUFF. So if you want to know what it treats, CLICK HERE.
Hey, no one said it was easy on a girl. For what it's worth, I NEVER HAVE ANY SYMPTOMS, so I have doubted my diagnosis both times, but I made a night nurse double-check my folder and she claimed the bacteria was present and accounted for, so I took my meds.
Because of my acid reflux, I was like, "Dudes, can I get a liquid suspension instead of a pill?" because when I had to pill it back in '07, it was THE ROUGHEST TEN DAYS OF MY LIFE. I would seriously cry and gag twice a day when I had to take those horse suckers. I am a girl who chews Flintstones vitamins, ok? Not. Pill. Friendly. So they called one in, and when Vee came home with it, he told me, dazedly, that it cost $100. I was like A HUNDRED DOLLARS? Our co-pay is $10!
No, man, our co-pay is USUALLY $10 and can go as high as $100. When you're taking a medication that normally costs $550 out of pocket, I guess you should thank God for insurance. And besides, I was like I DESERVE IT! No pills for me!
The sucky thing was that I was supposed to drink 2 teaspoons of this neon yellow liquid FOUR times a day now. For seven days. Tevs, doggy, it was still better than choking down pills! It was flavored like a really sick "banana" and within 30 minutes of drinking it, my pee came out THE EXACT SAME NEON YELLOW. Didn't want to know that? DUDE, I'M PREGNANT! If the worst thing you're reading is that my pee was neon yellow, you are going to want to STAY AWAY as I get closer to delivery, because the birth story for Kiddo is going to be NOTHING in comparison to the detail you're going to get with Newbie.
So: neon yellow pee. Not the coolest side effect in the world, but not too bad, all things considered. I'm gulping down my doses dutifully through five and a half days, when I wake up feeling like my lungs are compressed, I have a cough, a headache, and all of my muscles feel like I just moved out of a second story apartment in Iowa City. Vee had already left for work, so I got Kiddo up and changed her diaper, and then immediately went to the bathroom.
WHERE I VOMITED.
Four times. NEON YELLOW. With Kiddo sobbing beside me as, between heaves, I tried to implore her to "go find Kitty, go find Elmo."
It was the most offensive thing in my life. I NEVER, NEVER vomited during my first pregnancy, and I had been SOLIDLY over my nausea for three weeks. I WAS FIFTEEN WEEKS ALONG! Too late to vomit for the first time! My first instinct was to blame the antibiotic. So I did. And got out the good old list of side effects, WHICH I WAS DISPLAYING (vomit, headache, muscle ache, lung compression). My call to the nurse hotline resulted in being told I needed to finish the course, which made me start crying.
Friends, I am not lying to you when I tell you this: within 30 minutes of the next nine doses, I felt my symptoms kick into full gear. As they would start to wear off after about 4-5 hours, it was time for another dose which started the cycle again.
I felt like I was dying. It was worse than my nausea by FAR. Vee stayed home from work those two days and DAMN GOOD THING because I couldn't function.
I took my final dose last Thursday at 11am. The next morning, I woke up with NO SYMPTOMS AND NO PAIN, and Googled Macrobid to find tons of hell-lists of similar-symptomed and pained individuals reporting their experience.
What do I say? STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MACROBID, especially if you're pregnant, and even if you've taken it before with no side effects. I took a ten day course back in 07 with no "problems" other than nausea and was five and a half days in before my hellstorm. THERE ARE OTHER DRUGS; TREAT IT ANOTHER WAY!
I know I will!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Can I Get a "Plus One"?
So I’ve been conspicuously silent. “Conspicuous?” you’re saying to yourself, “More like LAZY AND WITHOUT JUST CAUSE! Fie upon thee, fickle blogger!”
CONSPICUOUS, I say unto you!
For a REASON! Just cause! Why’s that?
Here’s a hint: I was NAUSEATED FOR SIX WEEKS STRAIGHT. And when I say STRAIGHT, I mean “Able to avoid feeling sick until within 10 minutes of Vee’s arrival home every work day, and then literally spending the evening staring into space, unable to comprehend doing anything as taxing as reading, watching TV, or eating.”
No, seriously, dude, I have never been smacked in the face with such STUPID nausea in my life. Not the morning after 8 red-cup-size servings of champagne at Shannon’s 21st birthday party (DUDE, IT WAS THE WORST HANGOVER IN THE WORLD! Wine hangovers are NOTHING compared to champagne hangovers!). Not when I crowed about avoiding the stomach flu sweeping UIowa the winter of ’03 only to REALIZE I DRUG IT HOME WITH ME FOR CHRISTMAS BREAK and spent the first four days home huddled under blankets in my old twin-size bed, freezing and sweating and vomming.
THIS NAUSEA! How could it be so CONTROLLED?! How could I COMMAND IT TO WAIT FOR VEE’S ARRIVAL yet be unable to COMMAND IT TO STOP?
It took me out of the game. And by “the game,” I mean the Life Game. You sad I wasn’t blogging? You didn’t see me in EVERYDAY LIFE. You think I was emailing ANYONE? You think I was calling ANYONE? You think Kiddo got to go ANYWHERE? Keep in mind this was during the HOLIDAZE. You think I was A GRACIOUS HOST at Thanksgiving or CHRISTMAS? I tried, but Vee had to step up his game and make sure everyone had, you know, enough toilet paper. I was busy spacing out on the couch and accepting pats of congratulations.
CONGRATULATIONS!
Because VEE AND I ARE EXPECTING KIDDOKABIDDO’S LITTLE SIBLING IN JULY!
Boom shaka-laka!
We’ve been telling people we know in real life as we see them, but today we finally got the superstitious good news of A HEARTBEAT!
Newbie was squirming like crazy in there and the little heart was cranking away healthily. And my body has def grown enough to accommodate him/her. HIM/HER. Reason 29 why we will probably find out this kiddo’s sex because I LIKE TO CALL MY CHILD BY NAME. And not IT-ify Newbie.
Come on, moms and dads, tell me about how you didn’t want to find out because “it’s the only true surprise you have in your life.” (direct quote from my mom, who bore us kids during the age when ULTRASOUNDS FOR SEX DID NOT EXIST)
I was once like you. No, I mean REALLY, I WAS ONCE LIKE YOU. I was SO SASSY and RIDICULOUSLY CONFIDENT that I felt SORRY for people who did find out. I was like, “Dude, it is totally like sneaking a look at your Christmas presents ahead of time. RUIN YOUR OWN SURPRISE, but I ain’t peekin!” And then I got pregnant with Kiddo. And I wanted to know who I was talking to.
But ANYWAY! TOTAL DIGRESSION since we’re not even ON THAT for another 6 weeks.
The point is: I’m pregnant. In my second trimester. And no longer nauseated every day. And now YOU know why I’ve been quiet on the blog front.
CONSPICUOUS, I say unto you!
For a REASON! Just cause! Why’s that?
Here’s a hint: I was NAUSEATED FOR SIX WEEKS STRAIGHT. And when I say STRAIGHT, I mean “Able to avoid feeling sick until within 10 minutes of Vee’s arrival home every work day, and then literally spending the evening staring into space, unable to comprehend doing anything as taxing as reading, watching TV, or eating.”
No, seriously, dude, I have never been smacked in the face with such STUPID nausea in my life. Not the morning after 8 red-cup-size servings of champagne at Shannon’s 21st birthday party (DUDE, IT WAS THE WORST HANGOVER IN THE WORLD! Wine hangovers are NOTHING compared to champagne hangovers!). Not when I crowed about avoiding the stomach flu sweeping UIowa the winter of ’03 only to REALIZE I DRUG IT HOME WITH ME FOR CHRISTMAS BREAK and spent the first four days home huddled under blankets in my old twin-size bed, freezing and sweating and vomming.
THIS NAUSEA! How could it be so CONTROLLED?! How could I COMMAND IT TO WAIT FOR VEE’S ARRIVAL yet be unable to COMMAND IT TO STOP?
It took me out of the game. And by “the game,” I mean the Life Game. You sad I wasn’t blogging? You didn’t see me in EVERYDAY LIFE. You think I was emailing ANYONE? You think I was calling ANYONE? You think Kiddo got to go ANYWHERE? Keep in mind this was during the HOLIDAZE. You think I was A GRACIOUS HOST at Thanksgiving or CHRISTMAS? I tried, but Vee had to step up his game and make sure everyone had, you know, enough toilet paper. I was busy spacing out on the couch and accepting pats of congratulations.
CONGRATULATIONS!
Because VEE AND I ARE EXPECTING KIDDOKABIDDO’S LITTLE SIBLING IN JULY!
Boom shaka-laka!
We’ve been telling people we know in real life as we see them, but today we finally got the superstitious good news of A HEARTBEAT!
Newbie was squirming like crazy in there and the little heart was cranking away healthily. And my body has def grown enough to accommodate him/her. HIM/HER. Reason 29 why we will probably find out this kiddo’s sex because I LIKE TO CALL MY CHILD BY NAME. And not IT-ify Newbie.
Come on, moms and dads, tell me about how you didn’t want to find out because “it’s the only true surprise you have in your life.” (direct quote from my mom, who bore us kids during the age when ULTRASOUNDS FOR SEX DID NOT EXIST)
I was once like you. No, I mean REALLY, I WAS ONCE LIKE YOU. I was SO SASSY and RIDICULOUSLY CONFIDENT that I felt SORRY for people who did find out. I was like, “Dude, it is totally like sneaking a look at your Christmas presents ahead of time. RUIN YOUR OWN SURPRISE, but I ain’t peekin!” And then I got pregnant with Kiddo. And I wanted to know who I was talking to.
But ANYWAY! TOTAL DIGRESSION since we’re not even ON THAT for another 6 weeks.
