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?
Sunday, May 30, 2010
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.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Chef Boyardyuck!
Back in the day I loved Chef Boyardee Ravioli. I even fed them to Corey when he was a younger child. That stopped probably more than 10 years ago as I learned to make things myself (no, not ravioli). With this pregnancy I have craved just about anything acidic. In the past 36 hours, for example, I've eaten two whole lemons with salt (salt is the other half of the cravings... I'm mostly trying to cut that back to normal levels). Just about anything tomato-y is high on my list of wanted foods (of course, they're frequently salty, too).
Tonight Corey and I did the grocery shopping. I managed to skip the V-8 (I know, Beth, I know), but for some reason I ended up in the processed canned foods aisle. I don't normally even go there. The mini ravioli practically leapt into my cart. Corey was baffled.
"What are you doing?"
"Look, I know it's crap, but I want it. You're going to have some, too."
*looking skeptical* "Why?"
"You used to like it when you were little."
"So."
So we came home and I cooked it. Thank god Corey will eat just about anything, because I would have hated to throw it away. Mushy once-upon-a-time-this-was-pasta in a faintly reminiscent tomato sauce. Ugh!
Tonight Corey and I did the grocery shopping. I managed to skip the V-8 (I know, Beth, I know), but for some reason I ended up in the processed canned foods aisle. I don't normally even go there. The mini ravioli practically leapt into my cart. Corey was baffled.
"What are you doing?"
"Look, I know it's crap, but I want it. You're going to have some, too."
*looking skeptical* "Why?"
"You used to like it when you were little."
"So."
So we came home and I cooked it. Thank god Corey will eat just about anything, because I would have hated to throw it away. Mushy once-upon-a-time-this-was-pasta in a faintly reminiscent tomato sauce. Ugh!
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Friend Request
I've had a few odd friend requests via Facebook lately. Corey's paternal grandmother (who did not respond to my message, in case you were wondering) and people from my mom's church who I know, but barely. But that's not what this is about. This is about my friend Jody.
She and I have been friends since Corey and her son, Aaron, were about to turn one. I was newly separated and Jody eventually set me up on my first blind date. I think it should go down in history as one of the worst blind dates ever. It was so bad I wrote about it here seven years later (I apologize for the extra large font).
Well Jody is back on the matchmaking front (did she ever leave?). Tonight she called to tell me about this great Deaf guy she knows ("he's smart and everything!"), who can't seem to find a (presumably hearing) woman to date who'll get past his deafness. She wanted to know if any of my former sign language students would be interested.
Despite a strong desire to protect my peeps, I mentally ran down the list of candidates. One man, one lesbian, several married women and a 12 year old Pakistani girl. Nope. Not a single candidate. *Whew!* Then I remembered Natalie, but she's a few years older than I and the guy is 10 years younger. Still no. *Double Whew!*
We got off the phone just after she said, "Well think about it. If you can, throw me a name."
Yeah, okay.
She and I have been friends since Corey and her son, Aaron, were about to turn one. I was newly separated and Jody eventually set me up on my first blind date. I think it should go down in history as one of the worst blind dates ever. It was so bad I wrote about it here seven years later (I apologize for the extra large font).
Well Jody is back on the matchmaking front (did she ever leave?). Tonight she called to tell me about this great Deaf guy she knows ("he's smart and everything!"), who can't seem to find a (presumably hearing) woman to date who'll get past his deafness. She wanted to know if any of my former sign language students would be interested.
Despite a strong desire to protect my peeps, I mentally ran down the list of candidates. One man, one lesbian, several married women and a 12 year old Pakistani girl. Nope. Not a single candidate. *Whew!* Then I remembered Natalie, but she's a few years older than I and the guy is 10 years younger. Still no. *Double Whew!*
We got off the phone just after she said, "Well think about it. If you can, throw me a name."
Yeah, okay.
From Learning To Sit Up To Learning To Sit Still
Mad, Zach, Jovie, Luke (Heather) and Samantha (Valeria) in October, 2008:
And again in the same order yesterday.
And again in the same order yesterday.
Yeah, that's my girl screaming her head off.
Hearts and Winers
I am the one who gets Madelyn to Grandma's in the morning. Instead of setting my alarm I usually wait to hear her talking to her stuffed friends over the monitor. Thus, she is with me as I'm getting dressed.
Yesterday morning in the restroom Mad declared that she wants hearts panties (hard to guess what I was wearing, I know). We talked about getting hearts panties once she starts using the potty. Her next statement?
"I need panty winers."
With any luck, not for a while, Kid.
Yesterday morning in the restroom Mad declared that she wants hearts panties (hard to guess what I was wearing, I know). We talked about getting hearts panties once she starts using the potty. Her next statement?
"I need panty winers."
With any luck, not for a while, Kid.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Going Green
Um... no, I'm not talking about getting all environmentally friendly*, I'm talking about putting in a lawn. In our yard. Uh, yeah... in the desert.
*We are mostly environmentally friendly people. If you saw the vegetable graveyard... er, compost pile we have out back, or know that we frequently recycle twice as much as we throw away... I've even made five or six trips to recycle concrete... you'd know that. I just need a little green, soft, cool, slightly damp lawn to walk, sit or play upon.
Getting the lawn wasn't exactly high drama, but there has been some drama surrounding our yard. Last fall when I (finally) went to register Maisy, I learned that we have a $460 lien on the property. Why? Because there was dead grass in the yard. All of the city's records stopped just over a month before we bought the place (staff shortage), so technically, we're not responsible for it. Dave, our realtor, has been working with the escrow and title companies to get it resolved.
We had a small amount of hope that the title company would pay to have our lawn put in, but they are standing by the fact that the city didn't report that lien (there was another larger lien for something else, but that had been reported and handled).
