This was started on Friday last week, but it sucked mightily. Hopefully it sucks less now. Either way, I haven't changed the time perspective.
The family seems to be well on the road to recovery from the stomach flu. I managed to dodge the bullet. And since I behaved like an anti-social germophobe at work for most of this week, I think I've managed to ensure I didn't pass it along. (It was mostly not awkward, except the part where I told an employer who I barely know, "I'll love you from afar" instead of shaking his hand.)
Corey has managed to get into summer school. The only thing that saved his tardy rear end (he turned in the form about two weeks ago; it was due May 7th) is that his school is even more behind than he is. Summer school will be at a central location for the district. His school submitted all of their applications Wednesday afternoon. When I went to see if his name was on the list, it wasn't. The receptionist heard which school he was from and sent me to a counselor. She confirmed that she'd put him into one class and then made sure he got into the second one, too. Corey needs to pass these two classes and then 14 more over the course of the next school year. (This is based on the assumption that he only failed one class this past semester.) At least he has a chance to graduate.
And the biggest news of all, my mother is... behaving normally (relatively... we're talking about my family here). It's been years since she and I were able to have a conversation where I didn't either dominate or have to pull info from her. I went to her house yesterday afternoon and we spent an hour talking, mostly about baby stuff. I learned more about her pregnancies and labors with my brother and me. We talked about how things are going with Fynn. Yesterday she felt Fynn move for the first time.
I was trying to remember when things had changed between her and I. Maybe it was the year my grandfather died. She adored him. The following year, so did my grandmother. She loved her mom, but not like her dad. I think that made it harder for her. In between their passings, Tom and I got married. She loves Tom. He's like her dad, she says. I'm not sure how, since she always called Grandpa "Mr. Fix-it," and Tom will be the first to proclaim his short list of handyman skills.
I have wondered if our marriage was the unintentional kink in the wire, but that seems unlikely. I mean, maybe she felt pushed out of the loop, or lonely. But she has been strange with my aunt, too. My aunt has commented a couple of times lately about how my mom has initiated deeper conversations.
Part of me wonders if my mom is aware of some illness and just not telling us. That would not be unlike her. Or maybe she's just more aware of her own potential life span and has decided to get back to participating? Whatever it is, I'm happy to feel a little closer to her again.
One of the things we talked about yesterday is the plan for Fynn's labor and delivery. I told Tom that I'm not really sure I want my mom there this time. Last time she stood against the wall the entire time. When Madelyn was born and finally in my arms for those few short minutes, she didn't come over to say hello. And then there were those months and months afterward when she didn't come around. It was just pathetic that first Christmas, when I could look back and know that my mother-in-law, who lives 2500 miles away, had spent more time with Madelyn than my own mother, who lived less than five miles from us.
Oddly, she's made more of an effort since we've moved farther away, but visits have still been more uncomfortable than relaxed. So having this open, almost breezy conversation was really something. It completely changed what I said about Fynn being born. I told her she's welcome to be there (I would never have said she was unwelcome). If she and Corey feel like staying at her place and hanging out until things get close to delivery time, that's cool, too.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Snippets
So I've been thinking about doing a running series of snippets. Parts of conversations that I've been in on or overheard. I don't know if the series thing will happen, but here's a gem from my husband today:
"It's like my penis should be coming out of my chin instead of below my waist!"
And now I'll go edit the other posts I started recently.
"It's like my penis should be coming out of my chin instead of below my waist!"
And now I'll go edit the other posts I started recently.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Like Throwing Money Away
This evening was full of decisions. One about laundry and the other about sod.
My dad, who's an insurance investigator, came by and checked out our home. It's not worth making a claim on our insurance, but we do need to replace the laundry room flooring and the washer. Turns out we bought it four years ago; it was the dryer we had to replace when we moved. Our old place was all electric, and this is wired for a gas dryer. From what I've been hearing, four to five years is now the common life span of these "durable goods."
I did find our old washer online, but I also looked into some bigger, schmancier models. One that I especially like is about $250 more, but it's a high efficiency top loader with rave customer reviews (except for the one in which a person self-identified as the cranky old lady down the street, but with different words... she hated it). Sort of the best of both worlds.
We talked it over. Under what I think of as "normal" circumstances, we'd go ahead and upgrade. We ultimately decided to save our money now, even if it means not having lower water bills in the future. Without trying out the bells and whistles washer, we don't have an effective means of judging the potential savings anyway.
So I went online to order the simple washer. It's not available for delivery or in-store purchase for at least 90 days. I might have cackled with glee when I read that. And the other one? It'll be here on June 22. That's a long time to go without a washer, especially since Mad's still dealing with diarrhea. In the meantime, I'll have to find out where we can get our laundry done. Margaret has offered to do our laundry for us, and she did do a desperation load for me on Monday, but we don't feel right having that become a two-week long habit.
The second decision has to do with our sod, our realtor and the title company from when our home was in escrow. Today I received documentation showing that the lien against our property for not having appropriate ground cover out front has been lifted. Dave, the realtor, ended up going to the head of some department in our city to get the fine waived since the work has been done and we were not the owners when the fine was levied. While following up on that he told me, "In my research I found that two additional liens were filed (against the original owners). The title company handled those, but the city hasn't cleared them yet." He took up that matter with the city, too. So we also received proof that those liens are resolved.
Then Dave requested that I send him our receipt for the sod and related equipment. He wants to go after the title company and make them pay. He said it's unlikely to happen, but he would attempt it for us. Usually when he says that, he makes "it" happen. Tom and I talked it over and decided to let it go. The amount we'd potentially recoup would be quite helpful. It would more than pay for our schmancy washer. It just isn't our thing. Tom said he knew the lawn would have to be replaced when we bought the house. I figured we could just reseed and water it. Whatever. If Dave could get some sort of commission from this work, or if we had the money for a lovely thank you gift, that would be one thing. All we can offer him is what he already gets from us: Our undying respect, admiration and appreciation. Oh, and we pass on his name whenever it seems appropriate. So we're done. The lawn is in. The bills will be paid. Life goes on.
If you need an amazing realtor, who really will go above and beyond for you, and you're in southern California, let me know. I'll give you Dave's number, too.
My dad, who's an insurance investigator, came by and checked out our home. It's not worth making a claim on our insurance, but we do need to replace the laundry room flooring and the washer. Turns out we bought it four years ago; it was the dryer we had to replace when we moved. Our old place was all electric, and this is wired for a gas dryer. From what I've been hearing, four to five years is now the common life span of these "durable goods."
I did find our old washer online, but I also looked into some bigger, schmancier models. One that I especially like is about $250 more, but it's a high efficiency top loader with rave customer reviews (except for the one in which a person self-identified as the cranky old lady down the street, but with different words... she hated it). Sort of the best of both worlds.
We talked it over. Under what I think of as "normal" circumstances, we'd go ahead and upgrade. We ultimately decided to save our money now, even if it means not having lower water bills in the future. Without trying out the bells and whistles washer, we don't have an effective means of judging the potential savings anyway.
So I went online to order the simple washer. It's not available for delivery or in-store purchase for at least 90 days. I might have cackled with glee when I read that. And the other one? It'll be here on June 22. That's a long time to go without a washer, especially since Mad's still dealing with diarrhea. In the meantime, I'll have to find out where we can get our laundry done. Margaret has offered to do our laundry for us, and she did do a desperation load for me on Monday, but we don't feel right having that become a two-week long habit.
The second decision has to do with our sod, our realtor and the title company from when our home was in escrow. Today I received documentation showing that the lien against our property for not having appropriate ground cover out front has been lifted. Dave, the realtor, ended up going to the head of some department in our city to get the fine waived since the work has been done and we were not the owners when the fine was levied. While following up on that he told me, "In my research I found that two additional liens were filed (against the original owners). The title company handled those, but the city hasn't cleared them yet." He took up that matter with the city, too. So we also received proof that those liens are resolved.
Then Dave requested that I send him our receipt for the sod and related equipment. He wants to go after the title company and make them pay. He said it's unlikely to happen, but he would attempt it for us. Usually when he says that, he makes "it" happen. Tom and I talked it over and decided to let it go. The amount we'd potentially recoup would be quite helpful. It would more than pay for our schmancy washer. It just isn't our thing. Tom said he knew the lawn would have to be replaced when we bought the house. I figured we could just reseed and water it. Whatever. If Dave could get some sort of commission from this work, or if we had the money for a lovely thank you gift, that would be one thing. All we can offer him is what he already gets from us: Our undying respect, admiration and appreciation. Oh, and we pass on his name whenever it seems appropriate. So we're done. The lawn is in. The bills will be paid. Life goes on.
If you need an amazing realtor, who really will go above and beyond for you, and you're in southern California, let me know. I'll give you Dave's number, too.
Monday, June 07, 2010
House of Yuck
Yesterday evening Corey went from being tired (which is his usual excuse/attempt to get out of many things) to, in rapid-fire succession, getting one symptom of the flu after another.
Last night I headed upstairs to go to bed sometime around midnight. Tom was in bed with a wet cloth on his neck and clearly not sleeping well. I grabbed a couple of pillows and headed back down to the couch to (hopefully) avoid being the last one to be "it" in this horrible game of tag.
At 3:00 this morning I was awakened with the most awful sound. Turns out it was Tom vomiting. Upstairs. With our bedroom door and the bathroom door shut.
Part of me wants to grab Mad and head for the hills, but the fact is there seems to be a 1-3 day incubation period for whatever we're dealing with here. I could already have it. I hope not. After listening to Tom, I think I'd be afraid to get it even if I weren't pregnant.