The point is: I’m pregnant. In my second trimester. And no longer nauseated every day. And now YOU know why I’ve been quiet on the blog front.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Snowed In
SORRY! SORRY! I'm buried under a world of final exams (my busy time at work), holiday prep and post, and, well, literally under snow.
10-12" shut our city down for two straight days. No, really. I went to the post office with the Kid on Monday around noon and I just got back from my first excursion since. Which was to the grocery store.
We got blizzard-blasted with massive gusts of wind. I LOVE YOU, PRAIRIE! No, really, I DO! It was like being on the moon when I looked outside. All around our shed, the wind had blown all of that snow OFF THE GROUND so you could see huge swathes of grass. But our porch?
BOOM! Taller than the Kid!
So we've been hiding out in the house and quietly going insane. It's not like I am out and arout that often, but NOT BEING ABLE TO LEAVE is maddening. Plus Vee was home with us both days, and our moroseness fed each other's discontent. But the Kiddo was DELIGHTED to have Daddy home!
So maybe there is some component of fate working in my life, because our fridge/freezer decided last night to stop, uh, fridging and freezing our food. Which REALLY sucks, because we just got a shipment of Omaha steaks & stuff from Vee's parents. YEE-IKES!
Always resourceful and EVER MINDFUL OF OUR SURROUNDINGS, I stuffed the goods OUTSIDE IN OUR SNOWBANK and our new fridge/freezer is serving us well. Which is a good thing since WE'RE NOT GETTING SOMEONE OUT HERE TO LOOK AT IT UNTIL WEDNESDAY. Like SIX DAYS FROM NOW Wednesday.
I love negative temperatures!
10-12" shut our city down for two straight days. No, really. I went to the post office with the Kid on Monday around noon and I just got back from my first excursion since. Which was to the grocery store.
We got blizzard-blasted with massive gusts of wind. I LOVE YOU, PRAIRIE! No, really, I DO! It was like being on the moon when I looked outside. All around our shed, the wind had blown all of that snow OFF THE GROUND so you could see huge swathes of grass. But our porch?
BOOM! Taller than the Kid!
So we've been hiding out in the house and quietly going insane. It's not like I am out and arout that often, but NOT BEING ABLE TO LEAVE is maddening. Plus Vee was home with us both days, and our moroseness fed each other's discontent. But the Kiddo was DELIGHTED to have Daddy home!
So maybe there is some component of fate working in my life, because our fridge/freezer decided last night to stop, uh, fridging and freezing our food. Which REALLY sucks, because we just got a shipment of Omaha steaks & stuff from Vee's parents. YEE-IKES!
Always resourceful and EVER MINDFUL OF OUR SURROUNDINGS, I stuffed the goods OUTSIDE IN OUR SNOWBANK and our new fridge/freezer is serving us well. Which is a good thing since WE'RE NOT GETTING SOMEONE OUT HERE TO LOOK AT IT UNTIL WEDNESDAY. Like SIX DAYS FROM NOW Wednesday.
I love negative temperatures!
Monday, November 23, 2009
Mooning! Mooning!
(SPOILERS AHEAD!)
Who saw Twilight: New Moon this weekend?
ME!
I went to the new CINEDINE experience in town, which was terribly exciting. Cine! And Dine! The noon showing of New Moon didn't have the option to get regular seating, and since I wasn't really interested in the whole VIP-Reserved section (which is where you can have COCKTAILS) since it was, uh, noon, I opted for the Cinedine seats.
Which were OK, you know. The part that blew my mind the most was the fact that you get ASSIGNED SEATS! Assigned seats! In a movie theater! And I was pretty grateful since I didn't want to have to fend off Twi-teens who were waiting there since last year. But I wound up sitting next to some anyway.
The chow was ok (I tried some SW quesadillas or something, and they were tevs city), but the dude delivering the food SPILLED MY FRIEND'S DRINK ALL OVER and so we missed the whole opening credits/scene since they were apologizing left, right, and center and mopping up that Coke.
But it was fine--it's not like I needed to see the dumb grandma-dream-sequence anyway.
The corniness:
The goodness:
And you should have heard the ladies in the VIP-Reserved section swoon when Jacob took his shirt off to help staunch Bella's blood.
SEVENTEEN OR NOT, Taylor Lautner has GOT IT!
So, I'm not, like, the HUGEST Twilighter in the world, but I enjoyed myself. And I am REALLY anxious for Eclipse now since the whole "Will Edward be with Bella?" thing has been answered, so Rob Pattinson can drop the whole pained-expression-that-constitutes-most-of-his-scenes and just be confident and hot as Edward.
Did you see it? Are you going to see it? DO YOU CARE?
Who saw Twilight: New Moon this weekend?
ME!
I went to the new CINEDINE experience in town, which was terribly exciting. Cine! And Dine! The noon showing of New Moon didn't have the option to get regular seating, and since I wasn't really interested in the whole VIP-Reserved section (which is where you can have COCKTAILS) since it was, uh, noon, I opted for the Cinedine seats.
Which were OK, you know. The part that blew my mind the most was the fact that you get ASSIGNED SEATS! Assigned seats! In a movie theater! And I was pretty grateful since I didn't want to have to fend off Twi-teens who were waiting there since last year. But I wound up sitting next to some anyway.
The chow was ok (I tried some SW quesadillas or something, and they were tevs city), but the dude delivering the food SPILLED MY FRIEND'S DRINK ALL OVER and so we missed the whole opening credits/scene since they were apologizing left, right, and center and mopping up that Coke.
But it was fine--it's not like I needed to see the dumb grandma-dream-sequence anyway.
The corniness:
- Bella + Edward "running through the forest joyfully once Bella gets changed" in Alice's premonition (omFg, the theater broke out laughing because IT WAS SO DUMB!)
- The gratuituous airbrushed-lower-pelvis shot of Edward before he was going to expose his skin to the sunlight (DUDE, for REAL, we all saw you wearing pants and they were NOT SLUNG THAT LOW! I mean, I can appreciate a good mostly-nude-abdomen-shot as much as the next girl, but NOT WHEN IT WAS OBVIOUSLY FAUXED FOR THE SHOCK EFFECT)
- Well, basically every time Kristen Stewart spoke as Bella. I know SHE'S CONFLICTED AND ALL, but I am sooooooooo sick of hearing every.single.sentence split into. Two dramatic halves.
The goodness:
- The fact that Kristen Stewart's "Can I just ask for one thing....kiss me?" eyebrow lift was not as noticeable as it was in the trailers (omG, can I shoot her in the face yet? THE DUMBEST ACTING EVER! And we're stuck with her for 2 more movies!)
- Edward's wardrobe stylist. Good GOD, I LOVE YOU! WHY COULDN'T EVERY 17 YEAR OLD BOY DRESS AS HOT AS EDWARD WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL!
- Every time Jacob was on screen. HE IS A GOOD ACTOR, Y'ALL, not just a hot 17-year-old. And I'm not even INTO muscles.
And you should have heard the ladies in the VIP-Reserved section swoon when Jacob took his shirt off to help staunch Bella's blood.
SEVENTEEN OR NOT, Taylor Lautner has GOT IT!
So, I'm not, like, the HUGEST Twilighter in the world, but I enjoyed myself. And I am REALLY anxious for Eclipse now since the whole "Will Edward be with Bella?" thing has been answered, so Rob Pattinson can drop the whole pained-expression-that-constitutes-most-of-his-scenes and just be confident and hot as Edward.
Did you see it? Are you going to see it? DO YOU CARE?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
A Window Into The Future
Thank God I have a Pie Challenge to keep me trudging through these weeks. I brought the pear pie up to MN last weekend and my rentinos, bro, and sister all chowed down on the dankness.
What was up this week?
Vanilla Cream Pie, the simplest thing in the world. Well, flavor-wise. All it is is a bunch of milk, butter, egg yolks, and vanilla. In a ho-made graham cracker crust. With ho-made whipped cream on top.
MMMMMMM.
Vee and I had a piece with dinner last night, and then I had a piece for breakfast today. And a piece for snack. And a piece for dessert.
Hey, it's a 48-hours-til-starts-sucking special, so I had to get INVOLVED because no one wants that going to waste!
In other mwomdom news, we got some new windows installed in our living room. Yeah, yeah, yeah--it's not like we're in an ancient house where the sills leak frost all winter long, or where the sash is stuck to the frame and GOOD LUCK lifting that ancient rope-filled window channel (real things I lived with the first time we lived here).
But it was like this: I couldn't open our windows without fear of The Kid pushing through the screen and going kersplat on the cement patio below. And when we took off the blinds so that the window dudes could begin work, and The Kid almost busted out the indoor screen (why was the screen on the INSIDE of the windows? Who thought that was a good idea?), I knew it was ALL WORTH IT.
Besides, dogs, TAX INCENTIVES! I can't bring home the good times like last year's first-time-homebuyer tax credit, but I can get my piece of the Obama pie and get 30% of my new energy-efficient window costs plopped right back on my tax return!
Why am I not doing a pictorial? Because, in essence, they look exactly the same. Except now I can harness the prairie wind shoving at our west walls in the summer and BRING IT IN!
Also, now I can clean them since they TILT IN AND CAN BE WASHED! By hand! Not by awkwardly spraying them with the hose (minus hose nozzle, of course, because we cheaped out and bought the jank one for $1.49 and of course that shiz broke so I was creating a "spray" by doing the old thumb-over-the-nozzle routine), soaping them up on a stepladder which didn't allow me to reach to the top of the windows, and then try to spray it all down. Wiping them with a towel? Dream on.
I can't wait for spring cleaning time, y'all. I am going to be blastin some V.M. while the wind tunnel dries them naturally!
What was up this week?