Nine or 10 months ago, Tom ripped out all of the dead lawn. We thought we'd have no problem getting a new lawn in before the real heat of summer, but then the truck conked out and we now have a second massive car payment. Functioning cars (both are hybrids... we're environmentally friendly, I tell ya!) or lawn? It was a tough choice, but I guess the right one was made.
Now that winter's over, and we still have that lien hanging, it was time to do some yard work. Dave thinks he can get the city to drop the fee as long as the work has been done. Can I just admit here that I'm glad for the lien because it meant doing the lawn before we otherwise would have? Don't tell Tom... or Dave.
So we had some sod delivered...
Did a little gardening,
(Okay, some of us might have done more intense, hard labor)
And some of us might have dragged our feet more than we should have (and we still didn't get to go see Amber again, dang it all!),
But in the end, a lawn was made.
I am more sore than I've been in years, but it was good to work side by side with Tom and have something to show for it. He did most of the truly hard stuff. Corey (mostly) cleared the spot on the other side of the driveway and picked up rocks and debris that came out of our yard (a four foot length of rusted metal? really?). I cut open all the bags of topper and topsoil and did most of the sod cutting (edges and sprinklers). And I swept dirt for what seemed like days. Tom did pretty much everything else.
My dad and Margaret showed up at 8:00 last night when they'd heard we were struggling to wrap things up. I could have cried. Margaret took control of Madelyn and wrangled our downstairs floor into shape while Corey made dinner. Dad helped lay sod and used the roller. As soon as it was done, they were out of here. They took a two hour drive (round trip) to help us.
We've definitely learned our lesson. We didn't think we'd need much help (a brother-in-law helped us get all of the non-sod components home), and the backyard will be a much larger project (digging sprinkler trenches in clay? should be fun); we didn't want to ask for help too often.
I have already sent out an email to our local-ish friends and family. We probably won't get to the backyard until next year, so they can either move far, far away, or be ready for the Bat Signal.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Sergeant Mary?
For 12 years I have enjoyed the song, "My Hero" by Foo Fighters. I just discovered today that the line is "He's ordinary," not "Sergeant Mary."
Makes a lot more sense now.
Makes a lot more sense now.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Choosing Sides
When you hear news about someone who's been accused of hurting another person, what is your automatic reaction? I, for one, tend to assume the person is guilty. When there is a tug-of-war between my head ("of course they did it... almost everyone who's accused in these situations is guilty") and my heart ("well if his mom says he couldn't do it... she probably knows him best"), my head tends to win.
Here's why I bring this up: One of the educational assistants (Person A*) I have worked with for over six years has been accused of purposely injuring one of the students in that class. The student is non-verbal and wheelchair bound. Something clearly happened to her; she had the welts to prove it.
The accusations come from another aide (Person B) who was in the room when it allegedly happened. No one else was around but those three.
Here's the rub: Person B's side of the story includes not doing anything to stop it and waiting to say what happened until a third aide noticed the welts. Also, at some point Person B took the student to the restroom on her own, as did the third aide. And Person B is known for causing problems. She was, I believe, instrumental in creating such a bad environment in another class that one of our best aides left. On the flip side, Person A has always been reliable, caring and aware.
Based on everything I've heard, I have cast my vote for Person A (as has the girl's parent). It honestly sounds to me like either Person B or the third aide injured the girl. Both of them, as well as the teacher, have clearly lied about how the classroom operates. I was not asked to give any impressions.
Person A has been removed from the classroom and was given the choice of resigning or being fired. I drafted her letter of defense. To protect her future job options, she chose to resign. I wrote out her resignation and gave her a letter of recommendation . A police report was filed, and the DA is pursuing charges. I have provided a character reference.
Here's where I get a little wimpy: I believe that what I'm doing is right, but I still have to work with the teacher and other aides. My way of making this happen has been to send Nance to their class instead of going myself. I can sometimes be too confrontational, especially when there is a question of right and wrong regarding children. As it is, mere hours before Person A asked for a character reference, I was on the phone with the teacher pointing out yet again that paperwork needs to be done a certain way. Despite my best efforts at self-control I blurted out, "When Person A was there it was always done a certain way, which is the right way. Whatever you need to do to do it like she did, that's what has to happen." Ugh. Nice. Professional, too. I am concerned about how things will go once they all go to court. Knowing that I have to work with women who are dishonest... and one of whom hurt a defenseless child... makes me a little queasy. Keeping my distance is my best defense. Nancy's not getting involved, which is her usual preference, so she can seem neutral.
Have you ever been in this kind of situation? What would you do?
*They have the same first name. Such is the lack of creativity on my part today, I have not come up with something different.
Here's why I bring this up: One of the educational assistants (Person A*) I have worked with for over six years has been accused of purposely injuring one of the students in that class. The student is non-verbal and wheelchair bound. Something clearly happened to her; she had the welts to prove it.
The accusations come from another aide (Person B) who was in the room when it allegedly happened. No one else was around but those three.
Here's the rub: Person B's side of the story includes not doing anything to stop it and waiting to say what happened until a third aide noticed the welts. Also, at some point Person B took the student to the restroom on her own, as did the third aide. And Person B is known for causing problems. She was, I believe, instrumental in creating such a bad environment in another class that one of our best aides left. On the flip side, Person A has always been reliable, caring and aware.
Based on everything I've heard, I have cast my vote for Person A (as has the girl's parent). It honestly sounds to me like either Person B or the third aide injured the girl. Both of them, as well as the teacher, have clearly lied about how the classroom operates. I was not asked to give any impressions.
Person A has been removed from the classroom and was given the choice of resigning or being fired. I drafted her letter of defense. To protect her future job options, she chose to resign. I wrote out her resignation and gave her a letter of recommendation . A police report was filed, and the DA is pursuing charges. I have provided a character reference.