Last night I headed upstairs to go to bed sometime around midnight. Tom was in bed with a wet cloth on his neck and clearly not sleeping well. I grabbed a couple of pillows and headed back down to the couch to (hopefully) avoid being the last one to be "it" in this horrible game of tag.
At 3:00 this morning I was awakened with the most awful sound. Turns out it was Tom vomiting. Upstairs. With our bedroom door and the bathroom door shut.
Part of me wants to grab Mad and head for the hills, but the fact is there seems to be a 1-3 day incubation period for whatever we're dealing with here. I could already have it. I hope not. After listening to Tom, I think I'd be afraid to get it even if I weren't pregnant.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
When It Rains, It Pours
... right through the air conditioning duct and into the kitchen.
The good news is that Mad is eating and peeing a little, back to trying to get out of diaper changes and refusing to sit in her high chair (compared to what I saw the past few days, I'll take the hassles over the laying around and not really caring what's happening around her). She slept all night last night and took another extremely long nap today, but has kept everything down that she's consumed.
The massive pile of laundry is about half done. I resorted to making a pillow for Mad by putting her crib comforter into a pillowcase. It's a lot easier to wash a little comforter and have it be useful later than it is the pillows she vomited all over.
The bad news, if you couldn't tell, is that our washing machine is malfunctioning somehow. It's upstairs. I noticed a spot on our ceiling today. Two, actually, about five feet apart. I checked the water hose while Tom was gone playing tennis; it seems to be operating normally. It did seem like maybe the washer has been moved somehow. When he returned, Tom unhooked it and moved it off the pan, which has a hole in it (why? how?). I was downstairs and could hear the sound of rapidly trickling water from the living room.
The spots don't seem any larger, but 10 minutes ago Mad slipped on a massive puddle in the kitchen. I guess I'm glad the water's not just sitting up there, and that it's found a way out. However, how is it getting into the ventilation duct? Where else is it going?
Of course our home warranty expired five weeks ago, and the warranty on the washer was more like three weeks ago. Hopefully we aren't going to have to make our first foray into the world of home insurance claims. My dad is an investigator for a major insurance company and has said for years that people who make claims get canceled. I'm hoping that's his naturally pessimistic outlook more than reality.
The good news is that Mad is eating and peeing a little, back to trying to get out of diaper changes and refusing to sit in her high chair (compared to what I saw the past few days, I'll take the hassles over the laying around and not really caring what's happening around her). She slept all night last night and took another extremely long nap today, but has kept everything down that she's consumed.
The massive pile of laundry is about half done. I resorted to making a pillow for Mad by putting her crib comforter into a pillowcase. It's a lot easier to wash a little comforter and have it be useful later than it is the pillows she vomited all over.
The bad news, if you couldn't tell, is that our washing machine is malfunctioning somehow. It's upstairs. I noticed a spot on our ceiling today. Two, actually, about five feet apart. I checked the water hose while Tom was gone playing tennis; it seems to be operating normally. It did seem like maybe the washer has been moved somehow. When he returned, Tom unhooked it and moved it off the pan, which has a hole in it (why? how?). I was downstairs and could hear the sound of rapidly trickling water from the living room.
The spots don't seem any larger, but 10 minutes ago Mad slipped on a massive puddle in the kitchen. I guess I'm glad the water's not just sitting up there, and that it's found a way out. However, how is it getting into the ventilation duct? Where else is it going?
Of course our home warranty expired five weeks ago, and the warranty on the washer was more like three weeks ago. Hopefully we aren't going to have to make our first foray into the world of home insurance claims. My dad is an investigator for a major insurance company and has said for years that people who make claims get canceled. I'm hoping that's his naturally pessimistic outlook more than reality.
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Wonder No More
The answer is, "Yes, she will wake up later. Several times. Vomiting every time."
Tom slept with Mad on her floor last night because everything from her bed was in the laundry. I have snuggled her in the rocker, the recliner, on my bed and on her floor today. The lone piece of toast she at 9:00 this morning came back this afternoon not long after her nearly five hour nap. She is asleep right now, but when Tom gets home (hopefully very soon), we're heading down the hill to urgent care. Mad hasn't peed all day. Considering how little she's consumed, and how much has come back up, this is no surprise.
Yes, there are a couple of urgent care facilities around here. No, they aren't with our medical group. Tom's mom has said if Mad's dehydration is too severe, the urgent care will hospitalize her. The hospitals up here aren't that great, thus the trip.
Please send her lots of positive, healing energy. She could really use it.
***UPDATE***
Mad did pee during her last nap. We've given her some more Pedialyte and Gatorade. If she can keep those down and pee some more, we aren't going anywhere. *fingerscrossed*
Tom slept with Mad on her floor last night because everything from her bed was in the laundry. I have snuggled her in the rocker, the recliner, on my bed and on her floor today. The lone piece of toast she at 9:00 this morning came back this afternoon not long after her nearly five hour nap. She is asleep right now, but when Tom gets home (hopefully very soon), we're heading down the hill to urgent care. Mad hasn't peed all day. Considering how little she's consumed, and how much has come back up, this is no surprise.
Yes, there are a couple of urgent care facilities around here. No, they aren't with our medical group. Tom's mom has said if Mad's dehydration is too severe, the urgent care will hospitalize her. The hospitals up here aren't that great, thus the trip.
Please send her lots of positive, healing energy. She could really use it.
***UPDATE***
Mad did pee during her last nap. We've given her some more Pedialyte and Gatorade. If she can keep those down and pee some more, we aren't going anywhere. *fingerscrossed*
Friday, June 04, 2010
The Numbers, Time Warp, Poop, Vomit and Irritating People Day
So, yeah, a good day all around.
I am in a bind at work. I have taken on a massive job to help spend money that must be spent in order to protect our grant. But the job hasn't gone as smoothly as I'd figured and, effective Wednesday, I'll be down to four classes from the usual 18 because of summer schedules. Those four classes, three of which are low producers, have now got two weeks to do as much of the remaining 45,000 pieces. It ain't gonna happen.
To complicate things further, I've had one of those weeks with roadblock after roadblock. For example, Margaret was sick on Wednesday, which never happens. Nance was stuck schlepping boxes of completed work from schools in three cities to the employer.
Today I stopped at our office to pick up three small jobs that had been dropped off. I can't lift the boxes, so I asked for help. Should have been out of there in 10 minutes, max. Half an hour later I called to see if maybe the facilities guy had forgotten about me. Nope, he was just stuck dealing with an IT problem so the IT people don't have to come out.
I was so late getting out of there that I went straight to my chiropractic appointment. I'm usually there for 10-15 minutes. Today, naturally, I was there almost 45 minutes. Because of the short schedules for some classes, it meant not being able to get to one of my schools where the big job is being done.
I picked up Madelyn later than I care to on a Friday afternoon. About two minutes after traffic leading up to the Cajon Pass came to a complete halt, Corey called to say he needs to provide drinks for tonight's band event and can I have them there in half an hour.
Uh, no, but I will get them there.
I called Tom to ask where one could get cold 2-liters of soda. He suggested checking a pizza place. Mad and I stopped at Papa John's, where I noticed the distinct aroma of a dirty diaper... coming from my daughter, not the "restaurant." Not much I could do right then, so we made the purchase and headed over to find Corey... who realized he had forgotten to bring appropriate clothes to school for the big event. Oh, and call time was in three minutes.
The three of us headed home so Corey could locate his stuff and I could clean up Mad. Just as we pulled into our neighborhood, Mad puked. Repeatedly. All over herself and her carseat.
Change of plans. I sent Corey in to find what he needed before we raced back to school.
Corey had no idea what time the event would end, so I had him ask his teacher. Her response? "When it's over."
Really? (This woman has driven me nuts all year with her similarly unhelpful and immature remarks to Corey, but I haven't addressed it because of his own behavior. Sometimes I am compelled to act like an idiot around him, too.)
I have her cell phone number and called to get a better answer, but she didn't pick up. So I pulled around to the band room, dragged my puke and poop covered daughter out of her nasty carseat and marched into the class, where I asked to speak with her privately.
I expressed, rather clearly, that I had sent Corey for an answer. Because of the situation with my (smelly) daughter, I couldn't attend the event that night and I needed to arrange for someone to pick Corey up (Tom has trainings down the hill on Friday nights). And, while I understood that she and Corey haven't gotten along all year, I didn't appreciate her lack of professionalism.
She, the woman who just last night was among the crowd of people laughing when Corey mentioned that his name is really Corcheval, not Corey, had the nerve to say that she and he have been getting along great this semester.
"That's your side, but that's not what I hear. Now what time can I pick him up?"
She couldn't narrow down a specific time, but I did at least get a ballpark. I called Tom and asked him to skip the training because I don't want to have to put Mad back into her carseat until I can clean it.
I brought Mad home, stripped her down, tossed her in the tub and flung her into bed. Well, not quite like that, but she's clearly not feeling well and went to bed without dinner. I wonder if she'll be up later?
Tom came in and we talked about our days. Then he mentioned that he made plans for tennis on Sunday.
Know what Sunday is? The one day that I've asked him to leave for family things. Like his birthday.
Calgon? Anyone?
Thursday, June 03, 2010
She's Got a Lovely Personality
One thing I never could have imagined when I was pregnant with Corey was gaining an understanding of the person within. People who seemingly knew everything about their babies before they were born... or even a year after... just struck me as the worst kind of know-it-all. Of course, at that tender young age I lived on the fence about everything requiring an opinion.
Having children 15 years apart gives a mom clarity that more traditional parents can't have. Enough time had elapsed between births that I could tell the ineffectiveness of some of my less than stellar parenting choices. And well before Madelyn, I'd learned where I really stood on so many different aspects of life. I figured out that there are statements I can make about my children's preferences and personalities without permanently pigeon-holing them.