Vanilla Cream Pie, the simplest thing in the world. Well, flavor-wise. All it is is a bunch of milk, butter, egg yolks, and vanilla. In a ho-made graham cracker crust. With ho-made whipped cream on top.
MMMMMMM.
Vee and I had a piece with dinner last night, and then I had a piece for breakfast today. And a piece for snack. And a piece for dessert.
Hey, it's a 48-hours-til-starts-sucking special, so I had to get INVOLVED because no one wants that going to waste!
In other mwomdom news, we got some new windows installed in our living room. Yeah, yeah, yeah--it's not like we're in an ancient house where the sills leak frost all winter long, or where the sash is stuck to the frame and GOOD LUCK lifting that ancient rope-filled window channel (real things I lived with the first time we lived here).
But it was like this: I couldn't open our windows without fear of The Kid pushing through the screen and going kersplat on the cement patio below. And when we took off the blinds so that the window dudes could begin work, and The Kid almost busted out the indoor screen (why was the screen on the INSIDE of the windows? Who thought that was a good idea?), I knew it was ALL WORTH IT.
Besides, dogs, TAX INCENTIVES! I can't bring home the good times like last year's first-time-homebuyer tax credit, but I can get my piece of the Obama pie and get 30% of my new energy-efficient window costs plopped right back on my tax return!
Why am I not doing a pictorial? Because, in essence, they look exactly the same. Except now I can harness the prairie wind shoving at our west walls in the summer and BRING IT IN!
Also, now I can clean them since they TILT IN AND CAN BE WASHED! By hand! Not by awkwardly spraying them with the hose (minus hose nozzle, of course, because we cheaped out and bought the jank one for $1.49 and of course that shiz broke so I was creating a "spray" by doing the old thumb-over-the-nozzle routine), soaping them up on a stepladder which didn't allow me to reach to the top of the windows, and then try to spray it all down. Wiping them with a towel? Dream on.
I can't wait for spring cleaning time, y'all. I am going to be blastin some V.M. while the wind tunnel dries them naturally!
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I Love This American Pride
I might have forgotten about blogging, but I didn't forget about MY PIE CHALLENGE! And thanks for all the suggestions, guys--I might try one of those sour cream guys out...WHEN I LOSE MY AVERSION TO SOUR CREAM! No, seriously, I think I can handle it once it's cooked.
So what did I bake this week?
Streusel-Topped Pear Pie with Walnut Crust!
This sucker has been sticky-tagged in my pie book for awhile, and I'd been meaning to get around to making it, but the Nutty Pie Crust always stopped me.
EXCEPT NOW I AM A PIE-CRUST-MAKER AND WAS UNAFRAID!
Seriously, some people might think I am pretty brave for having a baby. Or buying a house. Even though I think neither of those things take "bravery" so much as WILLINGNESS TO DO WITHOUT in order to DO WITH, but I commend myself on my own damn BRAVERY to start making my own pie crust.
My God, in how many posts have I bragged about this miraculous feat yet? I need to shut the hell up--my pioneer forbears on the prairie would have laughed their faces off if I tried to tell them how I am awesome for making my own pie crust. I think DUDES used to know how to make pie crust (well, OBV Ken Haedrich knows, but seriously--like farmplow Laura Ingalls Wilder dad style).
But I'm really anxious to eat this goodie!
In a split post, now--some bloggers might have the style to do two separate posts, but I'm not going to lie to myself and you and make it look like I'm posting more often than I am: TWO THOUGHTS, ONE DAY, I CAN COMBINE THEM TOGETHER--I need to know if you have heard the Toby Keith song "American Ride."
You haven't?
What, is your radio dial not set to US93.3? You don't have one of them old-timey radio-things, you iPodder?
Well, feast your eyes on this ill-capitalized knockoff, because I need you to know these lyrics:
"Lithamus, America's town?" You mean "infamous America's town?" But anyway.
I need you to know them because I am SO disappointed that the song is not called "American PRIDE," which is what I originally thought it was. I was actually INTERESTED in the song when I thought it was about our American Pride, and I was impressed at old Keith for singing so mockingly about the things we have undue and unjustified pride over.
Not the case. American RIDE.
Come ON, TOBY!!! Why did I expect better from the man who lets his id loose during "She's a Hottie?"
So what did I bake this week?
Streusel-Topped Pear Pie with Walnut Crust!
This sucker has been sticky-tagged in my pie book for awhile, and I'd been meaning to get around to making it, but the Nutty Pie Crust always stopped me.
EXCEPT NOW I AM A PIE-CRUST-MAKER AND WAS UNAFRAID!
Seriously, some people might think I am pretty brave for having a baby. Or buying a house. Even though I think neither of those things take "bravery" so much as WILLINGNESS TO DO WITHOUT in order to DO WITH, but I commend myself on my own damn BRAVERY to start making my own pie crust.
My God, in how many posts have I bragged about this miraculous feat yet? I need to shut the hell up--my pioneer forbears on the prairie would have laughed their faces off if I tried to tell them how I am awesome for making my own pie crust. I think DUDES used to know how to make pie crust (well, OBV Ken Haedrich knows, but seriously--like farmplow Laura Ingalls Wilder dad style).
But I'm really anxious to eat this goodie!
In a split post, now--some bloggers might have the style to do two separate posts, but I'm not going to lie to myself and you and make it look like I'm posting more often than I am: TWO THOUGHTS, ONE DAY, I CAN COMBINE THEM TOGETHER--I need to know if you have heard the Toby Keith song "American Ride."
You haven't?
What, is your radio dial not set to US93.3? You don't have one of them old-timey radio-things, you iPodder?
Well, feast your eyes on this ill-capitalized knockoff, because I need you to know these lyrics:
"Lithamus, America's town?" You mean "infamous America's town?" But anyway.
I need you to know them because I am SO disappointed that the song is not called "American PRIDE," which is what I originally thought it was. I was actually INTERESTED in the song when I thought it was about our American Pride, and I was impressed at old Keith for singing so mockingly about the things we have undue and unjustified pride over.
Not the case. American RIDE.
Come ON, TOBY!!! Why did I expect better from the man who lets his id loose during "She's a Hottie?"
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
P to the I to the YEP YEP YEP
My new thing is pies.
All right, all right, if you know me, you know that pies aren't exactly my "new" thing. I already sang the praises of Ken Haedrich and I've been rockin' around the clock every fall since '07, living it up with my cookbook.
But my NEW new thing about my pie book is that I am CHALLENGING MYSELF (even more than making my own pie crust, which BTW, can I even tell you how much danker my pies are now that I make my own crust? It's like the easiest thing in the world when you make it with a mixer, and it tastes 2,000,000 times better) TO A PIE MAKE-OFF.
Which is to say, I am making NEW PIES THAT I HAVE NOT YET TRIED for the next four weeks, at least, leading up to the great Pie-a-Thon that is Thanksgiving.
So today I made the first "new pie," which is called Tarte de Sucre (Sugar Pie). Getting back to my French-Canadian roots, y'all! (Did you know I am part French-Canadian? Thanks to my gramma!) It's basically a layer of crumble, topped with MAPLE SYRUP, and topped again with crumble, which makes a most appetizing and very baklava-tasting treat.
Want to see?
BAM! SUGAR PIE!
What's your favorite kind of pie? WRITE IN AND I MIGHT MAKE IT.
All right, all right, if you know me, you know that pies aren't exactly my "new" thing. I already sang the praises of Ken Haedrich and I've been rockin' around the clock every fall since '07, living it up with my cookbook.
But my NEW new thing about my pie book is that I am CHALLENGING MYSELF (even more than making my own pie crust, which BTW, can I even tell you how much danker my pies are now that I make my own crust? It's like the easiest thing in the world when you make it with a mixer, and it tastes 2,000,000 times better) TO A PIE MAKE-OFF.
Which is to say, I am making NEW PIES THAT I HAVE NOT YET TRIED for the next four weeks, at least, leading up to the great Pie-a-Thon that is Thanksgiving.
So today I made the first "new pie," which is called Tarte de Sucre (Sugar Pie). Getting back to my French-Canadian roots, y'all! (Did you know I am part French-Canadian? Thanks to my gramma!) It's basically a layer of crumble, topped with MAPLE SYRUP, and topped again with crumble, which makes a most appetizing and very baklava-tasting treat.
Want to see?
BAM! SUGAR PIE!
What's your favorite kind of pie? WRITE IN AND I MIGHT MAKE IT.
Friday, October 23, 2009
I'm Weird 'Cause I Hate Goodbyes!
Vee has a pleasure which he SHOULD feel guilty about, which is listening to the pop-rock/"alterna"/whatever the hell they're calling major label music these days station. More often than not, he can only listen to it when the Kid is asleep or when he's driving around on his own, because DUDE! SORRY, but have you HEARD any songs recently? I do NOT need the Kid listening to "LOL :)" which is one of the more horrifying things I have ever heard, especially with the "I love Fisher Price!" intro which just makes it INSANELY offensive.
But you know, they're not all OFFENSIVE. Well, not in the traditional sense of the word, because MY EMOTIONAL CAPACITY is offended by the twee-ness of one of Vee's favorite songs: "Fireflies" by Owl City.
A.) OWL CITY? Twee name! A city populated by owls! Soooooooo KEY-UTE!
B.) The dude's delivery of words is so riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-diculous, gulping and spitting the words like he can't believe he's getting to sing in front of a microphone, and like if he sings like a kid, maybe we will all exclaim "HOW PRECIOUS!"
C.) The song is all about how FIREFLIES ARE ALL AROUND HIS ROOM and they are only there when he's asleep. ADORABLE!