Here's where I get a little wimpy: I believe that what I'm doing is right, but I still have to work with the teacher and other aides. My way of making this happen has been to send Nance to their class instead of going myself. I can sometimes be too confrontational, especially when there is a question of right and wrong regarding children. As it is, mere hours before Person A asked for a character reference, I was on the phone with the teacher pointing out yet again that paperwork needs to be done a certain way. Despite my best efforts at self-control I blurted out, "When Person A was there it was always done a certain way, which is the right way. Whatever you need to do to do it like she did, that's what has to happen." Ugh. Nice. Professional, too. I am concerned about how things will go once they all go to court. Knowing that I have to work with women who are dishonest... and one of whom hurt a defenseless child... makes me a little queasy. Keeping my distance is my best defense. Nancy's not getting involved, which is her usual preference, so she can seem neutral.
Have you ever been in this kind of situation? What would you do?
*They have the same first name. Such is the lack of creativity on my part today, I have not come up with something different.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The First Big Thing and Girl Parts
Okay, it's the second, really, but the first first thing isn't working out so well. What the heck am I talking about? Baby stuff! Yay!
A couple of months ago my niece gave us her old dresser. It's the right color and size, and the style even works with the girls' room. But my brother and his wife are heavy duty smokers. We have had that dresser and all the drawers spread out over our patio on sunny days and wiped it down with vinegar five or six times. The smell seemed to be gone well enough that we moved it upstairs to our loft. Still didn't notice any bad aromas. We had Mad's party and the big reveal on Sunday (more on that later), and put the drawers back into the dresser just for tidiness. When I took my dad upstairs to show him Mad's "new bed" we stopped and took a whiff of the dresser.
I can barely smell anything, but as soon as we opened the drawer, I could smell that smell. Ugh! If anyone has a workable solution to get the stench out, I would love to hear it. Plan B is to post wanted ads on Freecycle.org and hope we get a better dresser.
So what has supplanted the dresser as the first big thing? We got the baby's mattress. As we've learned more about being green (I'm proud to say we were green before green was cool... but embarrassed to say we're lazy... so maybe we're really teal? aqua?) and health conscious, we have learned about all the nasties that get put into crib mattresses. So Mad has our family's first organic mattress. And by organic, I don't mean the cotton cover is organic, but sprayed with chemical flame retardants. I mean it's got an organic rubber core and cotton and wool padding and cover. Wool is a natural flame retardant.
We love the mattress, but hated the whole process of getting it. I found a website for a company based in Vermont, called and made the order. The 2-3 weeks estimate for shipping turned into 10 weeks. It almost didn't arrive before Madelyn! And when it did arrive, it was folded in half in a box.
Even if that company were still in business, there's no way I'd send them my money again. We found another company, EcoBaby Pure Rest, that not only manufactures their own mattresses, they have a showroom. And they're in my hometown, San Diego! I called to confirm that they had mattresses in stock, Nance and I made the drive and picked one up. It's leaning against the wall in our living room right now. Shipping is only $35, which is about what I spent in gas, but I was glad to have it in my hands immediately (okay, after about two and a half hours of driving). The bonus of the day came when the sales guy, Victor, told me they give a 20% discount for coming to pick it up. I saved $88. Yay!
To make it less of a spent-the-whole-day-driving kind of day, we went over to the harbor and had a fabulous lunch at The Fish Market in an enclosed patio right over the water. The only downside for me is that I haven't completely regained my taste buds from this pesky cold.
In other Baby Fynn news, I had the EKG done yesterday. Her heart is strong and healthy. Even though I have some minor heart things, she does not. The doctor asked if I avoid caffeine. I do, in part because of my own palpitations and mainly because who wants to have a hyper baby en utero? Then he told us something we'd never heard before: Caffeine during pregnancy is linked to babies developing skipped heartbeats, too. Who knew?
After he was done checking out her heart, Doc spent a little time doing another ultrasound. For part of it he switched to 4D. I saw my daughter's face. It felt like meeting her a little. I can't wait to really be face to face with her.
And, causing me to think these ultrasound people are more than slightly obsessed with genitalia, he reconfirmed that we are having a girl. The picture he printed is pretty grainy, so to be sure we didn't forget that we're having a girl, he typed "Vagina" and put three arrows pointing to it. If that wasn't enough, he also typed a message in the corner.
JUST LIKE MOMMY!
Thanks, dude, for the picture I will never show (at least until she's, you know... annoying me around her friends or something).
A couple of months ago my niece gave us her old dresser. It's the right color and size, and the style even works with the girls' room. But my brother and his wife are heavy duty smokers. We have had that dresser and all the drawers spread out over our patio on sunny days and wiped it down with vinegar five or six times. The smell seemed to be gone well enough that we moved it upstairs to our loft. Still didn't notice any bad aromas. We had Mad's party and the big reveal on Sunday (more on that later), and put the drawers back into the dresser just for tidiness. When I took my dad upstairs to show him Mad's "new bed" we stopped and took a whiff of the dresser.
I can barely smell anything, but as soon as we opened the drawer, I could smell that smell. Ugh! If anyone has a workable solution to get the stench out, I would love to hear it. Plan B is to post wanted ads on Freecycle.org and hope we get a better dresser.
So what has supplanted the dresser as the first big thing? We got the baby's mattress. As we've learned more about being green (I'm proud to say we were green before green was cool... but embarrassed to say we're lazy... so maybe we're really teal? aqua?) and health conscious, we have learned about all the nasties that get put into crib mattresses. So Mad has our family's first organic mattress. And by organic, I don't mean the cotton cover is organic, but sprayed with chemical flame retardants. I mean it's got an organic rubber core and cotton and wool padding and cover. Wool is a natural flame retardant.