For example, Corey and Fynn have a lot more in common than Mad and Fynn. My oldest and youngest are both pretty mellow, but always on the go, with periodic bouts of extremely high energy. Madelyn never moved as much nor as forcefully as Corey did. Fynn has been moving around in every ultrasound, even the very first when she was more like a bean or Mr. Peanut.
All of my babies have had hiccups. Corey and Fynn just let them happen. Yesterday alone, Fynn probably had hiccups six or seven times, for several minutes each time. (She's having them now, too, in case you're wondering.) When Mad was en utero she would only tolerate half a dozen or less before throwing a little fit and making them stop. It really seemed to upset her. I imagined it being like one of those old Tom and Jerry cartoons. "Tom" was Madelyn and "Jerry" was the hiccups. Almost as soon as Jerry entered the picture, Tom was flipping out.
I'm interested to see how Madelyn and Fynn compare on the outside. Madelyn has always hollered and yelled her way through learning. Crying during tummy time? Only until she mastered it. Crying louder while trying to turn over? Right up until the second time she did it. Screaming her head off if she wasn't allowed to touch something? Only until she "got it" (then it became more of a game to see if we'd catch her). On the other hand, she is the smilingest and happiest member of our family. She gets out what's bothering her and moves on to what's good.
Corey was such a mellow baby and toddler. The only times I ever recall him crying really loudly were during his circumcision (which took place while I was outside of the doctor's office, on the diagonally opposite side of the brick building... but I could hear him anyway, even over my own sobs... which is why I would never do it again had I ever had another son) and during the one night my ex-husband and I decided to try letting him "cry it out" (we were completely uneducated as to what that really meant... we lasted 45 minutes... and it's why I was so glad to find another way to offer sleep training to Madelyn).
I wonder if Fynn will be as easygoing as Corey was. And if, like him, she'll be secretly pissed about what's happening around her, but unable to express herself.
I guess in 15 years or so, I'll have an answer.
Having children 15 years apart gives a mom clarity that more traditional parents can't have. Enough time had elapsed between births that I could tell the ineffectiveness of some of my less than stellar parenting choices. And well before Madelyn, I'd learned where I really stood on so many different aspects of life. I figured out that there are statements I can make about my children's preferences and personalities without permanently pigeon-holing them.
For example, Corey and Fynn have a lot more in common than Mad and Fynn. My oldest and youngest are both pretty mellow, but always on the go, with periodic bouts of extremely high energy. Madelyn never moved as much nor as forcefully as Corey did. Fynn has been moving around in every ultrasound, even the very first when she was more like a bean or Mr. Peanut.
All of my babies have had hiccups. Corey and Fynn just let them happen. Yesterday alone, Fynn probably had hiccups six or seven times, for several minutes each time. (She's having them now, too, in case you're wondering.) When Mad was en utero she would only tolerate half a dozen or less before throwing a little fit and making them stop. It really seemed to upset her. I imagined it being like one of those old Tom and Jerry cartoons. "Tom" was Madelyn and "Jerry" was the hiccups. Almost as soon as Jerry entered the picture, Tom was flipping out.
I'm interested to see how Madelyn and Fynn compare on the outside. Madelyn has always hollered and yelled her way through learning. Crying during tummy time? Only until she mastered it. Crying louder while trying to turn over? Right up until the second time she did it. Screaming her head off if she wasn't allowed to touch something? Only until she "got it" (then it became more of a game to see if we'd catch her). On the other hand, she is the smilingest and happiest member of our family. She gets out what's bothering her and moves on to what's good.
Corey was such a mellow baby and toddler. The only times I ever recall him crying really loudly were during his circumcision (which took place while I was outside of the doctor's office, on the diagonally opposite side of the brick building... but I could hear him anyway, even over my own sobs... which is why I would never do it again had I ever had another son) and during the one night my ex-husband and I decided to try letting him "cry it out" (we were completely uneducated as to what that really meant... we lasted 45 minutes... and it's why I was so glad to find another way to offer sleep training to Madelyn).
I wonder if Fynn will be as easygoing as Corey was. And if, like him, she'll be secretly pissed about what's happening around her, but unable to express herself.
I guess in 15 years or so, I'll have an answer.
The Latest and the Greatest
Had a checkup yesterday, when I was officially 29 weeks. Several good things came from it.
1) I don't have gestational diabetes nor any other concerns based on recent lab work. It did make me want to order an apple crisp with lunch today, but I refrained.
2) Even though the official ultrasounds from the perinatology center recommend a due date of August 15, Doc is sticking with the 18th. I get that Fynnie will come when she's ready, and changing the due date won't alter that fact. I don't care. But in this case, I would like her to stay in a wee bit longer (whereas before I've always thought a wee bit early would be lovely). If she arrives like Corey (25 minutes late) or Mad (19.5 hours early), I will only have to work 2-4 days in December. Aside from that (and the one day a month I'll have to put in during September-November, because I won't really be on maternity leave by then, just "off contract"), I'll be off until January. That will make Fynn about the same age Madelyn was when I returned to work (4.5 months)... which was hard enough. I cannot imagine doing it sooner.
3) Even though I only gained half a pound in the last four weeks, Fynn grew the equivalent of six weeks. Okay, this puts her at five weeks ahead of gestational age, which is bigger than Mad ever was. Don't be surprised if you see this fact on some other, less happy list.
4) I am cleared to go up into the mountains. I didn't think this would be a huge no-no, especially since I have to go over a 4200 foot summit to get to and from work each day. It's just nice to know that I can get to cooler temperatures. We've been in the mid-90's this week.
5) My next appointment is only three weeks away! As Nancy said when I called to tell her, "What?! Weren't we just at this point with Mad two months ago?" Yep, practically! *big grin*
On the other hand...
1) When I asked Doc about advice, recommendations and things to be aware of since I (A) am having this child way closer to the last one and, (B) live 50 miles from the hospital (a 45 minute drive if it isn't a holiday weekend and/or a truck hasn't overturned going down the pass), he started in on his induction schedule speech again. As with last time, he told me he'll check me at 38 weeks and see if I'm inducible. (This actually happened at 37 weeks last time because he was so concerned I was having a "big baby"... she was 8.3 so, not huge.) If so, he'll induce. Uh, no you won't. If I end up having to take Margaret up on her offer to stay with her and my dad for the last week, that's what I'll do. However, sleeping on a couch, futon or Margaret's very soft bed (which she'd most likely insist I use) doesn't strike me as fun or comfortable while I'm that far along.
2) Fynn is measuring quite large. Mad never was more than three weeks larger than expected; generally she was 1-2 weeks larger. (Rebecca, if you've got some words of wisdom, now would be a great time to share.) I keep reminding myself that this is the guy who doesn't do numbers real well. Me and my grain of salt are staying mostly calm.
Oh, and two days ago I began noticing a distinct side-to-side motion while walking. Please don't call it waddling.
1) I don't have gestational diabetes nor any other concerns based on recent lab work. It did make me want to order an apple crisp with lunch today, but I refrained.
2) Even though the official ultrasounds from the perinatology center recommend a due date of August 15, Doc is sticking with the 18th. I get that Fynnie will come when she's ready, and changing the due date won't alter that fact. I don't care. But in this case, I would like her to stay in a wee bit longer (whereas before I've always thought a wee bit early would be lovely). If she arrives like Corey (25 minutes late) or Mad (19.5 hours early), I will only have to work 2-4 days in December. Aside from that (and the one day a month I'll have to put in during September-November, because I won't really be on maternity leave by then, just "off contract"), I'll be off until January. That will make Fynn about the same age Madelyn was when I returned to work (4.5 months)... which was hard enough. I cannot imagine doing it sooner.
3) Even though I only gained half a pound in the last four weeks, Fynn grew the equivalent of six weeks. Okay, this puts her at five weeks ahead of gestational age, which is bigger than Mad ever was. Don't be surprised if you see this fact on some other, less happy list.
4) I am cleared to go up into the mountains. I didn't think this would be a huge no-no, especially since I have to go over a 4200 foot summit to get to and from work each day. It's just nice to know that I can get to cooler temperatures. We've been in the mid-90's this week.
5) My next appointment is only three weeks away! As Nancy said when I called to tell her, "What?! Weren't we just at this point with Mad two months ago?" Yep, practically! *big grin*
On the other hand...
1) When I asked Doc about advice, recommendations and things to be aware of since I (A) am having this child way closer to the last one and, (B) live 50 miles from the hospital (a 45 minute drive if it isn't a holiday weekend and/or a truck hasn't overturned going down the pass), he started in on his induction schedule speech again. As with last time, he told me he'll check me at 38 weeks and see if I'm inducible. (This actually happened at 37 weeks last time because he was so concerned I was having a "big baby"... she was 8.3 so, not huge.) If so, he'll induce. Uh, no you won't. If I end up having to take Margaret up on her offer to stay with her and my dad for the last week, that's what I'll do. However, sleeping on a couch, futon or Margaret's very soft bed (which she'd most likely insist I use) doesn't strike me as fun or comfortable while I'm that far along.
2) Fynn is measuring quite large. Mad never was more than three weeks larger than expected; generally she was 1-2 weeks larger. (Rebecca, if you've got some words of wisdom, now would be a great time to share.) I keep reminding myself that this is the guy who doesn't do numbers real well. Me and my grain of salt are staying mostly calm.
Oh, and two days ago I began noticing a distinct side-to-side motion while walking. Please don't call it waddling.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
And It Smells Like...