D.) God, how can I even do this without dissing every lyric? "I'd get a thousand hugs from ten thousand lightning bugs." HUGS FROM BUGS! YOU CUTIE! OMFG! "They tried to teach me how to dance, a foxtrot above my head." AS IF ANYONE 23 YEARS OLD KNOWS SHIT ABOUT FOXTROTTING. Owl City Dude, unless you went to COTILLION when you were in OWATONNA, MN, I can guaran-damn-tee you that you don't know a foxtrot from anything other than 'Dancing with the Stars' and your desire to reference something arcane is SO DUMB!
E.) Seriously. "I'm weird 'cause I hate goodbyes." Dude, WHO DO YOU THINK YOUR TARGET AUDIENCE IS? I know you're singing to teens crying in their bedrooms, but FOR. REAL. Does anyone really believe they're WEIRD if they HATE GOODBYES?
It's been awhile since I did a hate-filled screed about pop culture, but I canNOT control myself when I hear this song! I want to abandon all hope when I imagine the pop culture rising up to meet the twee demands of this generation!
And then I remember all the high school nights I spent listening to preemo like "Everything I Said" by the Cranberries and "You Look So Fine" by Garbage, and I figure if high schoolers corn out by getting cute with fireflies, it's got to be better than THAT!
But you know, they're not all OFFENSIVE. Well, not in the traditional sense of the word, because MY EMOTIONAL CAPACITY is offended by the twee-ness of one of Vee's favorite songs: "Fireflies" by Owl City.
A.) OWL CITY? Twee name! A city populated by owls! Soooooooo KEY-UTE!
B.) The dude's delivery of words is so riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-diculous, gulping and spitting the words like he can't believe he's getting to sing in front of a microphone, and like if he sings like a kid, maybe we will all exclaim "HOW PRECIOUS!"
C.) The song is all about how FIREFLIES ARE ALL AROUND HIS ROOM and they are only there when he's asleep. ADORABLE!
D.) God, how can I even do this without dissing every lyric? "I'd get a thousand hugs from ten thousand lightning bugs." HUGS FROM BUGS! YOU CUTIE! OMFG! "They tried to teach me how to dance, a foxtrot above my head." AS IF ANYONE 23 YEARS OLD KNOWS SHIT ABOUT FOXTROTTING. Owl City Dude, unless you went to COTILLION when you were in OWATONNA, MN, I can guaran-damn-tee you that you don't know a foxtrot from anything other than 'Dancing with the Stars' and your desire to reference something arcane is SO DUMB!
E.) Seriously. "I'm weird 'cause I hate goodbyes." Dude, WHO DO YOU THINK YOUR TARGET AUDIENCE IS? I know you're singing to teens crying in their bedrooms, but FOR. REAL. Does anyone really believe they're WEIRD if they HATE GOODBYES?
It's been awhile since I did a hate-filled screed about pop culture, but I canNOT control myself when I hear this song! I want to abandon all hope when I imagine the pop culture rising up to meet the twee demands of this generation!
And then I remember all the high school nights I spent listening to preemo like "Everything I Said" by the Cranberries and "You Look So Fine" by Garbage, and I figure if high schoolers corn out by getting cute with fireflies, it's got to be better than THAT!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Reflux Redux
So it's like this: about two weeks ago, after returning from the Wedding of My Best Friend, I drove my ass to the emergency room because I had the second episode in three months where I felt like I was choking, except I could breathe and, oh yeah, this time, I HADN'T BEEN EATING ANYTHING.
It's a terrifying feeling, y'all, to have your esophagus spaz out on you. Which is, in the end, what it was. An esophageal spasm.
The ER dr referred me back to my regular dr, who referred me into a GI specialist for AN EGD. You know what an EGD is? Sticking a camera on the end of a long tube down your throat and checking out the goods.
I went in on Monday for my EGD, which was insane since I have never in my life had "surgery." Ok, I had wisdom teeth removed, but I wasn't even knocked out for it--I had the laughing gas in a tube in my nose, but since I was panic-breathing through my mouth, I didn't really get any of it and I can vividly and distinctly remember the feeling of having my teeth lifted out of my jaw. Horrifying.
I was weirding out at the thought of being knocked out. Vee came with me to be my chauffeur post-EGD since I would be "going under." The nurse informed me I was going to get Demerol (to which ALL I COULD THINK WAS MJ! MJ!) and then a "mild amnesiac." Why was I getting an amnesiac if I was already going to be knocked out? What was I supposed to NOT remember, getting the Demerol? Cause I DO! It was SO. WEIRD! I was laying on my side, IV stuck in my right hand, and the GI doctor informed me that he was putting the Demerol in. I remember looking at the wall, looking at the wall, and then BOOM! The next memory is a slippery-slidey one where I was back in the main room, Vee by my side, and the IV was out.
Apparently I looked at the GI doctor as he explained that he didn't see anything, but I don't remember that. The rest of the day I kept forgetting things and then Vee would exclaim, "Amnesia!" and I would get mad because I could remember SOME things.
Luckily, my EGD coincided with a visit from MY BROTHER, who is finally home from his Korean Year and the Mediterranean Adventure of Two Months, so he helped watch the Kid since Vee had to get back to work.
We waited and waited for the results of my EGD, since dude took a biopsy of some tissue matter in my throat to check for this thing called eosinophilic esophagitis (but if you're cool, you call it EE). EE basically looks like GERD and presents like GERD but is actually food-allergy triggered. I didn't care WHAT it was, as long as I got my body back to normal. But DUDE, it wasn't even EE.
One ER visit, one dr referral visit, and one EGD later, and guess what, y'all?
It was "acid reflux."
Yeah, just good old DUMB OLD I ALREADY KNEW THAT acid reflux.
So I'm Prevaciding for three months to see if I can get it under control, and we'll go from there.
I feel like I am constantly complaining of obscure and requiring-multiple-tests pain, and then it winds up looking like I am an insane hypochondriac when they find, essentially, nothing. I'M NOT MAKING THIS SHIZ UP, but it looks like I am a refluxer, and a carry-my-stress-in-my-chest-cavity sufferer, and, honestly, I'm grateful it's just that.
It's a terrifying feeling, y'all, to have your esophagus spaz out on you. Which is, in the end, what it was. An esophageal spasm.
The ER dr referred me back to my regular dr, who referred me into a GI specialist for AN EGD. You know what an EGD is? Sticking a camera on the end of a long tube down your throat and checking out the goods.
I went in on Monday for my EGD, which was insane since I have never in my life had "surgery." Ok, I had wisdom teeth removed, but I wasn't even knocked out for it--I had the laughing gas in a tube in my nose, but since I was panic-breathing through my mouth, I didn't really get any of it and I can vividly and distinctly remember the feeling of having my teeth lifted out of my jaw. Horrifying.
I was weirding out at the thought of being knocked out. Vee came with me to be my chauffeur post-EGD since I would be "going under." The nurse informed me I was going to get Demerol (to which ALL I COULD THINK WAS MJ! MJ!) and then a "mild amnesiac." Why was I getting an amnesiac if I was already going to be knocked out? What was I supposed to NOT remember, getting the Demerol? Cause I DO! It was SO. WEIRD! I was laying on my side, IV stuck in my right hand, and the GI doctor informed me that he was putting the Demerol in. I remember looking at the wall, looking at the wall, and then BOOM! The next memory is a slippery-slidey one where I was back in the main room, Vee by my side, and the IV was out.
Apparently I looked at the GI doctor as he explained that he didn't see anything, but I don't remember that. The rest of the day I kept forgetting things and then Vee would exclaim, "Amnesia!" and I would get mad because I could remember SOME things.
Luckily, my EGD coincided with a visit from MY BROTHER, who is finally home from his Korean Year and the Mediterranean Adventure of Two Months, so he helped watch the Kid since Vee had to get back to work.
We waited and waited for the results of my EGD, since dude took a biopsy of some tissue matter in my throat to check for this thing called eosinophilic esophagitis (but if you're cool, you call it EE). EE basically looks like GERD and presents like GERD but is actually food-allergy triggered. I didn't care WHAT it was, as long as I got my body back to normal. But DUDE, it wasn't even EE.
One ER visit, one dr referral visit, and one EGD later, and guess what, y'all?
It was "acid reflux."
Yeah, just good old DUMB OLD I ALREADY KNEW THAT acid reflux.
So I'm Prevaciding for three months to see if I can get it under control, and we'll go from there.
I feel like I am constantly complaining of obscure and requiring-multiple-tests pain, and then it winds up looking like I am an insane hypochondriac when they find, essentially, nothing. I'M NOT MAKING THIS SHIZ UP, but it looks like I am a refluxer, and a carry-my-stress-in-my-chest-cavity sufferer, and, honestly, I'm grateful it's just that.
Friday, October 16, 2009
a change of plans
It's been bazonkaronk all morning at my house. The Kid was up at 7:20am and just went down for her nap at 12:30. She's been getting up at the luxurious hour of 9:30 for the last four days, so NEEDLESS TO SAY, I was pissed.
Is it even worth mentioning that I really HAD promised myself last night that I was going to get up earlier than her, like at 7:30 or something, and DO something with my morning, like watch the morning light creep in while slowly sipping on some green tea?
Does anybody really believe anyone any more when they claim they were GOING to do something and then, WHOOPS! They were conveniently unable to do so any more!
I'm so much more sympathetic these days with changes of plans and all since, IF NOTHING ELSE, having a toddler means your daily plans change, uh, every day. I am also getting mwomy because all the corny aphorisms of "being a mom" are there FOR A REASON. BECAUSE THEY HAPPEN.