We love the mattress, but hated the whole process of getting it. I found a website for a company based in Vermont, called and made the order. The 2-3 weeks estimate for shipping turned into 10 weeks. It almost didn't arrive before Madelyn! And when it did arrive, it was folded in half in a box.
Even if that company were still in business, there's no way I'd send them my money again. We found another company, EcoBaby Pure Rest, that not only manufactures their own mattresses, they have a showroom. And they're in my hometown, San Diego! I called to confirm that they had mattresses in stock, Nance and I made the drive and picked one up. It's leaning against the wall in our living room right now. Shipping is only $35, which is about what I spent in gas, but I was glad to have it in my hands immediately (okay, after about two and a half hours of driving). The bonus of the day came when the sales guy, Victor, told me they give a 20% discount for coming to pick it up. I saved $88. Yay!
To make it less of a spent-the-whole-day-driving kind of day, we went over to the harbor and had a fabulous lunch at The Fish Market in an enclosed patio right over the water. The only downside for me is that I haven't completely regained my taste buds from this pesky cold.
In other Baby Fynn news, I had the EKG done yesterday. Her heart is strong and healthy. Even though I have some minor heart things, she does not. The doctor asked if I avoid caffeine. I do, in part because of my own palpitations and mainly because who wants to have a hyper baby en utero? Then he told us something we'd never heard before: Caffeine during pregnancy is linked to babies developing skipped heartbeats, too. Who knew?
After he was done checking out her heart, Doc spent a little time doing another ultrasound. For part of it he switched to 4D. I saw my daughter's face. It felt like meeting her a little. I can't wait to really be face to face with her.
And, causing me to think these ultrasound people are more than slightly obsessed with genitalia, he reconfirmed that we are having a girl. The picture he printed is pretty grainy, so to be sure we didn't forget that we're having a girl, he typed "Vagina" and put three arrows pointing to it. If that wasn't enough, he also typed a message in the corner.
JUST LIKE MOMMY!
Thanks, dude, for the picture I will never show (at least until she's, you know... annoying me around her friends or something).
Monday, April 12, 2010
A Long Story About A Quick Delivery
On this morning two years ago, at 4:35 A.M., Mad shot into the world like a rocket (after 36 hours of labor). Since I've already written about the first part of my labor, this starts up once we arrived at the hospital.
Despite repeated warnings on the hospital tour about how it's better not to arrive during shift change, that's exactly what we did. The downside is that we were stuck standing outside the maternity entrance for a minute while we waited for a response to the buzzing doorbell... and then again once we were two feet inside the maternity lobby and waiting to get into the maternity department.
The upside was that all the exam rooms were taken, so we went immediately into the room where our baby would be born. Oliver Canyon or Madelyn Kenzie? We didn't know.
The nurse who checked me out, Philomena ("or you can just call me Phil"), wasn't exactly pleasant, friendly or gentle. I would have sworn she was wearing a 9 karat ring on her finger during the exam. She declared I was dilated to about 3; I was so sure I was at least 4 by then, especially after all the walking I'd done over the past two days (not to mention, on the way to the hospital). Lucky for us, Phil was going off duty and Maribel Cruz became our nurse.
Maribel was the kind of nurse I hope to have again next time. Heck, I'd really prefer to have Maribel herself.
She had us on the monitor for an hour to see what the contractions were like. When she re-examined me, I was dilated another centimeter and a half (or Phil's ring got in the way). We were staying. Corey was given a cell phone and a list of people to call.
We presented our birth plan, which was written mainly for us since we knew the hospital allowed most of the things we wanted. It was pretty simple and straightforward.
*Soft music playing (Corey was the DJ)
*Friends and family allowed during labor
*Do not offer pain medication; I will ask for it if I need it
*Lots of walking and changing positions to stimulate labor
*Break my water if necessary instead of administering pitocin
*No antibiotic eye cream for the baby (as it just so happens, I don't have any STD's, so it was unnecessary)
*No vitamin K shot unless the baby has bruising or bleeding
*No Hep B shot (none of the people in our circle have hepatitis and we were counting on the baby not being sexually active for quite some time, so it was unnecessary... and it reduces appetite and increases lethargy, which are not good things for newborns)
Of course we had to sign declination forms for the shots and eye cream, but Maribel didn't make a big deal about it. She did ask about our reasoning, but it seemed to be more out of curiosity than condescension.
One thing I did agree to was an IV fluids line. Maintaining hydration isn't always easy for me under the best of circumstances. When I was in labor with Corey, I'd taken several hot showers. Getting an IV put an end to that. I never even asked if showering would be possible this time. Although the room was spacious, the bathroom was tiny; I didn't even want to try a shower.
My mom and Nancy both arrived and stayed for the duration. Tom was by my side almost every minute. I used the restroom by myself... we're just not that kind of couple. I'm not sure if Tom ever got to use the restroom. I remember he tried to at one point, but couldn't get more than a foot from me before another contraction would start. We walked the halls numerous times until around 11:00 or so. I was usually in bed by 10:00, and my body wanted to catch some sleep like usual.
Tom counted out my breaths for each contraction. I know, I know... a lot of women would find that annoying, but I can not find a focus point on the wall or in a pair of booties. I found it in Tom's voice.
Everybody in the room was quiet for most of the night. Once, my mom dared to whisper something to Nance while I was having a contraction. I shushed her. My own mother. As soon as the contraction went away I felt bad about it.
For quite a while things progressed pretty close to the one centimeter per hour like you hear. But then I hung out at 8+ for over three hours. That was not fun. As we approached 3.5 hours of no progress, I started losing control of my pain (and, perhaps, my mind). According to Nancy, the only thing I said the whole time (and only once) was a very quiet, "Oh my."