Wood!
Okay, so I commenced the whining too early. Monday morning I called Perfect Dresser Dude; it was still available and he agreed not to take any buyers until we could get there to check it out. We left at 9:30, found the place, spent about two minutes confirming that it would work for us and 10 strapping it into my Escape with about nine bungee cords. A quick stop for gas and snacks that Mad could spill all over my newly vacuumed interior, and we were off.
The timing was great, too. We didn't have much traffic coming down the hill, and going up was a breeze. By the time we were almost to our off-ramp, the southbound traffic was jammed up with trailers and boats and cars full of hungover Vegas losers. (Okay, and maybe a few winners, but statistically you know I'm right.)
Corey had spent the weekend at my mom's, but they arrived just before we did, so the dresser came in and upstairs immediately. No foul stench stinking up the place, and it looks nice, too. For now it's in the loft until we can move the desk that has been Mad's changing table into our room.
We spent the afternoon hanging out. Tom grilled burgers and corn. A cooling breeze blew through the house.
That evening I got an email from another person who was interested in the dresser I had posted on Craigslist. I gave him a call and our address. The guy actually showed up. Even better he was excited about the dresser. He loves to refinish pieces and believes that this dresser might actually be solid walnut. To me the top looks like a veneer, but I could be wrong. I don't refinish, I have only finished raw wood. This guy seems like more of a semi-pro than a hobbyist, so I took the opportunity to show him our dining table (like that was hard, it's still sitting, 3/4 finished, in our garage; it was right next to the dresser). We talked stains and stripping agents. Hopefully I'll remember all about Blue Lightning when the time comes (yeah, that link is more for me than for you, unless you're interested in helping with my table and chairs, lol). We were in total agreement that Tom and I should have never selected chairs with spindles in the back. In a complete reversal of traditional roles, Tom stated, "But it's pretty." Yes, dear, it's pretty.
The man paid us and promised to send pictures when he's done with his latest project. It was then that I remembered we'd never introduced ourselves, not even on the phone. After he and Tom loaded the dresser ("upright, please") into his truck, we exchanged names and went our separate ways.
And with the purchase and sale of the dressers at $45 a piece, Mad and Fynn's new dresser is still free, which is way better than $100!
Okay, so I commenced the whining too early. Monday morning I called Perfect Dresser Dude; it was still available and he agreed not to take any buyers until we could get there to check it out. We left at 9:30, found the place, spent about two minutes confirming that it would work for us and 10 strapping it into my Escape with about nine bungee cords. A quick stop for gas and snacks that Mad could spill all over my newly vacuumed interior, and we were off.
The timing was great, too. We didn't have much traffic coming down the hill, and going up was a breeze. By the time we were almost to our off-ramp, the southbound traffic was jammed up with trailers and boats and cars full of hungover Vegas losers. (Okay, and maybe a few winners, but statistically you know I'm right.)
Corey had spent the weekend at my mom's, but they arrived just before we did, so the dresser came in and upstairs immediately. No foul stench stinking up the place, and it looks nice, too. For now it's in the loft until we can move the desk that has been Mad's changing table into our room.
We spent the afternoon hanging out. Tom grilled burgers and corn. A cooling breeze blew through the house.
That evening I got an email from another person who was interested in the dresser I had posted on Craigslist. I gave him a call and our address. The guy actually showed up. Even better he was excited about the dresser. He loves to refinish pieces and believes that this dresser might actually be solid walnut. To me the top looks like a veneer, but I could be wrong. I don't refinish, I have only finished raw wood. This guy seems like more of a semi-pro than a hobbyist, so I took the opportunity to show him our dining table (like that was hard, it's still sitting, 3/4 finished, in our garage; it was right next to the dresser). We talked stains and stripping agents. Hopefully I'll remember all about Blue Lightning when the time comes (yeah, that link is more for me than for you, unless you're interested in helping with my table and chairs, lol). We were in total agreement that Tom and I should have never selected chairs with spindles in the back. In a complete reversal of traditional roles, Tom stated, "But it's pretty." Yes, dear, it's pretty.
The man paid us and promised to send pictures when he's done with his latest project. It was then that I remembered we'd never introduced ourselves, not even on the phone. After he and Tom loaded the dresser ("upright, please") into his truck, we exchanged names and went our separate ways.
And with the purchase and sale of the dressers at $45 a piece, Mad and Fynn's new dresser is still free, which is way better than $100!
Sunday, May 30, 2010
I Seem To Have Missed Out On the "Easy" Part
We've decided to find a dresser for Fynn and Mad to share. My brother's family gave us one that they were just going to put out on the curb. It's perfect, except for the cigarette smell that we can't seem to get rid of.
I'd been hoping to find one through Freecycle.org, but we're not having any luck. Since we are committed to spending less than $100, I have spent the past three weekends driving around our area looking for yard sales. So far I've come across three dressers. None would withstand my use, let alone that of two little girls in a few years.
The upside of all that driving around is that I can now say with assurance that Tom and I picked a solid neighborhood for our first home. Every neighborhood we'd looked at in a nearby town (which would have put us 15-20 minutes closer to everyone else) is a shambles. Of course, ours went through something like that right after we closed escrow, so there's hope for those places, too. It's just that more of them looked worse there than anything we had around here.
Since random driving around isn't accomplishing anything other than using up gas and confirming yet again that I should let go of my complaints about being so far away, I have added a couple of strategies to my bargain hunting repertoire.
The first was to check out local resale stores. Two crap dressers from the 70's at one place, nothing anywhere else so far.
Second was to check the PennySaver. Note to self: If you want a shot at something listed there, maybe checking your mail for the latest edition more than once or twice a week will help move you up in the queue.
Third, today we stopped by an independent furniture store. They have a utile dresser (no idea of the quality since it was all wrapped up) for $125. However, we are committed to staying within the budget we've set.
Fourth, I have begun haunting Craigslist. Everyone says it's so easy to get great deals on Craigslist. Now I have found some amazing pieces of furniture for very reasonable prices. In Los Angeles. In Koreatown. In Santa Monica. In my own local listing (Inland Empire, which sounds better than it is... or maybe sounds like someone trying to boost their own ego, which would be exactly like it is), I find crap. Much like the crap that I've seen at those yard sales and resale shops.
I did find one this afternoon that seems perfect. Even better, it's $45, an amount equal to what I'm asking for the dresser we already received from my brother's family, thereby making it free. Best of all, unlike my brother and his wife, the current owners of the perfect dresser do not smoke in the house. The downside? It's located about 55 miles from here and the guy didn't call me back until 8:15 tonight. And Tom would rather drive down there in the morning than go tonight when there will be minimal Vegas and River traffic. The guy would not promise to hold it.
If all of this doesn't work, we have one last option. Tom works for a company that is well-known for its home furnishings. We know the furniture for kids sucks, but the rest of it is generally good to great quality, if you want to spend those prices. They have an outlet store a bit more than halfway down to San Diego. He'll be calling them every Tuesday morning (after their shipments are in) to see if they have anything we might be able to use.
Are there any bases we haven't covered here?
I'd been hoping to find one through Freecycle.org, but we're not having any luck. Since we are committed to spending less than $100, I have spent the past three weekends driving around our area looking for yard sales. So far I've come across three dressers. None would withstand my use, let alone that of two little girls in a few years.
The upside of all that driving around is that I can now say with assurance that Tom and I picked a solid neighborhood for our first home. Every neighborhood we'd looked at in a nearby town (which would have put us 15-20 minutes closer to everyone else) is a shambles. Of course, ours went through something like that right after we closed escrow, so there's hope for those places, too. It's just that more of them looked worse there than anything we had around here.
Since random driving around isn't accomplishing anything other than using up gas and confirming yet again that I should let go of my complaints about being so far away, I have added a couple of strategies to my bargain hunting repertoire.
The first was to check out local resale stores. Two crap dressers from the 70's at one place, nothing anywhere else so far.
Second was to check the PennySaver. Note to self: If you want a shot at something listed there, maybe checking your mail for the latest edition more than once or twice a week will help move you up in the queue.
Third, today we stopped by an independent furniture store. They have a utile dresser (no idea of the quality since it was all wrapped up) for $125. However, we are committed to staying within the budget we've set.
Fourth, I have begun haunting Craigslist. Everyone says it's so easy to get great deals on Craigslist. Now I have found some amazing pieces of furniture for very reasonable prices. In Los Angeles. In Koreatown. In Santa Monica. In my own local listing (Inland Empire, which sounds better than it is... or maybe sounds like someone trying to boost their own ego, which would be exactly like it is), I find crap. Much like the crap that I've seen at those yard sales and resale shops.
I did find one this afternoon that seems perfect. Even better, it's $45, an amount equal to what I'm asking for the dresser we already received from my brother's family, thereby making it free. Best of all, unlike my brother and his wife, the current owners of the perfect dresser do not smoke in the house. The downside? It's located about 55 miles from here and the guy didn't call me back until 8:15 tonight. And Tom would rather drive down there in the morning than go tonight when there will be minimal Vegas and River traffic. The guy would not promise to hold it.
If all of this doesn't work, we have one last option. Tom works for a company that is well-known for its home furnishings. We know the furniture for kids sucks, but the rest of it is generally good to great quality, if you want to spend those prices. They have an outlet store a bit more than halfway down to San Diego. He'll be calling them every Tuesday morning (after their shipments are in) to see if they have anything we might be able to use.
Are there any bases we haven't covered here?