"Get ready for no more free time"
"You will not realize how much love you have to give until you have a child"
(awww)
When I was thrift-shopping earlier this week, I found an embroidered wall hanging with the phrase that you've probably heard before; I know I HAD, since my mom had an identical one hanging up in our house as long as I can remember:
I hope when my children look back on today
They remember a mother who had time to play
There will be years for cleaning and cooking
But children grow up when we're not looking
I mean, I'd probably edit mine to say, "There will be years for web-surfing and novel reading," since those are the two things I always find myself guiltiest of letting the Kid do "free play" so I can otherwise occupy myself, but IT'S TRUE! THE APHORISMS ARE TRUE!
She interrupted me all morning by shrieking "Rees! Rees!" and shoving the SAME Elmo book at me until I pulled her up on my lap and, yes, read it to her again, but I found that I kept burrowing my nose into her hair and kissing her head between pages because goshdarnit, I love that Kid!
Library time when you get up from that nap, Kiddo!
Is it even worth mentioning that I really HAD promised myself last night that I was going to get up earlier than her, like at 7:30 or something, and DO something with my morning, like watch the morning light creep in while slowly sipping on some green tea?
Does anybody really believe anyone any more when they claim they were GOING to do something and then, WHOOPS! They were conveniently unable to do so any more!
I'm so much more sympathetic these days with changes of plans and all since, IF NOTHING ELSE, having a toddler means your daily plans change, uh, every day. I am also getting mwomy because all the corny aphorisms of "being a mom" are there FOR A REASON. BECAUSE THEY HAPPEN.
"Get ready for no more free time"
"You will not realize how much love you have to give until you have a child"
(awww)
When I was thrift-shopping earlier this week, I found an embroidered wall hanging with the phrase that you've probably heard before; I know I HAD, since my mom had an identical one hanging up in our house as long as I can remember:
I hope when my children look back on today
They remember a mother who had time to play
There will be years for cleaning and cooking
But children grow up when we're not looking
I mean, I'd probably edit mine to say, "There will be years for web-surfing and novel reading," since those are the two things I always find myself guiltiest of letting the Kid do "free play" so I can otherwise occupy myself, but IT'S TRUE! THE APHORISMS ARE TRUE!
She interrupted me all morning by shrieking "Rees! Rees!" and shoving the SAME Elmo book at me until I pulled her up on my lap and, yes, read it to her again, but I found that I kept burrowing my nose into her hair and kissing her head between pages because goshdarnit, I love that Kid!
Library time when you get up from that nap, Kiddo!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Top 100
It's only unbelievable to me, especially since I was on a every-day, then every-other-day, then every-OTHER-other-day writing routine for the first couple of months, which should have gotten me here by month 3, but I'm finally on POST 100 for evadingmwom.
100 blog posts! 100 different (or not so different) things to say over the last nine and a half months. Geez, in that time I could have gotten pregnant and had a baby, right? (Good Lord, is it only moms who instantaneously think in terms of conception-and-childbirth when you see the number "nine months?")
It's amazing that I'm on blog 100 because I can't believe I'm ONLY on blog 100. Guys, I'm SORRY, truly, because I seriously have a moment every day (no, really, EVERY DAY) where I think "Wow, I've got to blog about that." And then I'm doing laundry, or I'm collapsing in front of "Real Housewives of Atlanta," or I'm running to Thrift America to scout for PGV, or I'm returning my mom's phone call, or I'm squeezing in my work during the Kid's nap, and the day passes me by and I've skipped again.
Things I wanted to blog about but don't have the time:
100 blog posts! 100 different (or not so different) things to say over the last nine and a half months. Geez, in that time I could have gotten pregnant and had a baby, right? (Good Lord, is it only moms who instantaneously think in terms of conception-and-childbirth when you see the number "nine months?")
It's amazing that I'm on blog 100 because I can't believe I'm ONLY on blog 100. Guys, I'm SORRY, truly, because I seriously have a moment every day (no, really, EVERY DAY) where I think "Wow, I've got to blog about that." And then I'm doing laundry, or I'm collapsing in front of "Real Housewives of Atlanta," or I'm running to Thrift America to scout for PGV, or I'm returning my mom's phone call, or I'm squeezing in my work during the Kid's nap, and the day passes me by and I've skipped again.
Things I wanted to blog about but don't have the time:
- My Best Friend's Wedding and how amazing it was to see her as a bride
- Why Vegas has won the position of 4th Greatest Disappointment (I think the problem here is that I keep EXPECTING THINGS TO BE LARGER THAN LIFE)
- Adventures in the emergency room (welcome to life as an acid-refluxer)
- Halloween spiders: myth or FACT ON MY FRONT STOOP
- The recurring desire to visit Michigan that happens every fall
Sunday, October 4, 2009
On TRYING NEW THINGS
My Best Friend's Wedding (HEYO) is rapidly approaching, and as I was starting to pack my shiz for VEGAS, Y'ALL, I decided I should probably try on my Honorable Woman dress and stuff.
I know it's October, so it's spooky time and all, but NO ONE WOULD APPRECIATE my ghostly legs. My legs were so pale, you could see the spider veins (HEYO! TWO HALLOWEEN REFERENCES IN TWO SENTENCES!). Ok, ok, even when I'm "tan," you can still see my spider veins. It's been this way since I was seventeen, guys, I'm not THAT old, so give me and my elderly legs a break.
Anyway, sporting the Snow White look with my dark purple Honorable Woman dress was clearly not the way to go, so I decided to do something drastic. This was no time for me to fuss around with streaky-ass orangey self-tanners, so I , um, called up a salon and scheduled AN AIRBRUSH TANNING APPOINTMENT!
My mind was ALIVE! What sort of mystical wonders awaited me in the basement "spa" area once I entered? Would my "technician" (and yes, she was classified as an "airbrush technician" on the business card she handed me) approach with some tubey-looking thing with a spray can of terrifyingly dark potion attached at the back and hose my legs down like I was at a car wash?
Well, actually, yes.
But it was all good! Because, as Vee said, amazed, when I returned home, "I looked healthy for a change."
Guys, I always take issue with a tan making you look "healthy," because DUDES, WHAT IS HEALTHY ABOUT A LAYER OF YOUR SKIN GETTING RADIATION EXPOSURE? What is healthy about DAMAGED SKIN?
But I was so joyous that I no longer had pale skin that I didn't care!
Buoyed by the success of my faux tan, I struck out for bolder territory: the local consignment sale. This joint hosts consignment sales several times a year, and since Saturday was HALF-PRICE DAY, I was like "YES!" since Kiddo is finally in her growth spurt and sizing out of her footie jammies. The Kid doesn't sleep under her covers (she sleeps like an ostrich with its head in the sand. Except there is no sand. So she kind of looks like a pillbug) and fall is HERE, so I needed to get her some roasty toasty jams.
The sale opened at 11:00am, so I figured I was in GOOD SHAPE arriving at 11:40. You know, early enough to beat those sleepy suckers who were lazing around until post-lunch on Saturday before entering the rest of the world, but late enough to miss the insaniacs who camp out, CONVINCED that there must be a cadre of clothes-with-tags-still-on-them (which THERE NEVER ARE, GUYS. THERE NEVER ARE.).
11:40. There's a line stretching around the building, and I think, "Hmmm, these must be the moms waiting to pick up their consigned clothes that they don't want to go half-price (because you do have this option)."
No. IT'S A LINE TO GET IN.
I was so astonished by the situation that I had no recourse but to get in line. I mean, GEEZ, everyone else was waiting. What sort of experience were they about to have without me?
So I wait. And wait. And we're shuffling forward every three minutes or so, enviously watching the women streaming out with rocking horses tucked under their arms and six-year-olds carrying the rest of Mommy's CHERRY scores, but we're not really getting anywhere. We watched moms FURTHER UP IN THE LINE peel off like fallen soldiers as we rounded the corner of the building and saw that the line extended for AT LEAST FIFTY MORE PEOPLE.
As it started raining, I felt really grateful that I didn't have the Kid with me. There was a mom in front of me with a little boy right about Kiddo's age, and a grandma behind me who clearly didn't think we'd be waiting as long as we were, based on her lack of A COAT. I asked Grandma what time it was, and when she revealed that WE HAD BEEN STANDING IN LINE FOR FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, I announced, "NO WAY am I waiting for AT LEAST another 45 minutes to buy USED CLOTHING for half-off! I mean, think about THE LINES TO CHECK OUT! I'M NOT WAITING THAT LONG TO PAY $3 FOR A USED SLEEPER!" and marched off to my car.
MAN, DID I TELL THEM OR WHAT?!
LESSON TAUGHT, Y'ALL! TEACHER IS IN THE HOUSE! Come on, similarly fed-up moms, fall out behind me, and let's march back to our cars, VALIANT in our UNWILLINGNESS TO WAIT IN LINE for the OPPORTUNITY to pay for USED MERCHANDISE! EVADE MWOM, LADIES!
I think the grandma was just grateful for my space in the line.
I know it's October, so it's spooky time and all, but NO ONE WOULD APPRECIATE my ghostly legs. My legs were so pale, you could see the spider veins (HEYO! TWO HALLOWEEN REFERENCES IN TWO SENTENCES!). Ok, ok, even when I'm "tan," you can still see my spider veins. It's been this way since I was seventeen, guys, I'm not THAT old, so give me and my elderly legs a break.
Anyway, sporting the Snow White look with my dark purple Honorable Woman dress was clearly not the way to go, so I decided to do something drastic. This was no time for me to fuss around with streaky-ass orangey self-tanners, so I , um, called up a salon and scheduled AN AIRBRUSH TANNING APPOINTMENT!
My mind was ALIVE! What sort of mystical wonders awaited me in the basement "spa" area once I entered? Would my "technician" (and yes, she was classified as an "airbrush technician" on the business card she handed me) approach with some tubey-looking thing with a spray can of terrifyingly dark potion attached at the back and hose my legs down like I was at a car wash?
Well, actually, yes.