Can I be frank? I have quite the sailor's vocabulary. I could have said a lot of things, and I was definitely thinking them, but I had Corey in the room. I wanted him to be part of the labor and see (to a point) what a woman goes through. I did not want to traumatize him. I also had my mom and Nance, two churchgoing women... who've heard my foul mouth on (the hopefully rare) occasion. But it just hit me as unseemly at that moment (I don't know why then, when I really could have gotten away with it). And lastly, I had Tom there. I felt very protective over him and Corey. I didn't want to scare either of them since they'd never been through this side of labor before.
At one point Corey, who is a night owl, decided he needed a snack. We'd brought plenty for just such a moment. He selected his A-1 steak sauce flavored beef jerky. When the package was torn open, I could have sworn a skunk had been let loose in the room. It smelled awful! I explained, as rationally as I could, that even though it didn't make any sense he would have to get those things out of the room and not open them up again near me until after the baby was born.
Sometime around 3:30 in the morning I started enquiring about pain medications. Even though I could recite which drugs do what to Mom and Baby, and Tom and I shared a common view on each of them, I really didn't care what they gave me. I just wanted the pain to end.
Tom knew how much I wanted to deliver naturally, and Maribel also understood me (she was pregnant, too... Fynnie will be born when her son is about 2). When Tom called to ask her about pain meds, she came to talk with us.
We talked after Mad was born and Maribel said, "I knew how much you wanted to go natural, but you'd been stalled out for so long. What if it took several more hours?"
Tom asked if it was still possible to get an epidural. She said it was, had me change positions (we'd forgotten that step somewhere along the way) and then left us alone to talk about it. Of course, with the position change, the pain of the contractions increased. I was as close to wanting an epidural as I'd ever been in my life.
Tom called Maribel back and they talked some more about my getting the epidural. She had me change positions again (ugh!) and told me the anesthesiologist was just down the hall. He was about to do someone else first who had been waiting a long time, but if it was really bad, she would have him come to me first. I don't recall an actual response, but in my mind there was no way I could step in front of someone else.
Another exam and I was at 9. Progress! Maribel left the room again. I'm not sure if a decision had been made at that point. It seems to me she or Tom said something about talking it over and getting back to her.
Are you onto them yet? They tag-teamed me and stalled me. Whatever.
At some point, though, I did specifically ask for the epidural.
I've heard that "you know a woman's about to have a baby when she doesn't care who sees her naked." Not so much on my end, thanks. With the position changes that Maribel suggested, somewhere in the fog of my brain I recalled that getting on all fours could be useful. I didn't mind doing that in front of my peeps, but I didn't want the back side of my gown opening and revealing... me... to them.
Of course I handled it all with tact and aplomb. I believe my frantically whispered words to Tom were, "Get those people out of here!"
"What? Who?"
"Them! Those people! Get them out!"
Tom ushered them out pretty quickly. We changed positions a couple more times. Eventually I had him call because I thought maybe I had to push.
Nope, 9+. Maribel worked some obstetrical magic on my body. A few minutes later when she checked me... just as the anesthesiologist walked in... I was finally at 10.
The pain doc apologized for taking so long. I said, "No, it's good. Really." I was so relieved to have made it, even if it wasn't entirely of my own free will or internal strength. My man and my nurse helped me get where I wanted to go, even if they had to carry me a little way.
Maribel left one last time to call the doctor. In no time at all I understood the difference between, "I think maybe I have to push" and "I can't not push!" It's pretty amazing what you can feel when you aren't medicated. I remember being able to visualize the baby's head moving down the birth canal. It might sound painful, but it wasn't. It was a tangible sign of progress.
The whole time I pushed I made some sort of a low, guttural humming sound. I remember hearing myself and wondering why I was doing it, but I didn't stop.
One thing I didn't want was to have someone counting out how long I should push. I was concerned more about feeling like I couldn't breathe when I wanted. Turned out that I didn't care about breathing, all I could do was push.
I'd been working on my right side and was pretty comfortable that way. So when Maribel came in and had me move to my back, I was not thrilled. Just then my water broke and there was some meconium in it. She called in all the people who would need to check the baby out after he or she was born.
On the last night of class Pamela had done an activity that showed how many people would be in the room if there were any complications. Tom was the "mom in labor," I was his partner and the rest of the other members of the class ended up surrounding us as Pamela told us what each person's job would be in such a case. We weren't panicked. I felt pretty calm because I'd seen so many "Baby Story" shows where meconium was present. Everything was smooth sailing and I figured the same would be true for us.
I pushed for 10-15 minutes. The bed was not broken down and the doctor did not arrive until after the baby was halfway out. Tom was the person who saw first and said, "I think it's a girl."
Someone, maybe Maribel, said, "Let's look."
Tom said, "No, it's a girl!"
I sat up to look at her and immediately noticed she had Tom's mouth and chin. She had the same pucker he makes while sleeping. Her left hand made the sign for the letter T.
Tom cut the cord after some instructions from Maribel. I was surprised that he did because he gets pretty queasy around blood, but he had no problems. He seemed rather proud of himself. I know I was.
We didn't get to hear that first cry for a long time as they worked to clear out her lungs. It was a loud, strong cry. So loud that the family was able to hear her even though they'd been shuttled to the lobby and were on the other side of a glass door (ours was the room second from the lobby door).
Tom went to be with our little girl as the doctors and nurses tried to stabilize her breathing. She had been upset, but when she heard Daddy's voice, she stopped crying and looked at him. That was beautiful.
It was a good thing he was there, too, because the doc stepped in then to deliver the placenta. Someone pressed on my abdomen and blood and guts shot out of me and hit Doc with a large splat. I had been laying back, but sat up to see what had happened. I looked at her scrubs and said, "Well that's a mess." Doc laughed and said she needed more patients like me.
Again, I was just glad Tom was over with Madelyn, because I had virtually promised him that there wouldn't be much blood involved in delivering our baby. There wasn't any when Corey was born.