I've Got My Mind On the Cake and the Cake On My Mind
Tom's birthday is coming up on election day. I figure we'll probably do most of our celebrating on Sunday next week. Since this is one of those times in life where everything is due to be paid for or must be bought in the next two months (like two car insurances, a dresser, bedding, Maisy's chip registration, etc.), I'm thinking low-key and homemade.
I have been searching the web for cake recipes that don't involve yellow cake mix or shortening. How someone can label their cake "scratch" and then start off with a box is beyond me, frankly. More like itch than scratch.
It took me the better part of an hour, an hour during which I considered calling Bossy Betty for advice. Here's what I've put together, mostly with the help of Wilton (something I think I might have heard of once, but I'm guessing everyone who bakes knows them well), and also with a little help from Hannah over at honeyandjam.com:
Butter Cake
Raspberry Filling
Raspberry Frosting
Here's my question. Tom loves raspberries, but do you think it'll be too much raspberry goodness going on? I had considered doing a lemon frosting instead (assuming I could find one that doesn't involve egg yolks or shortening... guh!).
I have been searching the web for cake recipes that don't involve yellow cake mix or shortening. How someone can label their cake "scratch" and then start off with a box is beyond me, frankly. More like itch than scratch.
It took me the better part of an hour, an hour during which I considered calling Bossy Betty for advice. Here's what I've put together, mostly with the help of Wilton (something I think I might have heard of once, but I'm guessing everyone who bakes knows them well), and also with a little help from Hannah over at honeyandjam.com:
Butter Cake
Raspberry Filling
Raspberry Frosting
Here's my question. Tom loves raspberries, but do you think it'll be too much raspberry goodness going on? I had considered doing a lemon frosting instead (assuming I could find one that doesn't involve egg yolks or shortening... guh!).
Friday, May 28, 2010
Wet Pillow
This morning I dreamt that Fynnie had died. Tom and I spent one last evening going places and having a lovely "date" with our daughter before heading to the hospital. Along the way he gave me several gifts that were related to Fynn. At each stop a happy crowd would watch as I opened the present. One woman sat at our table and insisted on seeing the mother ring (made with wooden beads, coral and turquoise) before he gave it to me. He leaned over the table and showed it to her while saying in a rather charming manner, "My daughter just died and I'm giving this to my wife."
Anyone feel like keeping me company while I never sleep again?
Anyone feel like keeping me company while I never sleep again?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
A Gift and a Miracle in the Windy City
A few months ago Nancy offered me some lenses from Ken's old camera. She brought them to work and I took them home to check 'em out. Telephoto lens, a red one for sunsets, a brown one for light filtration. Awesome! Did they fit? Not even close.
Corey saw them and fell in love, but he doesn't own a camera. I returned the lenses. Corey called a company about cashing in a gift card he'd gotten, but never used. The money would take up to three weeks to arrive. He called Nance and left a message asking if he could buy the camera and lenses. He named a price range, hung up and waited for a call.
Turned out Nance had already donated the camera and accessories to a mission. Her son works there, though, so she secretly put him on the lookout. It took him two weeks to find everything. She gifted it to Corey at one of our parties, with a small speech about how Ken would have loved for him to have the camera. Oh, and "don't take it apart." (Woman knows my son.)
Corey's camera love only grows stronger. We have acquired a copy of the manual, a non-mercury battery to make the cool extra functions work and film. When I mentioned to Nance that Corey knows everything about his "1964 Pentax Honeywell 500," tears welled up in her eyes.
"That's right. Ken bought it in 1964 when he was 16." She's delighted to know that he appreciates something that Ken loved.
I am in awe of my son blossoming because of a piece of equipment.
Tom's recently married brother is a photojournalist. Corey was excited to show him the goods.
Corey saw them and fell in love, but he doesn't own a camera. I returned the lenses. Corey called a company about cashing in a gift card he'd gotten, but never used. The money would take up to three weeks to arrive. He called Nance and left a message asking if he could buy the camera and lenses. He named a price range, hung up and waited for a call.
Turned out Nance had already donated the camera and accessories to a mission. Her son works there, though, so she secretly put him on the lookout. It took him two weeks to find everything. She gifted it to Corey at one of our parties, with a small speech about how Ken would have loved for him to have the camera. Oh, and "don't take it apart." (Woman knows my son.)
Corey's camera love only grows stronger. We have acquired a copy of the manual, a non-mercury battery to make the cool extra functions work and film. When I mentioned to Nance that Corey knows everything about his "1964 Pentax Honeywell 500," tears welled up in her eyes.
"That's right. Ken bought it in 1964 when he was 16." She's delighted to know that he appreciates something that Ken loved.
I am in awe of my son blossoming because of a piece of equipment.
Tom's recently married brother is a photojournalist. Corey was excited to show him the goods.
He made sure to buy plenty of film for the wedding. Joining him on the top tier are Tom's other brother, Matt and Chris' friend, Matt (also a photojournalist), who was the wedding photographer. (Aside from Brother Matt's pocket camera, I'm pretty sure our Nikon D60 was the smallest... and least decked out camera present for the entire weekend.)
Corey shares many of his mom's social graces, especially from when I was his age. So he's frequently tense and quiet at gatherings where he doesn't know everyone very well. This was taken at dinner on our last night. Eight people were in our party, which might not sound like a lot if you're an extrovert, but he is not.
Relaxed and happy... with the camera close, of course. And it wasn't just these snippets of our weekend for which I have evidence.
On the last morning, the four of us went down to breakfast. The cafe only servesmediocre breakfast in the mornings, and Corey claims not to eat breakfast food (I must have imagined that we go through boxes and boxes of cereal... and cartons of milk.) He asked if he could just wait for us upstairs in the lobby. When we came up, Tom said, "Looks like Corey's holding court." It didn't even register for a minute what he meant. Later on Corey told me all about the woman photographer and her friends that he'd been chatting with. What?!
On the last morning, the four of us went down to breakfast. The cafe only serves
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Chi-CAH-Go, Chi-CAH-Go, (I Don't Know The Words To This Song)
Historically, Tom and I do not do well on our trips into the great city of Chicago. With the exception of our first trip, we have always ended up arguing or having some sort of drama.
Once it was because one too many people asked us about when we'd be getting married (we'd been together four years... it's not like they were rushing us). I broached the subject later that night and we ended up having a painful argument that almost ended the relationship.
Another time we left our hotel in a northern suburb around 6:00 A.M. local time (4:00 to us) to meet up with his family for a shopping and art museum excursion. We returned after midnight. In between we'd stopped at Starbucks (in the wee hours of the morning) and had dinner after a four hour long discussion about where we should go for dinner (not joking here). Tom's brother, Chris... the one who lives IN Chicago even asked me where I thought we should go (points to me for not stating the answer I had in mind). This was about half an hour after my son was sitting in a department store, rhythmically banging his head on a shelf of books while everyone tried to think of a place that was still open. I took him to the cafeteria and got him a burger and fries. It was apparently not the experience anybody else wanted. We ended up at a little place in "Greek Town" an hour later that makes pretty much every kind of fast food. Several in our party had burgers and fries.
Last time my whole family got hit by salmonella poisoning two days before driving home. We're pretty sure we got it from two places (one with peanut butter, the other with spinach), and we were pretty messed up through the whole drive back to California. The worst thing was worrying about whether we'd have to take Mad to a hospital somewhere in New Mexico. The second worst thing was Tom's... *deep cleansing breath*... demeanor... during the drive. I believe that I called it cruel and unusual punishment at the time. Sixteen months have passed and I stand by my statement.
So it was with some trepidation that I approached last weekend's trip. To give ourselves a fighting chance of not fighting, I attempted to establish some boundaries and guidelines with Tom.
1. We all need to eat... especially Mad (I strategically threw her name in since getting meals for the rest of us wasn't something Tom managed so well in the past). However, unlike last year's trip to Vegas with your friends, we do not need to obsess over eating and mention it 30 times until everyone else is wondering if you... or I... have a tapeworm. We just need to have at least two meals less than 16 hours apart (Mad will need three). A granola bar is not a meal. Neither is juice.
2. Mad will need to sleep. She loves her nip-nappy-snip-snappy and we're not going to keep her from it. Lucky for us she's flexible if she has to be, but if a meltdown is imminent, she's outta there! Same goes for nigh-night.
3. It's your family, and you should be at everything. If Mad's acting up during Chris and Carol's wedding, I'll take her to a quieter place away from the action. If her needs (or my own) aren't jibing with the festivities, just point me in the direction of the nearest El stop and tell me which train to get on. We'll see you when you're done or when we can come back and have fun, too.
And guess what... it worked! It helped that Mad magically and instantly adapted to Chicago time (okay, it didn't help us that first morning when she was up and grooving at what was 4:15 to us).
Dinner that first night was at Quartino's, which I heard was excellent. We all walked the mile or so to dinner only to find that Mad was about ready for bed. So she and I chugged our way back to the hotel. She ate the rest of my lunch for dinner and conked out almost immediately. Since we were in the same room (and I'd been up since 2:00 AM my time), I conked out, too. Tom and Corey came in a couple hours later with a salad and steak for me. They spent a long time talking about all the dishes they'd had.
Just before we went down and hailed a cab to get to the wedding the next day, I put on a pair of heels. Heels that I'd worn only two weeks before. Heels that were now more snug than I would have liked. I figured we'd be seated most of the day, so I didn't sweat it.
During the wedding, which was on a boat*, Mad and I ended up hanging out inside with the captain. It was too cold to forego her big coat and having the life vest on over it did not make her happy.
Bubbles, however, did. (No, we're not Amish. Tom just likes to shave like he is.)
That's probably more than enough for one post, so I continue the story next time.
*I'm sorry, but if your "boat" has four levels, three bedrooms and two living areas and holds 100 people... that's a yacht to me. But what do I know?