But it was all good! Because, as Vee said, amazed, when I returned home, "I looked healthy for a change."
Guys, I always take issue with a tan making you look "healthy," because DUDES, WHAT IS HEALTHY ABOUT A LAYER OF YOUR SKIN GETTING RADIATION EXPOSURE? What is healthy about DAMAGED SKIN?
But I was so joyous that I no longer had pale skin that I didn't care!
Buoyed by the success of my faux tan, I struck out for bolder territory: the local consignment sale. This joint hosts consignment sales several times a year, and since Saturday was HALF-PRICE DAY, I was like "YES!" since Kiddo is finally in her growth spurt and sizing out of her footie jammies. The Kid doesn't sleep under her covers (she sleeps like an ostrich with its head in the sand. Except there is no sand. So she kind of looks like a pillbug) and fall is HERE, so I needed to get her some roasty toasty jams.
The sale opened at 11:00am, so I figured I was in GOOD SHAPE arriving at 11:40. You know, early enough to beat those sleepy suckers who were lazing around until post-lunch on Saturday before entering the rest of the world, but late enough to miss the insaniacs who camp out, CONVINCED that there must be a cadre of clothes-with-tags-still-on-them (which THERE NEVER ARE, GUYS. THERE NEVER ARE.).
11:40. There's a line stretching around the building, and I think, "Hmmm, these must be the moms waiting to pick up their consigned clothes that they don't want to go half-price (because you do have this option)."
No. IT'S A LINE TO GET IN.
I was so astonished by the situation that I had no recourse but to get in line. I mean, GEEZ, everyone else was waiting. What sort of experience were they about to have without me?
So I wait. And wait. And we're shuffling forward every three minutes or so, enviously watching the women streaming out with rocking horses tucked under their arms and six-year-olds carrying the rest of Mommy's CHERRY scores, but we're not really getting anywhere. We watched moms FURTHER UP IN THE LINE peel off like fallen soldiers as we rounded the corner of the building and saw that the line extended for AT LEAST FIFTY MORE PEOPLE.
As it started raining, I felt really grateful that I didn't have the Kid with me. There was a mom in front of me with a little boy right about Kiddo's age, and a grandma behind me who clearly didn't think we'd be waiting as long as we were, based on her lack of A COAT. I asked Grandma what time it was, and when she revealed that WE HAD BEEN STANDING IN LINE FOR FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, I announced, "NO WAY am I waiting for AT LEAST another 45 minutes to buy USED CLOTHING for half-off! I mean, think about THE LINES TO CHECK OUT! I'M NOT WAITING THAT LONG TO PAY $3 FOR A USED SLEEPER!" and marched off to my car.
MAN, DID I TELL THEM OR WHAT?!
LESSON TAUGHT, Y'ALL! TEACHER IS IN THE HOUSE! Come on, similarly fed-up moms, fall out behind me, and let's march back to our cars, VALIANT in our UNWILLINGNESS TO WAIT IN LINE for the OPPORTUNITY to pay for USED MERCHANDISE! EVADE MWOM, LADIES!
I think the grandma was just grateful for my space in the line.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
High Time for Pie Time
So last weekend was a blast--of activity. On Saturday, we headed to the Applejack Festival in Nebraska City, EVEN THOUGH we swore we'd never go to the orchards during Applejack Fest again since last year's experience was a hellfest. See, Nebraska City has a year-round population of, like, 10,000. A-Fest brings in 50-75,000 peeps. CITY IS NOT EQUIPPED TO HANDLE IT, and so you find yourself waiting in ridiculously long car lines when all you want to do is make a right-hand turn to get out and back on the road.
Plus, you have to scrap with all the other families who are trying to get the peak apples off the trees. Last year, Kiddo was four months old, and we were huffing and puffing, trying to push her stroller down the orchard paths, clogging up the main artery and watching the lithe young kiddies sprint by with bags full of apples. Our apple haul last year? A disappointing mix of bruised, wormholed Golden Delicious.
But we were PREPARED this year! We got up and out early so that we were at the orchard by 10am; Vee wore Kiddo in the Beco on his back, and I bore A BACKPACK on mine, and we dominated the orchard paths. Golden Delicious? ONLY AT THE END! In the meantime, I picked a peck of Empire, Jonagolds, and Fujis, and by the time we were leaving, the orchard was just starting to reach Applejack capacity.
YES!
See, I had to load up on apples, because on Sunday, we hosted our Annual (which is to say, SECOND YEAR IN A ROW) Chili Hoedown, and you know I had to serve up some homemade pies. I am a serious pie-baking fanatic. Was I always this way? Hell no. I looked, uh, forward to every Thanksgiving when my mama would bake apple pie, but DID IT OCCUR TO ME that I could be doing it myself?
Do you guys remember that VEE DOES ALL OF THE COOKING IN OUR HOUSE and I do the baking?
So, like I was saying, I am a pie-baking maniac, thanks to this book that My Best Friend got me as a wedding shower gift back in 06 called, simply and elegantly, "Pie." Yes, a dude writes it, and yes, a dude is the pie-baking master, and YES, THIS IS THE MOST AMAZING COOKBOOK EVER! Seriously, I found my calling when I found Ken Haedrich. God bless the man.
This year's chili hoedown dessert options were the Golden Delicious Pie with Oatmeal Crumb Topping or the Cider-Infused Apple Pie. But wait! But wait! This year, 2009, is the year that I have finally started making MY OWN PIE CRUST! It's embarrassingly easier than I thought it would be, especially since, cough, I make it with my KitchenAid mixer. I can't believe I waited this long and kept buying those sha-nasty HyVee-brand freezer pie crusts.
I am quite in the throes of my favorite season now. Today is, after all, THE FIRST OFFICIAL DAY OF FALL, and the Kiddo and I are going to celebrate by going to a local orchard and picking some Cortlands, the apples I revere most of all and got a serious bend for when we were living in Michigan. OMFG, eat your damn Honeycrisps, I am CHOWING DOWN on the best pie apples ever.
What are you doing to celebrate fall?
Plus, you have to scrap with all the other families who are trying to get the peak apples off the trees. Last year, Kiddo was four months old, and we were huffing and puffing, trying to push her stroller down the orchard paths, clogging up the main artery and watching the lithe young kiddies sprint by with bags full of apples. Our apple haul last year? A disappointing mix of bruised, wormholed Golden Delicious.
But we were PREPARED this year! We got up and out early so that we were at the orchard by 10am; Vee wore Kiddo in the Beco on his back, and I bore A BACKPACK on mine, and we dominated the orchard paths. Golden Delicious? ONLY AT THE END! In the meantime, I picked a peck of Empire, Jonagolds, and Fujis, and by the time we were leaving, the orchard was just starting to reach Applejack capacity.
YES!
See, I had to load up on apples, because on Sunday, we hosted our Annual (which is to say, SECOND YEAR IN A ROW) Chili Hoedown, and you know I had to serve up some homemade pies. I am a serious pie-baking fanatic. Was I always this way? Hell no. I looked, uh, forward to every Thanksgiving when my mama would bake apple pie, but DID IT OCCUR TO ME that I could be doing it myself?
Do you guys remember that VEE DOES ALL OF THE COOKING IN OUR HOUSE and I do the baking?
So, like I was saying, I am a pie-baking maniac, thanks to this book that My Best Friend got me as a wedding shower gift back in 06 called, simply and elegantly, "Pie." Yes, a dude writes it, and yes, a dude is the pie-baking master, and YES, THIS IS THE MOST AMAZING COOKBOOK EVER! Seriously, I found my calling when I found Ken Haedrich. God bless the man.
This year's chili hoedown dessert options were the Golden Delicious Pie with Oatmeal Crumb Topping or the Cider-Infused Apple Pie. But wait! But wait! This year, 2009, is the year that I have finally started making MY OWN PIE CRUST! It's embarrassingly easier than I thought it would be, especially since, cough, I make it with my KitchenAid mixer. I can't believe I waited this long and kept buying those sha-nasty HyVee-brand freezer pie crusts.
I am quite in the throes of my favorite season now. Today is, after all, THE FIRST OFFICIAL DAY OF FALL, and the Kiddo and I are going to celebrate by going to a local orchard and picking some Cortlands, the apples I revere most of all and got a serious bend for when we were living in Michigan. OMFG, eat your damn Honeycrisps, I am CHOWING DOWN on the best pie apples ever.
What are you doing to celebrate fall?
Friday, September 11, 2009
Laboring on Labor Day
(no, I was not GIVING BIRTH. Good night.)
We had my parents (Gramma Goose and Grampa PhD) down to see us for Labor Day weekend. I baked a cherry almond coffeecake pie (coffeecake consistency, pie crust) and, in exchange, they helped put up the IKEA shelves we've been dragging our feet on installing, got a huge headstart on painting the den (AT LAST), and watched Kiddokabiddo on Saturday so that Vee and I could go on AN ALMOST-THREE-YEAR-ANNIVERSARY ADVENTURE to the middle of Nebraska.
Why?
DUDE, BECAUSE! Have you ever driven through Nebraska on I-80? If you haven't, then you need to, and if you have and only have trash-filled things to say about that drive, then YOU SUCK because the prairie, as Laura Bush/"Alice Blackwell" said in American Wife, "is quietly lovely, not preening with the need to have its attributes remarked on."
We got to go to the Archway Museum, which has been tempting us since 2002. It stretches ACROSS I-80!
It was EPIC! I mean, LOOK AT HOW YOU ENTER IT!
Up the escalator and on til morning! You wear these little earphones the whole time and you're hearing voices of pioneers and letters and stuff while you look at the displays. It was great and WORTH THE WAIT!