Doc said I had a small tear. She gave me enough anesthetic to numb a miniscule tear. I could feel the last several stitches. Even though I told her, she did not do anything but continue sewing. Jeez!
After about 20 minutes I was finally able to hold Madelyn (Tom handed her to me), but only for a couple minutes because she was still having a hard time breathing. She was grunting and rather gray and on her way to the nursery. Everyone got to see her while I held her, but that was it. Once Mad was on her way, Nancy kissed me goodbye and went to take her husband on what would end up being his last trip sailing. Mom took Corey to her house and I'm sure they slept the day away. I began calling anybody who was out of state and likely to be up.
An hour or so later Tom came in to report that Madelyn was going to the neonatal intensive care unit. She had a collapsed lung and the air had gone into her chest, not out her mouth or nose. Because of the meconium, she was at risk of a potentially fatal infection. And the course of treatment required at least three days.
The first time I got to see her looking pink was in a photo a nurse brought to me. My sweet daughter was covered in tubes and wires. It was surreal.
The neonatologist came to see us and told us the plan. He said I could go into the nursery and hold her for a few minutes before they moved her to the NICU. After that we wouldn't be able to do more than touch her foot for a while (and that only every couple of visits, it turned out). We were there as soon as we were allowed and held her as long as they let us. Seeing my baby with a pacifier made me kind of sad (like there wasn't enough other stuff, right?), and I remember being surprised at how little she seemed. At 8 pounds 3 ounces, small isn't usually what one thinks about a newborn.
I didn't make any more calls that morning, but I may have sent out a text. In any case, friends came to visit, which made things better. My dad and Margaret brought my sister and niece. All the adults took turns going in to see Mad with Tom while I stayed in the lobby with the rest.
Speaking of which, I do understand keeping the regular nursery separate from the NICU, but is it really necessary to put it on the other side of the maternity ward... and on the other side of the lobby? The family of about 20 people who were waiting for their own long delivery knew our entire story after Tom had passed through there about a dozen times.
Mom brought Corey back later that afternoon. Corey didn't want to see the baby like that. Mom stayed with me while Corey and Tom walked home to feed the iguana and get our car.
I remember feeling like I was ready to leave the hospital almost immediately after giving birth. The only thing that kept me there was Madelyn. The nurses and my family all encouraged me to stay just because it was easier to visit with her from my room instead of a few blocks away. So I postponed walking out of there and into our home without her.
The air pocket (which was now surrounding her lung and heart) did not resolve itself as can happen, so it was removed with a needle. The doctor said that Madelyn didn't cry. Except for the risk of infection, she could have gone home the next day. Her respiratory distress resolved pretty quickly.
Instead of starting off with breastfeeding, Mad went without food for about 24 hours. Then she was given IV nutrition and then a bottle. Meanwhile I was pumping everything I could. It was hardly anything. Even though I wasn't outwardly expressing how upset I was, the lack of physical contact with my daughter was killing me. After the 12th time I pumped, I finally managed to get a few drops of colostrum. We got to nurse when she was three days old. Making it happen involved me, Mad, Tom, a lactation consultant and the neonatologist (who had to tell the lone idiot nurse we had that Madelyn could nurse).
It seemed like every time Mad would reach a feeding milestone set by the medical staff, they would increase the goal. When a mild case of jaundice occurred, they talked about keeping her for up to an additional week (that was another gem from the lone idiot nurse... the rest were spectacular). I might have raised a small amount of holy hell because the jaundice numbers were low; if we were home we'd have to keep her near a window for the indirect sunlight.
She kept getting stronger and was able to regulate her body temperature and breathing. The morning after the course of antibiotics was completed, she came home.
One thing we decided after bringing her home was that it was nice to do all of her first diapers and feedings and baths under the caring supervision of the NICU nurses. Tom became an expert at everything and my skills were refreshed, so we weren't as nervous as we might otherwise have been. Most importantly, we got to bring her home. I never doubted we would, but it was easy to wonder if it would ever really happen.
Despite repeated warnings on the hospital tour about how it's better not to arrive during shift change, that's exactly what we did. The downside is that we were stuck standing outside the maternity entrance for a minute while we waited for a response to the buzzing doorbell... and then again once we were two feet inside the maternity lobby and waiting to get into the maternity department.
The upside was that all the exam rooms were taken, so we went immediately into the room where our baby would be born. Oliver Canyon or Madelyn Kenzie? We didn't know.
The nurse who checked me out, Philomena ("or you can just call me Phil"), wasn't exactly pleasant, friendly or gentle. I would have sworn she was wearing a 9 karat ring on her finger during the exam. She declared I was dilated to about 3; I was so sure I was at least 4 by then, especially after all the walking I'd done over the past two days (not to mention, on the way to the hospital). Lucky for us, Phil was going off duty and Maribel Cruz became our nurse.
Maribel was the kind of nurse I hope to have again next time. Heck, I'd really prefer to have Maribel herself.
She had us on the monitor for an hour to see what the contractions were like. When she re-examined me, I was dilated another centimeter and a half (or Phil's ring got in the way). We were staying. Corey was given a cell phone and a list of people to call.
We presented our birth plan, which was written mainly for us since we knew the hospital allowed most of the things we wanted. It was pretty simple and straightforward.
*Soft music playing (Corey was the DJ)
*Friends and family allowed during labor
*Do not offer pain medication; I will ask for it if I need it
*Lots of walking and changing positions to stimulate labor
*Break my water if necessary instead of administering pitocin
*No antibiotic eye cream for the baby (as it just so happens, I don't have any STD's, so it was unnecessary)
*No vitamin K shot unless the baby has bruising or bleeding
*No Hep B shot (none of the people in our circle have hepatitis and we were counting on the baby not being sexually active for quite some time, so it was unnecessary... and it reduces appetite and increases lethargy, which are not good things for newborns)
Of course we had to sign declination forms for the shots and eye cream, but Maribel didn't make a big deal about it. She did ask about our reasoning, but it seemed to be more out of curiosity than condescension.