Once it was because one too many people asked us about when we'd be getting married (we'd been together four years... it's not like they were rushing us). I broached the subject later that night and we ended up having a painful argument that almost ended the relationship.
Another time we left our hotel in a northern suburb around 6:00 A.M. local time (4:00 to us) to meet up with his family for a shopping and art museum excursion. We returned after midnight. In between we'd stopped at Starbucks (in the wee hours of the morning) and had dinner after a four hour long discussion about where we should go for dinner (not joking here). Tom's brother, Chris... the one who lives IN Chicago even asked me where I thought we should go (points to me for not stating the answer I had in mind). This was about half an hour after my son was sitting in a department store, rhythmically banging his head on a shelf of books while everyone tried to think of a place that was still open. I took him to the cafeteria and got him a burger and fries. It was apparently not the experience anybody else wanted. We ended up at a little place in "Greek Town" an hour later that makes pretty much every kind of fast food. Several in our party had burgers and fries.
Last time my whole family got hit by salmonella poisoning two days before driving home. We're pretty sure we got it from two places (one with peanut butter, the other with spinach), and we were pretty messed up through the whole drive back to California. The worst thing was worrying about whether we'd have to take Mad to a hospital somewhere in New Mexico. The second worst thing was Tom's... *deep cleansing breath*... demeanor... during the drive. I believe that I called it cruel and unusual punishment at the time. Sixteen months have passed and I stand by my statement.
So it was with some trepidation that I approached last weekend's trip. To give ourselves a fighting chance of not fighting, I attempted to establish some boundaries and guidelines with Tom.
1. We all need to eat... especially Mad (I strategically threw her name in since getting meals for the rest of us wasn't something Tom managed so well in the past). However, unlike last year's trip to Vegas with your friends, we do not need to obsess over eating and mention it 30 times until everyone else is wondering if you... or I... have a tapeworm. We just need to have at least two meals less than 16 hours apart (Mad will need three). A granola bar is not a meal. Neither is juice.
2. Mad will need to sleep. She loves her nip-nappy-snip-snappy and we're not going to keep her from it. Lucky for us she's flexible if she has to be, but if a meltdown is imminent, she's outta there! Same goes for nigh-night.
3. It's your family, and you should be at everything. If Mad's acting up during Chris and Carol's wedding, I'll take her to a quieter place away from the action. If her needs (or my own) aren't jibing with the festivities, just point me in the direction of the nearest El stop and tell me which train to get on. We'll see you when you're done or when we can come back and have fun, too.
And guess what... it worked! It helped that Mad magically and instantly adapted to Chicago time (okay, it didn't help us that first morning when she was up and grooving at what was 4:15 to us).
Dinner that first night was at Quartino's, which I heard was excellent. We all walked the mile or so to dinner only to find that Mad was about ready for bed. So she and I chugged our way back to the hotel. She ate the rest of my lunch for dinner and conked out almost immediately. Since we were in the same room (and I'd been up since 2:00 AM my time), I conked out, too. Tom and Corey came in a couple hours later with a salad and steak for me. They spent a long time talking about all the dishes they'd had.
Just before we went down and hailed a cab to get to the wedding the next day, I put on a pair of heels. Heels that I'd worn only two weeks before. Heels that were now more snug than I would have liked. I figured we'd be seated most of the day, so I didn't sweat it.
During the wedding, which was on a boat*, Mad and I ended up hanging out inside with the captain. It was too cold to forego her big coat and having the life vest on over it did not make her happy.
Bubbles, however, did. (No, we're not Amish. Tom just likes to shave like he is.)
After the cruise ended, we hopped into cabs and headed for this amazing restaurant, The Publican. Corey went with Tom's parents. Tom mentioned that he hadn't remembered to get the monetary gift we'd been planning to put in a card for his brother and Carol, so we stopped at the first bank the cabbie saw. Tom's card was declined. He called the bank and was told there was no hold on our account. Tom mentioned that we were out of town and that he was trying to make a more sizable withdrawal than we usually do, but that didn't phase the service rep. Tom figured it must be the ATM. He hopped back in and we headed to the restaurant. Since the bride and groom hadn't arrived, we decided to walk to find a working ATM.
Second ATM... four or five blocks away, his card was declined. Mine wasn't even recognized.
Third ATM... two more blocks away... is inside an enclosed lobby (thank you for small blessings... Mad could run around safely). Both of our cards were declined. Tom reached for his phone, but I said I'd call instead. He laughed and says they should have just worked it out with him when they had the chance.
After being told that A) there is no hold or other problem B) I've input my pin number incorrectly and C) there is no problem on their end, I explained that A) we are 2200 miles from home B) I've had my husband verify that I did it correctly and C) I am not getting off the phone until I have cash in hand.
Somewhere along the line the guy decided to send me to the fraud department. Lo and behold we were flagged because of being out of town and attempting to make a rather sizable withdrawal compared to the paltry sums we usually request. He reset my card. I made the withdrawal and then had him fix Tom's card, too.
So we had money for the gift, but no card. We schlepped up one more block to a grocery store, bought a card and a coloring book with crayons for Mad, and hobbled back to the restaurant. Our excursion since the boat probably took an hour, but we arrived at the same time as the bride and groom, so it worked out.
Dinner was excellent. Some six courses before the main dish. A few things I've only heard about through Top Chef. Each item was presented with it's name and place of origin, from local farms to faraway lands.
Mad's meltdown began just after the main course arrived. I packed her up and said our goodbyes. Corey decided to come with us. It turns out he felt he had better leave because he was eating too much. Dude missed out on dessert, a "white chocolate cremeaux with rhubarb and candied walnuts." Tom enjoyed it for him.
In the cab on the way back to the hotel, Mad leaned back and stared at the lights. As soon as she walked in she wanted her "nap." I managed to get her dress, pants and one sock off, change the diaper and get some bottoms on her. She slept in the shirt she wore under the dress.
... until 8:30 local time the next morning.
That's probably more than enough for one post, so I continue the story next time.
*I'm sorry, but if your "boat" has four levels, three bedrooms and two living areas and holds 100 people... that's a yacht to me. But what do I know?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
It's Bumpy Out (AKA 'And... She Lived!')
We returned from Chicago last night. The flights there were mostly okay, except for those last 30 minutes into Midway. I did send out a little, "Please let us get on the ground safely," to the universe.
The flight out of Chicago was heinous. Corey had opted to seat himself a few rows up. When he turned around to see how I was doing, I almost burst into tears from the concern in his eyes. I will try to remember that moment when he is especially obnoxious.
Instead of "Please let us get on the ground safely," my request was more along the lines of "If we're going to die, please let it happen before we land."
During that flight we were in the next to last row. We should have just taken the last seats and spared ourselves having to listen to the jackass behind us try to impress the girl he was with by regaling her with stories of his DUI's and how he only goes to movies if a girl drags him there and how every girl he knows... yeah, probably even his sister... has been with another girl (sadly, she seemed interested... who is the bigger loser?!). When the turbulence got really bad, with side-to-side dips and drops, Jackass spent about 10 minutes pondering how far we were dropping each time. I tried to go to my happy place. The best I could do was to visualize what the phrase "fasten seat belt while seated" would look like fingerspelled. Strange what works.
Even the landing involved side-to-side dips, so I was very glad the pilot was staying with that plane while we traipsed to the other end of the airport in Phoenix to grab our connection. The last flight was passable. There was some turbulence, but nothing compared to the last one. One of the nearby passengers must have commented on it to a flight attendant. I heard her reply, "I know. It's been so bumpy out lately!"
***Trip details to follow after I get through editing the 300 or so photos we took.
The flight out of Chicago was heinous. Corey had opted to seat himself a few rows up. When he turned around to see how I was doing, I almost burst into tears from the concern in his eyes. I will try to remember that moment when he is especially obnoxious.
Instead of "Please let us get on the ground safely," my request was more along the lines of "If we're going to die, please let it happen before we land."
During that flight we were in the next to last row. We should have just taken the last seats and spared ourselves having to listen to the jackass behind us try to impress the girl he was with by regaling her with stories of his DUI's and how he only goes to movies if a girl drags him there and how every girl he knows... yeah, probably even his sister... has been with another girl (sadly, she seemed interested... who is the bigger loser?!). When the turbulence got really bad, with side-to-side dips and drops, Jackass spent about 10 minutes pondering how far we were dropping each time. I tried to go to my happy place. The best I could do was to visualize what the phrase "fasten seat belt while seated" would look like fingerspelled. Strange what works.
Even the landing involved side-to-side dips, so I was very glad the pilot was staying with that plane while we traipsed to the other end of the airport in Phoenix to grab our connection. The last flight was passable. There was some turbulence, but nothing compared to the last one. One of the nearby passengers must have commented on it to a flight attendant. I heard her reply, "I know. It's been so bumpy out lately!"
***Trip details to follow after I get through editing the 300 or so photos we took.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Fear and Loathing
Friday morning we leave for Chicago. On a plane. I have flown a lot. I am not a good flyer. Visions of planes crashing fill my days and nights before a trip is complete. I will make my best good flyer faces and exercise my deep breathing abilities so as not to scare Mad or alert the TSA (who am I kidding? I am always selected for additional screening... once, while wearing very short sleeves, my arms were double wanded... "Uh, yeah, they are not any more flammable than my ass. Can we move on, please?"). In trying to find the upside of flying, the most commonly recurring thought is (and I'm not kidding about this), at least if we crash, we'll all die together. But how will we be sitting. Will I be able to reach Corey and Madelyn and Tom in those final moments? I do not want to die and I don't want my family to die.