That's how we do it on anniversaries, y'all: living and loving the prairie. We had to celebrate early since our actual anniversary is the day before MY BEST FRIEND'S WEDDING and we'll be busy, obviously, since I AM Honorable Woman and all.
We worked our faces off for the rest of the weekend with my 'rents and my arms were so insanely sore by Monday night since I was painting and painting and painting. Still putting the room back together, so I'll get a Home Show post up next week with what we did, but HOLY SNAKE, I have not been that sore since I had to carry Kiddo around all the time.
What did you do for Labor Day weekend? You know, since it was almost a week ago and all.
We had my parents (Gramma Goose and Grampa PhD) down to see us for Labor Day weekend. I baked a cherry almond coffeecake pie (coffeecake consistency, pie crust) and, in exchange, they helped put up the IKEA shelves we've been dragging our feet on installing, got a huge headstart on painting the den (AT LAST), and watched Kiddokabiddo on Saturday so that Vee and I could go on AN ALMOST-THREE-YEAR-ANNIVERSARY ADVENTURE to the middle of Nebraska.
Why?
DUDE, BECAUSE! Have you ever driven through Nebraska on I-80? If you haven't, then you need to, and if you have and only have trash-filled things to say about that drive, then YOU SUCK because the prairie, as Laura Bush/"Alice Blackwell" said in American Wife, "is quietly lovely, not preening with the need to have its attributes remarked on."
We got to go to the Archway Museum, which has been tempting us since 2002. It stretches ACROSS I-80!
It was EPIC! I mean, LOOK AT HOW YOU ENTER IT!
Up the escalator and on til morning! You wear these little earphones the whole time and you're hearing voices of pioneers and letters and stuff while you look at the displays. It was great and WORTH THE WAIT!
That's how we do it on anniversaries, y'all: living and loving the prairie. We had to celebrate early since our actual anniversary is the day before MY BEST FRIEND'S WEDDING and we'll be busy, obviously, since I AM Honorable Woman and all.
We worked our faces off for the rest of the weekend with my 'rents and my arms were so insanely sore by Monday night since I was painting and painting and painting. Still putting the room back together, so I'll get a Home Show post up next week with what we did, but HOLY SNAKE, I have not been that sore since I had to carry Kiddo around all the time.
What did you do for Labor Day weekend? You know, since it was almost a week ago and all.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Thrifting and Sifting
I went estate-saling and garage-hopping last weekend, as has been my Saturday ritual for most of the summer, to pick up odds and ends and stuff for my etsy store.
YES, YES, we all know I can't really craft so hot, but I can LOCATE AMAZING ARTIFACTS AND SELL THEM TO YOU FOR CHEAP!
My etsy store (prairie ghost vintage) has been doing pretty well--I've still got a huge stash of vintage postcards left over from, ahem, my wedding (almost three years ago. Uhhhhhh...) that I'm selling off, and then there's always those THINGS that I find when thrift-shopping where I buy it because IT'S TOO GOOD TO LEAVE IN THE STORE, bring it home, and then feel immediately guilty for spending $3.27 on a set of coffee cups when our cabinet is overflowing.
So I started reselling them.
ANYWAY, when I was estate-saling earlier this summer, which is BY FAR the best way to go--all these oldsters in the old neighborhoods I would LOOOOOOOOVE to live in keep going to assisted living, or dying, and there is probably nothing I love more than wandering around through SOMEONE'S HOUSE, especially when it is loaded with old books and housewares and STUFF ON THE WALLS and, yep, vintage toys--I came across this beauty:
It was pretty skanky and dirty, but the stickers were all in great condition, and I had to buy it for Kiddo. Because I USED TO HAVE ONE!
So she can now store her little farm buddies in the hayloft (how freaking adorable is this? I want to die)
But the TRUE AND AMAZING best find was last weekend. I hit the road at 8:30am (you have to get MOVING early to get anything in this town--there is no point in being out after 10:30am unless it is Sunday and you are half-price-buying at what's left at the estate sales) and went to the first sale on my list, which was in this absolutely STUNNINGLY gorgeous neighborhood that I would die to live in--you know, where all the houses are huge and built in the early mid-century and the trees are mature and OOH! YES-AH!
I walked up the driveway and was delighted to see all the vintage kids' toys--like rocking horses, old stuffed animals, etc. When I say "vintage kids' toys," I am shamefully talking about toys from my youth. I am THAT OLD! So I was smiling to myself as I sifted through a stack of old kids' records (like Care Bears Christmas, Strawberry Shortcake Christmas) and I got really happy when I looked on the ground and saw this old, old toy record player that I KNOW, FOR A FACT, I used to have!
And right beside it was a carrel of old Disney 45s/books where you'd put the record on and read along--including one that made me mist up--THE RESCUERS. I used to spend HOURS staring at those pages and listening to the sad/scary (because, really, it was both. SO SAD!) music while hoping THIS TIME Medusa wouldn't make Penny go into the cave.
(Aside: it was mildly terrifying to see Medusa in the book because EEE-IKES, I have HAD her hair. HAD! HAD! NOT HAVE!)
There was only one other person browsing around, so I plopped down beside the stack and started looking at the records, and I noticed that there was also an old kids' plug-in record player beside it. Wow. I was moved by my childhood memories and so I told the garage sale owner that I remembered most of them from when I was a kid, and mentioned that I had a 15 month old daughter. She told me that she had a daughter around my age, and had her over last weekend to pick out whatever she wanted to keep, and this stuff was what she had rejected.
I asked the lady, "How much for the record player, the toy record player, and the kids' records (meaning the 45s, and meaning individually what was she asking for them, since none of them were marked with prices)?"
She said, "Mmm, how about $8 for them all?"
I was like WHOA! but I knew I only had $6 on me. So I said, "I've only got $6..." and was about to ask what she would sell me for $6, but she said "I CAN DO $6" and offered to help me CARRY IT TO THE CAR!
Basically dying, but as I went for the toy record player, real record player, and the carrel of 45s, SHE GRABS THE ENTIRE CARREL OF 33 1/3S AND BRINGS IT ALONG TOO, and IT DAWNS ON ME THAT I JUST GOT THOSE TOO!
I should have seriously called it a day after that, since I knew I wouldn't get any better deals. And I didn't. But LOOK AT WHAT KIDDO AND I GET TO PLAY WITH NOW!
Anyone in the mood for "Camptown Races?"
YES, YES, we all know I can't really craft so hot, but I can LOCATE AMAZING ARTIFACTS AND SELL THEM TO YOU FOR CHEAP!
My etsy store (prairie ghost vintage) has been doing pretty well--I've still got a huge stash of vintage postcards left over from, ahem, my wedding (almost three years ago. Uhhhhhh...) that I'm selling off, and then there's always those THINGS that I find when thrift-shopping where I buy it because IT'S TOO GOOD TO LEAVE IN THE STORE, bring it home, and then feel immediately guilty for spending $3.27 on a set of coffee cups when our cabinet is overflowing.
So I started reselling them.
ANYWAY, when I was estate-saling earlier this summer, which is BY FAR the best way to go--all these oldsters in the old neighborhoods I would LOOOOOOOOVE to live in keep going to assisted living, or dying, and there is probably nothing I love more than wandering around through SOMEONE'S HOUSE, especially when it is loaded with old books and housewares and STUFF ON THE WALLS and, yep, vintage toys--I came across this beauty:
It was pretty skanky and dirty, but the stickers were all in great condition, and I had to buy it for Kiddo. Because I USED TO HAVE ONE!
So she can now store her little farm buddies in the hayloft (how freaking adorable is this? I want to die)
But the TRUE AND AMAZING best find was last weekend. I hit the road at 8:30am (you have to get MOVING early to get anything in this town--there is no point in being out after 10:30am unless it is Sunday and you are half-price-buying at what's left at the estate sales) and went to the first sale on my list, which was in this absolutely STUNNINGLY gorgeous neighborhood that I would die to live in--you know, where all the houses are huge and built in the early mid-century and the trees are mature and OOH! YES-AH!
I walked up the driveway and was delighted to see all the vintage kids' toys--like rocking horses, old stuffed animals, etc. When I say "vintage kids' toys," I am shamefully talking about toys from my youth. I am THAT OLD! So I was smiling to myself as I sifted through a stack of old kids' records (like Care Bears Christmas, Strawberry Shortcake Christmas) and I got really happy when I looked on the ground and saw this old, old toy record player that I KNOW, FOR A FACT, I used to have!
And right beside it was a carrel of old Disney 45s/books where you'd put the record on and read along--including one that made me mist up--THE RESCUERS. I used to spend HOURS staring at those pages and listening to the sad/scary (because, really, it was both. SO SAD!) music while hoping THIS TIME Medusa wouldn't make Penny go into the cave.
(Aside: it was mildly terrifying to see Medusa in the book because EEE-IKES, I have HAD her hair. HAD! HAD! NOT HAVE!)
There was only one other person browsing around, so I plopped down beside the stack and started looking at the records, and I noticed that there was also an old kids' plug-in record player beside it. Wow. I was moved by my childhood memories and so I told the garage sale owner that I remembered most of them from when I was a kid, and mentioned that I had a 15 month old daughter. She told me that she had a daughter around my age, and had her over last weekend to pick out whatever she wanted to keep, and this stuff was what she had rejected.
I asked the lady, "How much for the record player, the toy record player, and the kids' records (meaning the 45s, and meaning individually what was she asking for them, since none of them were marked with prices)?"
She said, "Mmm, how about $8 for them all?"
I was like WHOA! but I knew I only had $6 on me. So I said, "I've only got $6..." and was about to ask what she would sell me for $6, but she said "I CAN DO $6" and offered to help me CARRY IT TO THE CAR!