One thing I did agree to was an IV fluids line. Maintaining hydration isn't always easy for me under the best of circumstances. When I was in labor with Corey, I'd taken several hot showers. Getting an IV put an end to that. I never even asked if showering would be possible this time. Although the room was spacious, the bathroom was tiny; I didn't even want to try a shower.
My mom and Nancy both arrived and stayed for the duration. Tom was by my side almost every minute. I used the restroom by myself... we're just not that kind of couple. I'm not sure if Tom ever got to use the restroom. I remember he tried to at one point, but couldn't get more than a foot from me before another contraction would start. We walked the halls numerous times until around 11:00 or so. I was usually in bed by 10:00, and my body wanted to catch some sleep like usual.
Tom counted out my breaths for each contraction. I know, I know... a lot of women would find that annoying, but I can not find a focus point on the wall or in a pair of booties. I found it in Tom's voice.
Everybody in the room was quiet for most of the night. Once, my mom dared to whisper something to Nance while I was having a contraction. I shushed her. My own mother. As soon as the contraction went away I felt bad about it.
For quite a while things progressed pretty close to the one centimeter per hour like you hear. But then I hung out at 8+ for over three hours. That was not fun. As we approached 3.5 hours of no progress, I started losing control of my pain (and, perhaps, my mind). According to Nancy, the only thing I said the whole time (and only once) was a very quiet, "Oh my."
Can I be frank? I have quite the sailor's vocabulary. I could have said a lot of things, and I was definitely thinking them, but I had Corey in the room. I wanted him to be part of the labor and see (to a point) what a woman goes through. I did not want to traumatize him. I also had my mom and Nance, two churchgoing women... who've heard my foul mouth on (the hopefully rare) occasion. But it just hit me as unseemly at that moment (I don't know why then, when I really could have gotten away with it). And lastly, I had Tom there. I felt very protective over him and Corey. I didn't want to scare either of them since they'd never been through this side of labor before.
At one point Corey, who is a night owl, decided he needed a snack. We'd brought plenty for just such a moment. He selected his A-1 steak sauce flavored beef jerky. When the package was torn open, I could have sworn a skunk had been let loose in the room. It smelled awful! I explained, as rationally as I could, that even though it didn't make any sense he would have to get those things out of the room and not open them up again near me until after the baby was born.
Sometime around 3:30 in the morning I started enquiring about pain medications. Even though I could recite which drugs do what to Mom and Baby, and Tom and I shared a common view on each of them, I really didn't care what they gave me. I just wanted the pain to end.
Tom knew how much I wanted to deliver naturally, and Maribel also understood me (she was pregnant, too... Fynnie will be born when her son is about 2). When Tom called to ask her about pain meds, she came to talk with us.
We talked after Mad was born and Maribel said, "I knew how much you wanted to go natural, but you'd been stalled out for so long. What if it took several more hours?"
Tom asked if it was still possible to get an epidural. She said it was, had me change positions (we'd forgotten that step somewhere along the way) and then left us alone to talk about it. Of course, with the position change, the pain of the contractions increased. I was as close to wanting an epidural as I'd ever been in my life.
Tom called Maribel back and they talked some more about my getting the epidural. She had me change positions again (ugh!) and told me the anesthesiologist was just down the hall. He was about to do someone else first who had been waiting a long time, but if it was really bad, she would have him come to me first. I don't recall an actual response, but in my mind there was no way I could step in front of someone else.
Another exam and I was at 9. Progress! Maribel left the room again. I'm not sure if a decision had been made at that point. It seems to me she or Tom said something about talking it over and getting back to her.
Are you onto them yet? They tag-teamed me and stalled me. Whatever.
At some point, though, I did specifically ask for the epidural.
I've heard that "you know a woman's about to have a baby when she doesn't care who sees her naked." Not so much on my end, thanks. With the position changes that Maribel suggested, somewhere in the fog of my brain I recalled that getting on all fours could be useful. I didn't mind doing that in front of my peeps, but I didn't want the back side of my gown opening and revealing... me... to them.
Of course I handled it all with tact and aplomb. I believe my frantically whispered words to Tom were, "Get those people out of here!"
"What? Who?"
"Them! Those people! Get them out!"
Tom ushered them out pretty quickly. We changed positions a couple more times. Eventually I had him call because I thought maybe I had to push.
Nope, 9+. Maribel worked some obstetrical magic on my body. A few minutes later when she checked me... just as the anesthesiologist walked in... I was finally at 10.
The pain doc apologized for taking so long. I said, "No, it's good. Really." I was so relieved to have made it, even if it wasn't entirely of my own free will or internal strength. My man and my nurse helped me get where I wanted to go, even if they had to carry me a little way.
Maribel left one last time to call the doctor. In no time at all I understood the difference between, "I think maybe I have to push" and "I can't not push!" It's pretty amazing what you can feel when you aren't medicated. I remember being able to visualize the baby's head moving down the birth canal. It might sound painful, but it wasn't. It was a tangible sign of progress.
The whole time I pushed I made some sort of a low, guttural humming sound. I remember hearing myself and wondering why I was doing it, but I didn't stop.
One thing I didn't want was to have someone counting out how long I should push. I was concerned more about feeling like I couldn't breathe when I wanted. Turned out that I didn't care about breathing, all I could do was push.
I'd been working on my right side and was pretty comfortable that way. So when Maribel came in and had me move to my back, I was not thrilled. Just then my water broke and there was some meconium in it. She called in all the people who would need to check the baby out after he or she was born.