So I try to put my neurosis aside (and maybe that stupid heartburn will ease up if I can), and think about the trip, which is to witness one of my quite nice brothers-in-law getting married to a lovely woman.
I have mixed feelings about this trip. I'm excited to see Tom's family; they are a fabulous bunch. It's extra cool that his parents have chosen to get a room at the same hotel where we're staying (as opposed to staying at their house 45 minutes away). They are thinkers, those two. All of the activities sound fun, exciting, joyful and pleasant.
Except that they are scheduled for Mad's naptime, Mad's dinnertime or Mad's bedtime.
Now some of those dinnertime events are, in fact, dinners. But knowing the family, it's highly unlikely we'll be eating then. In the past few days it has occurred to me that I will be seeing a lot of the inside of our hotel room. This will probably be preferable to seeing what that fancy restaurant is like. I've never been to a place that doesn't have highchairs somewhere. With Mad on my lap I will likely only see what she's just gotten hold of, where the knives are located (to move them away, thereby probably signaling waiters that I'm done before we start), the bathroom and the exit.
Continuing to look for the positives, I say to myself that it's better to see the inside of a hotel than the outside of an airplane.
So I try to put my neurosis aside (and maybe that stupid heartburn will ease up if I can), and think about the trip, which is to witness one of my quite nice brothers-in-law getting married to a lovely woman.
I have mixed feelings about this trip. I'm excited to see Tom's family; they are a fabulous bunch. It's extra cool that his parents have chosen to get a room at the same hotel where we're staying (as opposed to staying at their house 45 minutes away). They are thinkers, those two. All of the activities sound fun, exciting, joyful and pleasant.
Except that they are scheduled for Mad's naptime, Mad's dinnertime or Mad's bedtime.
Now some of those dinnertime events are, in fact, dinners. But knowing the family, it's highly unlikely we'll be eating then. In the past few days it has occurred to me that I will be seeing a lot of the inside of our hotel room. This will probably be preferable to seeing what that fancy restaurant is like. I've never been to a place that doesn't have highchairs somewhere. With Mad on my lap I will likely only see what she's just gotten hold of, where the knives are located (to move them away, thereby probably signaling waiters that I'm done before we start), the bathroom and the exit.
Continuing to look for the positives, I say to myself that it's better to see the inside of a hotel than the outside of an airplane.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Reasons Why I Can't Possibly Hate My Job
1. I work with cool people. Some from my office are like family, some from my schools are good friends.
2. I get to watch teenagers with developmental disabilities go from being ninth graders (really, who likes ninth graders?... especially the boys? my theory is that ninth grade boys are ninth grade boys are ninth grade boys, and no amount of intellectual ability is going to improve on that fact) to functioning, semi-rational adults who can do a job and do it well.
3. Sometimes I get to celebrate the successes of those students in front of their families, teachers and higher level district types. Last month I got to honor two of my students who are exiting high school this year. One is going to work on a yard crew for a sheltered workshop. His dad was just in awe that the time he has spent with C doing weekend chores has led to his success. (To really understand C's progress, you should know that he was instrumental in changing his school's policy for working off-site. And not in a positive way. In large part because of his community and social behaviors, it was determined that students who were entering the program had to stay on campus the first year... ahh, those freshmen boys!) He used his $100 "scholarship" to buy steel toed boots. The other student, J, has been accepted at a day program for artists. (Getting into this program from our area practically requires an act of congress because of funding.) Eh, he used his money to buy a graduation hat with mouse ears at Disneyland... and some pens, but most of his work is Disney-esque, so it makes sense.
4. Occasionally I know that the money my students earn helps out their family. Sad, but gratifying.
5. I take pride in the fact that, while most of our jobs are small (500-5000 pieces), and for people and companies you've never heard of, we are also linked with the nation's largest mass mailer (aside from the government) and, through them, to one of the only car companies that grew during the recession and all those automotive recalls. This week we started assembling envelope boxes... 120,000 envelope boxes. We should be done before the end of the month, and we're not even using half of our students. It's the sort of job that has to be done, but no one really wants to do it, and my kids are rockin' through 'em!
Oh sure, there are hard days and annoyances and... you know, sometimes parents who want to have their child's best interest at heart can come off like complete social morons.
And then there are days like yesterday, when I helped chaperone a bunch of middle schoolers *shudder* (who knew there was something worse than ninth graders?!?) at "Education Day." What's that? Well, that's when a bunch of schools are invited to a low-cost day at the minor league ballpark in one of the towns where I work. Turns out that about 60% of my classes were there, too. So I spent the day watching baseball, chatting with people I already like to hang out with and wrangling the occasional bratty girl. (It was always a girl.)
I sent Tom a couple of photos messages.
"Another tough day at the office"
"What about this view? Wish you were here."
Not sure why he never responded.
2. I get to watch teenagers with developmental disabilities go from being ninth graders (really, who likes ninth graders?... especially the boys? my theory is that ninth grade boys are ninth grade boys are ninth grade boys, and no amount of intellectual ability is going to improve on that fact) to functioning, semi-rational adults who can do a job and do it well.
3. Sometimes I get to celebrate the successes of those students in front of their families, teachers and higher level district types. Last month I got to honor two of my students who are exiting high school this year. One is going to work on a yard crew for a sheltered workshop. His dad was just in awe that the time he has spent with C doing weekend chores has led to his success. (To really understand C's progress, you should know that he was instrumental in changing his school's policy for working off-site. And not in a positive way. In large part because of his community and social behaviors, it was determined that students who were entering the program had to stay on campus the first year... ahh, those freshmen boys!) He used his $100 "scholarship" to buy steel toed boots. The other student, J, has been accepted at a day program for artists. (Getting into this program from our area practically requires an act of congress because of funding.) Eh, he used his money to buy a graduation hat with mouse ears at Disneyland... and some pens, but most of his work is Disney-esque, so it makes sense.
4. Occasionally I know that the money my students earn helps out their family. Sad, but gratifying.
5. I take pride in the fact that, while most of our jobs are small (500-5000 pieces), and for people and companies you've never heard of, we are also linked with the nation's largest mass mailer (aside from the government) and, through them, to one of the only car companies that grew during the recession and all those automotive recalls. This week we started assembling envelope boxes... 120,000 envelope boxes. We should be done before the end of the month, and we're not even using half of our students. It's the sort of job that has to be done, but no one really wants to do it, and my kids are rockin' through 'em!
Oh sure, there are hard days and annoyances and... you know, sometimes parents who want to have their child's best interest at heart can come off like complete social morons.
And then there are days like yesterday, when I helped chaperone a bunch of middle schoolers *shudder* (who knew there was something worse than ninth graders?!?) at "Education Day." What's that? Well, that's when a bunch of schools are invited to a low-cost day at the minor league ballpark in one of the towns where I work. Turns out that about 60% of my classes were there, too. So I spent the day watching baseball, chatting with people I already like to hang out with and wrangling the occasional bratty girl. (It was always a girl.)
I sent Tom a couple of photos messages.
"Another tough day at the office"
"What about this view? Wish you were here."
Not sure why he never responded.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Fun Times and Celebrations
We had Madelyn's birthday party on a Sunday. Remember my original plan for a small party? How does 27 people (plus us) grab ya? Ah, I'm not complaining. The first 20 were family. Seven sounds practically rational.
As Mad had napped earlier in the day (whew!), she had a lovely time and was pleasant to all. When Luke Skywalker dared to walk away with the stool from her art desk, she simply said, "No pwease," and it was returned immediately. Yes, Lukie may still be traumatized from his own birthday party the day before (they're birthday mates... someday Heather and I will just combine our efforts), when he dared to sit in his own car with Mad. She screamed so long and loud that I took her on a walk and then a drive. I pondered calling Tom from my car and telling him to just meet me at home until I realized that my phone... and purse... were still back at the party.
***Note to self, maybe save those no-nap-having, first-haircut-getting, my-new-bed days for weekends when everyone isn't having parties.
When it was time to open presents, Madelyn was at her art desk drawing furiously. I wasn't sure she'd come over to open presents, since she still doesn't really care about them. However, she does care about bows.
As Mad had napped earlier in the day (whew!), she had a lovely time and was pleasant to all. When Luke Skywalker dared to walk away with the stool from her art desk, she simply said, "No pwease," and it was returned immediately. Yes, Lukie may still be traumatized from his own birthday party the day before (they're birthday mates... someday Heather and I will just combine our efforts), when he dared to sit in his own car with Mad. She screamed so long and loud that I took her on a walk and then a drive. I pondered calling Tom from my car and telling him to just meet me at home until I realized that my phone... and purse... were still back at the party.
***Note to self, maybe save those no-nap-having, first-haircut-getting, my-new-bed days for weekends when everyone isn't having parties.
When it was time to open presents, Madelyn was at her art desk drawing furiously. I wasn't sure she'd come over to open presents, since she still doesn't really care about them. However, she does care about bows.
Daddy opened presents with an occasional Mad-assist. The gifts she received were lovely, mostly non-plastic, and useful. Mama likes them as much as Mad.
The moment everyone was waiting for was nearly upon us. Cake! We had one for Mad with a penguin, which she liked (though not as much as her stuffed one from Grandma's house).
And one to announce the baby's sex. (Have I mentioned the gender cake plan? If it's blue inside, we're having a boy; pink, a girl.)
But before we got to that, Tom set up an old "foolproof" gender predictor test on our couch. He put a spoon under one pillow and a knife under another. I came into the room and sat down on one of the pillows. According to the knife under my pillow, I am having a boy. One of my friends, Dayna, was thrilled. Her son, Seth, is about five months younger than Madelyn. She is almost due with her daughter. If I were having a boy, she and I would be swapping clothes.