Basically dying, but as I went for the toy record player, real record player, and the carrel of 45s, SHE GRABS THE ENTIRE CARREL OF 33 1/3S AND BRINGS IT ALONG TOO, and IT DAWNS ON ME THAT I JUST GOT THOSE TOO!
I should have seriously called it a day after that, since I knew I wouldn't get any better deals. And I didn't. But LOOK AT WHAT KIDDO AND I GET TO PLAY WITH NOW!
Anyone in the mood for "Camptown Races?"
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Home, and then Home
So. I went to Seattle for the wedding of Vee's best friend + now-wife, and it was utterly and completely exhausting. And I wasn't even in the wedding party! (Vee was best man)
My parents, Gramma Goose and Grampa PhD, along with my sister AKA, were kind enough to fly all the way out there just to babysit. Well, and be on vacation with us in the Pac NW, our first-of-homes, but really it was all because we needed someone to watch Kiddo.
We stayed on Bainbridge Island, a cluster of evergreens, hills, and hopelessly dreamy houses for the work-from-home too-cool-for-Seattle post-yups. I was disgustedly shaking my head at the idiosyncratic tropes that kept bursting against my skull whenever I looked up at the treeline and saw a line of fog (corny, CORNY phrases like "I would give up everything to see this everyday" or "This is what I am MEANT to live amongst"--the same repulsively childish comments I was telling myself when I was ten and we first moved away from Cor Or; believing in the DESTINY of my eventual life in the NW).
WHY COULDN'T I GROW UP?
The flat rooflines of my dream houses, the yards of endlessly tall trees poking their spines against the gray sky, the cool temperature (in August! in August!): I basically relived my adolescence and mooned around the backyard of the rental house as Grampa PhD taught Kiddo how to scoot down the stairs inside, swooning about THE LIFE I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIVING!
I am an adult woman, with a husband and a child, a house and a job, and I was making bargains with myself (this alone should have tipped me off: the fact that I was still on the third Kubler-Rossian step) to justify moving there.
MOVING THERE?!
Dude, I love me some prairie, and I love the life I've built, but I was cornily explaining to myself THAT IT ALL NEEDED TO BE SACRIFICED IN ORDER TO GET BACK WHAT I HAD GIVEN UP FIFTEEN YEARS AGO!
(And no, I was not thinking of leaving my husband, or my child, or, frankly, even my job. Working from home STRIKES AGAIN!)
When I am in a landscape that touches me, I automatically start making Faustian bargains because I AM SUPPOSED TO BE LIVING THERE.
The landscape that affects me most strongly? The landscape of my childhood--what I learned to base everything against. Home is SUPPOSED to be heavily treed, the horizon cushioned with uninhabited hills, mountains visible beyond, fertile farms, idyllic sheep, houses built in the 40s and the 50s, recycling bins at the end of every driveway and no Wal-Mart in sight.
Emotions run high when I talk about my time in Cor Or because I was ten when we left, and if you can imagine, the four years that followed (5th-8th grade) were pretty hellish, and the contrast was so extreme that even IF I hadn't been so enveloped in the idea that, if we'd stayed there, my life would have been better, you would have been SURE my life was better.
This is the state I was in as AKA, Gramma Goose, Kiddo, and I drove down through the valley to the Valley (Willamette, thanks) for our ladies-only two-day adventure back to Cor and to the coast.
A STATE OF RAPTURE IN MY STATE OF RAPTURE! O OREGON! There was a REASON people gave up everything to seek HAPPINESS by following THE OREGON TRAIL to EDEN! (It does not help at. all. that the Willamette Valley was actually the valley of promise, the true and honest farmers' paradise where the settlers who were STRONG ENOUGH to PERSIST wound up)
But how can I say this (and then how can I SAY this? Isn't it blasphemy? Won't I be struck down by the MEs of fifteen years?)? I was disappointed. DISAPPOINTED. It WASN'T LIKE I REMEMBERED IT. (And, for the record, I had been back in '94, '03, and '05, so it's not like I hadn't been there since I was a kid)
The constant evergreens--still gorgeous. The hills on the edge of the valley--still comforting and enticing. But it WASN'T WHERE I WANTED TO BE ANY MORE. I don't think you can understand the level of bewilderment as I recognized that emotion. I was so completely and utterly BEWILDERED at my reaction to THE PLACE I HAD HALLOWED AS THE PINNACLE OF JOYFUL LIVING for fifteen years that I kept waiting to shake out of it, to recognize it back as WHERE I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE.
But I DIDN'T.
It didn't get any better. We drove up Marys Peak, we drove out to the coast, we drove through the coastal range, we drove to Portland. And I didn't see one place that fit my landscape NEED.
HOW COULD THIS BE?
It was so confusing; I couldn't think of any way to describe it to Vee when I got home. It was like I peeled off a Band-Aid that had been there for fifteen years and underneath there was nothing there: no scar, no evidence I'd ever been wounded, no wound.
I am still working through my emotions, still sifting through what is left behind, what I have left behind, what I still need to leave behind. I know nothing, but I know this:
I am on the prairie, and I am home. And I love, love, love my life, more deeply and more intensely than I ever have before, because I know, with a bewildering new certainty, that there is no where, NO where, no where in my hidden secret if-I-were-only-living-here daydream life, that I want to be more than here.
And not there.
My parents, Gramma Goose and Grampa PhD, along with my sister AKA, were kind enough to fly all the way out there just to babysit. Well, and be on vacation with us in the Pac NW, our first-of-homes, but really it was all because we needed someone to watch Kiddo.
We stayed on Bainbridge Island, a cluster of evergreens, hills, and hopelessly dreamy houses for the work-from-home too-cool-for-Seattle post-yups. I was disgustedly shaking my head at the idiosyncratic tropes that kept bursting against my skull whenever I looked up at the treeline and saw a line of fog (corny, CORNY phrases like "I would give up everything to see this everyday" or "This is what I am MEANT to live amongst"--the same repulsively childish comments I was telling myself when I was ten and we first moved away from Cor Or; believing in the DESTINY of my eventual life in the NW).
WHY COULDN'T I GROW UP?
The flat rooflines of my dream houses, the yards of endlessly tall trees poking their spines against the gray sky, the cool temperature (in August! in August!): I basically relived my adolescence and mooned around the backyard of the rental house as Grampa PhD taught Kiddo how to scoot down the stairs inside, swooning about THE LIFE I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIVING!
I am an adult woman, with a husband and a child, a house and a job, and I was making bargains with myself (this alone should have tipped me off: the fact that I was still on the third Kubler-Rossian step) to justify moving there.
MOVING THERE?!
Dude, I love me some prairie, and I love the life I've built, but I was cornily explaining to myself THAT IT ALL NEEDED TO BE SACRIFICED IN ORDER TO GET BACK WHAT I HAD GIVEN UP FIFTEEN YEARS AGO!
(And no, I was not thinking of leaving my husband, or my child, or, frankly, even my job. Working from home STRIKES AGAIN!)
When I am in a landscape that touches me, I automatically start making Faustian bargains because I AM SUPPOSED TO BE LIVING THERE.
The landscape that affects me most strongly? The landscape of my childhood--what I learned to base everything against. Home is SUPPOSED to be heavily treed, the horizon cushioned with uninhabited hills, mountains visible beyond, fertile farms, idyllic sheep, houses built in the 40s and the 50s, recycling bins at the end of every driveway and no Wal-Mart in sight.
Emotions run high when I talk about my time in Cor Or because I was ten when we left, and if you can imagine, the four years that followed (5th-8th grade) were pretty hellish, and the contrast was so extreme that even IF I hadn't been so enveloped in the idea that, if we'd stayed there, my life would have been better, you would have been SURE my life was better.
This is the state I was in as AKA, Gramma Goose, Kiddo, and I drove down through the valley to the Valley (Willamette, thanks) for our ladies-only two-day adventure back to Cor and to the coast.
A STATE OF RAPTURE IN MY STATE OF RAPTURE! O OREGON! There was a REASON people gave up everything to seek HAPPINESS by following THE OREGON TRAIL to EDEN! (It does not help at. all. that the Willamette Valley was actually the valley of promise, the true and honest farmers' paradise where the settlers who were STRONG ENOUGH to PERSIST wound up)
But how can I say this (and then how can I SAY this? Isn't it blasphemy? Won't I be struck down by the MEs of fifteen years?)? I was disappointed. DISAPPOINTED. It WASN'T LIKE I REMEMBERED IT. (And, for the record, I had been back in '94, '03, and '05, so it's not like I hadn't been there since I was a kid)
The constant evergreens--still gorgeous. The hills on the edge of the valley--still comforting and enticing. But it WASN'T WHERE I WANTED TO BE ANY MORE. I don't think you can understand the level of bewilderment as I recognized that emotion. I was so completely and utterly BEWILDERED at my reaction to THE PLACE I HAD HALLOWED AS THE PINNACLE OF JOYFUL LIVING for fifteen years that I kept waiting to shake out of it, to recognize it back as WHERE I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE.
But I DIDN'T.
It didn't get any better. We drove up Marys Peak, we drove out to the coast, we drove through the coastal range, we drove to Portland. And I didn't see one place that fit my landscape NEED.
HOW COULD THIS BE?
It was so confusing; I couldn't think of any way to describe it to Vee when I got home. It was like I peeled off a Band-Aid that had been there for fifteen years and underneath there was nothing there: no scar, no evidence I'd ever been wounded, no wound.
I am still working through my emotions, still sifting through what is left behind, what I have left behind, what I still need to leave behind. I know nothing, but I know this:
I am on the prairie, and I am home. And I love, love, love my life, more deeply and more intensely than I ever have before, because I know, with a bewildering new certainty, that there is no where, NO where, no where in my hidden secret if-I-were-only-living-here daydream life, that I want to be more than here.
And not there.
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