On the last night of class Pamela had done an activity that showed how many people would be in the room if there were any complications. Tom was the "mom in labor," I was his partner and the rest of the other members of the class ended up surrounding us as Pamela told us what each person's job would be in such a case. We weren't panicked. I felt pretty calm because I'd seen so many "Baby Story" shows where meconium was present. Everything was smooth sailing and I figured the same would be true for us.
I pushed for 10-15 minutes. The bed was not broken down and the doctor did not arrive until after the baby was halfway out. Tom was the person who saw first and said, "I think it's a girl."
Someone, maybe Maribel, said, "Let's look."
Tom said, "No, it's a girl!"
I sat up to look at her and immediately noticed she had Tom's mouth and chin. She had the same pucker he makes while sleeping. Her left hand made the sign for the letter T.
Tom cut the cord after some instructions from Maribel. I was surprised that he did because he gets pretty queasy around blood, but he had no problems. He seemed rather proud of himself. I know I was.
We didn't get to hear that first cry for a long time as they worked to clear out her lungs. It was a loud, strong cry. So loud that the family was able to hear her even though they'd been shuttled to the lobby and were on the other side of a glass door (ours was the room second from the lobby door).
Tom went to be with our little girl as the doctors and nurses tried to stabilize her breathing. She had been upset, but when she heard Daddy's voice, she stopped crying and looked at him. That was beautiful.
It was a good thing he was there, too, because the doc stepped in then to deliver the placenta. Someone pressed on my abdomen and blood and guts shot out of me and hit Doc with a large splat. I had been laying back, but sat up to see what had happened. I looked at her scrubs and said, "Well that's a mess." Doc laughed and said she needed more patients like me.
Again, I was just glad Tom was over with Madelyn, because I had virtually promised him that there wouldn't be much blood involved in delivering our baby. There wasn't any when Corey was born.
Doc said I had a small tear. She gave me enough anesthetic to numb a miniscule tear. I could feel the last several stitches. Even though I told her, she did not do anything but continue sewing. Jeez!
After about 20 minutes I was finally able to hold Madelyn (Tom handed her to me), but only for a couple minutes because she was still having a hard time breathing. She was grunting and rather gray and on her way to the nursery. Everyone got to see her while I held her, but that was it. Once Mad was on her way, Nancy kissed me goodbye and went to take her husband on what would end up being his last trip sailing. Mom took Corey to her house and I'm sure they slept the day away. I began calling anybody who was out of state and likely to be up.
An hour or so later Tom came in to report that Madelyn was going to the neonatal intensive care unit. She had a collapsed lung and the air had gone into her chest, not out her mouth or nose. Because of the meconium, she was at risk of a potentially fatal infection. And the course of treatment required at least three days.
The first time I got to see her looking pink was in a photo a nurse brought to me. My sweet daughter was covered in tubes and wires. It was surreal.
The neonatologist came to see us and told us the plan. He said I could go into the nursery and hold her for a few minutes before they moved her to the NICU. After that we wouldn't be able to do more than touch her foot for a while (and that only every couple of visits, it turned out). We were there as soon as we were allowed and held her as long as they let us. Seeing my baby with a pacifier made me kind of sad (like there wasn't enough other stuff, right?), and I remember being surprised at how little she seemed. At 8 pounds 3 ounces, small isn't usually what one thinks about a newborn.
I didn't make any more calls that morning, but I may have sent out a text. In any case, friends came to visit, which made things better. My dad and Margaret brought my sister and niece. All the adults took turns going in to see Mad with Tom while I stayed in the lobby with the rest.
Speaking of which, I do understand keeping the regular nursery separate from the NICU, but is it really necessary to put it on the other side of the maternity ward... and on the other side of the lobby? The family of about 20 people who were waiting for their own long delivery knew our entire story after Tom had passed through there about a dozen times.
Mom brought Corey back later that afternoon. Corey didn't want to see the baby like that. Mom stayed with me while Corey and Tom walked home to feed the iguana and get our car.
I remember feeling like I was ready to leave the hospital almost immediately after giving birth. The only thing that kept me there was Madelyn. The nurses and my family all encouraged me to stay just because it was easier to visit with her from my room instead of a few blocks away. So I postponed walking out of there and into our home without her.
The air pocket (which was now surrounding her lung and heart) did not resolve itself as can happen, so it was removed with a needle. The doctor said that Madelyn didn't cry. Except for the risk of infection, she could have gone home the next day. Her respiratory distress resolved pretty quickly.
Instead of starting off with breastfeeding, Mad went without food for about 24 hours. Then she was given IV nutrition and then a bottle. Meanwhile I was pumping everything I could. It was hardly anything. Even though I wasn't outwardly expressing how upset I was, the lack of physical contact with my daughter was killing me. After the 12th time I pumped, I finally managed to get a few drops of colostrum. We got to nurse when she was three days old. Making it happen involved me, Mad, Tom, a lactation consultant and the neonatologist (who had to tell the lone idiot nurse we had that Madelyn could nurse).
It seemed like every time Mad would reach a feeding milestone set by the medical staff, they would increase the goal. When a mild case of jaundice occurred, they talked about keeping her for up to an additional week (that was another gem from the lone idiot nurse... the rest were spectacular). I might have raised a small amount of holy hell because the jaundice numbers were low; if we were home we'd have to keep her near a window for the indirect sunlight.
She kept getting stronger and was able to regulate her body temperature and breathing. The morning after the course of antibiotics was completed, she came home.
One thing we decided after bringing her home was that it was nice to do all of her first diapers and feedings and baths under the caring supervision of the NICU nurses. Tom became an expert at everything and my skills were refreshed, so we weren't as nervous as we might otherwise have been. Most importantly, we got to bring her home. I never doubted we would, but it was easy to wonder if it would ever really happen.
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