Dayna tried the gender test (Tom set it up again while she was out of the room) and it said she was having a girl. Probably made her feel secure that we're having a boy. I think she was pretty stoked at the idea of getting all of Mad's old clothes. I would be. Girlfriend's going to be passing down 15 good-sized boxes of clothes. Probably more than I've owned in my whole lifetime!
Here are some of the peeps just before the gender cake was cut. Dayna, her husband and son are sitting at the table (yes, it's still the small table because, no, the big one still isn't finished... argh!). My dad's standing right behind Tom.
Here's the cake (as if you didn't already know):
Let's see what Dayna thinks about the color of the cake, shall we?
Way to conceal those emotions, girl! (Sadly, I didn't get to see Dad's reaction, but I know he's happy.)
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
In My Mind I've Said A Lot
... but here... not so much apparently.
And time is flying by. Unlike with Madelyn, this hasn't brought me to tears. It's still unsettling.
Monday I sat down at my desk and looked at the calendar. I saw the beach scene. Ahh, lovely. Then I realized we were in a new month. A closer look and I saw that the calendar already said April, so I proceeded to start my computer and plan my day. I have no idea how long it took for me to realize that we weren't starting April, but May. Could have been two minutes, could have been an hour. (Please do not mention that I've had that same beach scene up for a month... I'm not at my desk that often.)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
We went camping this weekend at Silverwood Lake. It was a lovely getaway even if:
1. My very own sweet and loving husband still has his head jammed too far up his rear end. Still waiting on that loud suction noise followed by a pop and a foul smell. Hoping it comes on a windy day.
2. The cost of our not-on-the-lake-heck-not-even-near-the-lake spot cost $35 a night.
3. Our neighbors to the south were at least one, but probably two or three troops of some sort. They erected their group sign on a massive wooden structure that was hammered together Friday night around 8:00. They had many ceremonies that necessitated the overuse of a train whistle. They played Asian, yet Christian-sounding, music and prayers over a loudspeaker. And they preferred to use the open lawn space between us for competitive activities, complete with cheering, clapping and more train whistling every time Mad was napping.
4. Our neighbors to the north played their loud music over a boom box and/or their car stereo. The music was pretty cool... Spanish language versions of 70's smooth jazz and soft rock. While they did turn the music off right at the stroke of "quiet time," this did not stop them from talking loudly to one another until almost 1:00 in the morning. Many of the loud conversations were directed toward their two children who were riding bikes in front of our campsite. Frequently, their conversations woke up Mad and me. Someone must have alerted the camp host (or maybe he just noticed the blaring music as he drove around to check sites) and the music went way down thereafter (to the hear it, but not feel it level). The best time was while the family left... to go pick up lunch from McDonald's(!!!). We loved picking up their trash as it blew into our site. We also appreciated the smell of marijuana that wafted across right after the main dude grabbed a bottle of wine from the cooler and went into the tent late Saturday afternoon. Nothing like a little wine and ganja after Mickey D's, I guess.
5. A surprisingly large number of people at this place are not campers in the sense that I think of them. How do I know? Try several different car alarms going off at all hours of the day and night. Some more than once. My brother is right that the only difference between where we were and being downtown somewhere else is that we didn't hear any emergency vehicles.
6. Corey, who has his own tent, kept knocking on mine in the middle of the freaking night so I could unlock the car because he was A) hungry or B) "needed something from the car."
7. Mad, who's not used falling asleep with anyone else around (let alone all that racket) stayed awake until after 9:30 Friday night. Once she did fall asleep, I felt like I spent the entire night chasing her around with the sleeping bag we were using as a blanket.
And yes, I stick by my original statement. It was a lovely getaway. I spent time with my brother's family. Corey got to have more freedom and responsibility than he usually earns. Mad was mostly adorable, even when she was upset because I wouldn't let her do something. At one point she stuck out her hip, pouted and said to me in a low voice, "Mama go work." Sleeping on the ground wasn't any more difficult than sleeping in bed, and I got to rest with Mad during the day. She must have requested, "Huh Wi'll Baby" (translation: "Hush Little Baby") about forty times, but having her looking up at me as I sang was just like I always imagined before I knew her. She, my sister-in-law and I went and played in the lake (with our hands) Saturday morning. I was able to take some nature photos (no word on how they came out yet). And Tom was eventually able to join us and behave like a decent human being. Lovely.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I have a new theory about nausea. I think it might be worsened by sunlight (never mind that I vomited in the middle of the night). Almost every morning as Mad and I are settling into the car, I find myself retching just before I pull out. Last Friday Tom stayed home with Mad, so my settling into the car period took about five minutes less than usual. Instead of retching in the privacy of my own driveway, the nausea hit when I was about a block away. Howdy neighbors!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I have my next prenatal appointment later today (Wednesday). I am very curious about how she'll measure this time. I had a very small dinner and a cup of juice and had to spend about an hour leaning to one side because she's up under my ribs. How is that possible? I still have to take my prenatal vitamins, but the thought of consuming anything just seems wrong.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I haven't finished my post on Mad's birthday party yet. Even though we're three weeks past it, I will. I just sent out thank yous tonight.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
That's enough for now. For anyone who's still awake like me, sleep sweet when you get there.
And time is flying by. Unlike with Madelyn, this hasn't brought me to tears. It's still unsettling.
Monday I sat down at my desk and looked at the calendar. I saw the beach scene. Ahh, lovely. Then I realized we were in a new month. A closer look and I saw that the calendar already said April, so I proceeded to start my computer and plan my day. I have no idea how long it took for me to realize that we weren't starting April, but May. Could have been two minutes, could have been an hour. (Please do not mention that I've had that same beach scene up for a month... I'm not at my desk that often.)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
We went camping this weekend at Silverwood Lake. It was a lovely getaway even if:
1. My very own sweet and loving husband still has his head jammed too far up his rear end. Still waiting on that loud suction noise followed by a pop and a foul smell. Hoping it comes on a windy day.
2. The cost of our not-on-the-lake-heck-not-even-near-the-lake spot cost $35 a night.
3. Our neighbors to the south were at least one, but probably two or three troops of some sort. They erected their group sign on a massive wooden structure that was hammered together Friday night around 8:00. They had many ceremonies that necessitated the overuse of a train whistle. They played Asian, yet Christian-sounding, music and prayers over a loudspeaker. And they preferred to use the open lawn space between us for competitive activities, complete with cheering, clapping and more train whistling every time Mad was napping.
4. Our neighbors to the north played their loud music over a boom box and/or their car stereo. The music was pretty cool... Spanish language versions of 70's smooth jazz and soft rock. While they did turn the music off right at the stroke of "quiet time," this did not stop them from talking loudly to one another until almost 1:00 in the morning. Many of the loud conversations were directed toward their two children who were riding bikes in front of our campsite. Frequently, their conversations woke up Mad and me. Someone must have alerted the camp host (or maybe he just noticed the blaring music as he drove around to check sites) and the music went way down thereafter (to the hear it, but not feel it level). The best time was while the family left... to go pick up lunch from McDonald's(!!!). We loved picking up their trash as it blew into our site. We also appreciated the smell of marijuana that wafted across right after the main dude grabbed a bottle of wine from the cooler and went into the tent late Saturday afternoon. Nothing like a little wine and ganja after Mickey D's, I guess.
5. A surprisingly large number of people at this place are not campers in the sense that I think of them. How do I know? Try several different car alarms going off at all hours of the day and night. Some more than once. My brother is right that the only difference between where we were and being downtown somewhere else is that we didn't hear any emergency vehicles.
6. Corey, who has his own tent, kept knocking on mine in the middle of the freaking night so I could unlock the car because he was A) hungry or B) "needed something from the car."
7. Mad, who's not used falling asleep with anyone else around (let alone all that racket) stayed awake until after 9:30 Friday night. Once she did fall asleep, I felt like I spent the entire night chasing her around with the sleeping bag we were using as a blanket.
And yes, I stick by my original statement. It was a lovely getaway. I spent time with my brother's family. Corey got to have more freedom and responsibility than he usually earns. Mad was mostly adorable, even when she was upset because I wouldn't let her do something. At one point she stuck out her hip, pouted and said to me in a low voice, "Mama go work." Sleeping on the ground wasn't any more difficult than sleeping in bed, and I got to rest with Mad during the day. She must have requested, "Huh Wi'll Baby" (translation: "Hush Little Baby") about forty times, but having her looking up at me as I sang was just like I always imagined before I knew her. She, my sister-in-law and I went and played in the lake (with our hands) Saturday morning. I was able to take some nature photos (no word on how they came out yet). And Tom was eventually able to join us and behave like a decent human being. Lovely.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I have a new theory about nausea. I think it might be worsened by sunlight (never mind that I vomited in the middle of the night). Almost every morning as Mad and I are settling into the car, I find myself retching just before I pull out. Last Friday Tom stayed home with Mad, so my settling into the car period took about five minutes less than usual. Instead of retching in the privacy of my own driveway, the nausea hit when I was about a block away. Howdy neighbors!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I have my next prenatal appointment later today (Wednesday). I am very curious about how she'll measure this time. I had a very small dinner and a cup of juice and had to spend about an hour leaning to one side because she's up under my ribs. How is that possible? I still have to take my prenatal vitamins, but the thought of consuming anything just seems wrong.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I haven't finished my post on Mad's birthday party yet. Even though we're three weeks past it, I will. I just sent out thank yous tonight.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
That's enough for now. For anyone who's still awake like me, sleep sweet when you get there.
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