Friday, May 4, 2012
You wouldn't think she could've surprised us. We've been half-way expecting her early arrival for two weeks now. But late Wednesday night my little independent spirit had us rushing to the hospital. My first 'real' contractions were around 10pm, and at 3:20am we welcomed our daughter into the world. I'll write her birth story later, but for now, I'd like you to meet Kailyn Dean. 6lbs 10oz 19.75"
Friday, April 27, 2012
Non-Asked-For Opinions (It's Shakespearean)
If there is one thing I detest, it's non-asked-for opinions. Non-asked-for is an adjective I coined all by mine self. Call me Shakespeare :)
My mom can probably attest to this better than anyone. She's been on the receiving end of my wrath after giving a non-asked-for opinion enough that she knows :)
When we went wedding dress shopping I told everyone BEFORE we even left that non-asked-for opinions were not welcome, and if I needed guideance I would ask. I wasn't trying to be rude. Just saving everyone from a tense situation. If I try on a dress and I like it, I don't want it ruined for me by someone else giving me an "ehh." If I think it might make my butt look big and I say, "do you guys think this makes my butt look big?" then I want an honest answer. And I was very upfront about my expectations. It made for a wonderful experience :)
However, I don't have this "No non-asked-for opinions, please" policy tattooed on my forehead, so the general public is unaware of my little pet peeve. And you know how the general public is. They have an opinion on EVERYTHING.
Everyone's an expert.
Somehow being pregnant brings this out in people even more. Not when THEY are pregnant so much as when they come in contact with someone who is. I've been dealing with it my entire pregnancy.
"How are you feeling?" someone would ask. Without boring them with the gory details of life, but being honest, I would say, "I've been pretty sick, but I'm doing alright otherwise."
To which I then opened myself up to a plethora of "advice." And by advice I mean sentences that start with "You really need to..." and "When I was pregnant..." (never mind it was likely 15 to 40 years ago...) Rarely a "I'm sorry to hear that..." or "Have you tried..." or "Does it help if you..." Not from the general public, anyway.
No one wanted to know what I'd done or what was or wasn't working. All they wanted to do was impose their own opinions on me. Try crackers. Eat small meals. Pickles. Lemonade.
I just wanted to scream, "OH REALLY????? I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT!"
It's only been six years since my first pregnancy. I'm not new at this. I have a doctor. I have nurses. I was even seeing a nutritionist. I am NOT uneducated, though that's how I felt I was treated.
I finally just started saying I was fine. I had exhausted every old wives' tale and every suggestion and trick I knew. My doctor finally found a medicinal combination that worked for me and that's how I've coped the last three months and not killed anyone or lost any more weight.
And now that I'm nearing my due date, I'm getting them again. Everything from how I need to stop "wishing away my pregnancy" (I don't feel like I have done so at ALL, even though the end of it means no more daily nausea, no more six pills a day, no more gall bladder trouble [I hope], no more ligament pain, and sleeping on my stomach once again), to how to get the baby to come out. People constantly telling me I NEED to go walk. I know. I've heard that one, too. However, I'm perfectly content on the couch with my Oreos, just waiting :)
Patience is wearing thin, and I KNOW this is only the beginning. Babies bring on a lot of advice-giving as well. I guess I either need to work on thickening my skin, my come-backs, or my ability to lie (Oh she sleeps all night at 2 weeks old, never cries, and hasn't had a single diaper rash, I will say). Or maybe all three :)
My mom can probably attest to this better than anyone. She's been on the receiving end of my wrath after giving a non-asked-for opinion enough that she knows :)
When we went wedding dress shopping I told everyone BEFORE we even left that non-asked-for opinions were not welcome, and if I needed guideance I would ask. I wasn't trying to be rude. Just saving everyone from a tense situation. If I try on a dress and I like it, I don't want it ruined for me by someone else giving me an "ehh." If I think it might make my butt look big and I say, "do you guys think this makes my butt look big?" then I want an honest answer. And I was very upfront about my expectations. It made for a wonderful experience :)
However, I don't have this "No non-asked-for opinions, please" policy tattooed on my forehead, so the general public is unaware of my little pet peeve. And you know how the general public is. They have an opinion on EVERYTHING.
Everyone's an expert.
Somehow being pregnant brings this out in people even more. Not when THEY are pregnant so much as when they come in contact with someone who is. I've been dealing with it my entire pregnancy.
"How are you feeling?" someone would ask. Without boring them with the gory details of life, but being honest, I would say, "I've been pretty sick, but I'm doing alright otherwise."
To which I then opened myself up to a plethora of "advice." And by advice I mean sentences that start with "You really need to..." and "When I was pregnant..." (never mind it was likely 15 to 40 years ago...) Rarely a "I'm sorry to hear that..." or "Have you tried..." or "Does it help if you..." Not from the general public, anyway.
No one wanted to know what I'd done or what was or wasn't working. All they wanted to do was impose their own opinions on me. Try crackers. Eat small meals. Pickles. Lemonade.
I just wanted to scream, "OH REALLY????? I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT!"
It's only been six years since my first pregnancy. I'm not new at this. I have a doctor. I have nurses. I was even seeing a nutritionist. I am NOT uneducated, though that's how I felt I was treated.
I finally just started saying I was fine. I had exhausted every old wives' tale and every suggestion and trick I knew. My doctor finally found a medicinal combination that worked for me and that's how I've coped the last three months and not killed anyone or lost any more weight.
And now that I'm nearing my due date, I'm getting them again. Everything from how I need to stop "wishing away my pregnancy" (I don't feel like I have done so at ALL, even though the end of it means no more daily nausea, no more six pills a day, no more gall bladder trouble [I hope], no more ligament pain, and sleeping on my stomach once again), to how to get the baby to come out. People constantly telling me I NEED to go walk. I know. I've heard that one, too. However, I'm perfectly content on the couch with my Oreos, just waiting :)
Patience is wearing thin, and I KNOW this is only the beginning. Babies bring on a lot of advice-giving as well. I guess I either need to work on thickening my skin, my come-backs, or my ability to lie (Oh she sleeps all night at 2 weeks old, never cries, and hasn't had a single diaper rash, I will say). Or maybe all three :)
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Nesting or Psychosis?
I've heard of animals going kind of nuts-o when they lose babies. Sometimes they'll even take on a baby that isn't theirs. Some women have been known to do the same. I'm not calling them nuts (like the animals), but I've seen some strange things (like baby-doll obsessions, life-like dolls created to replace a child lost, etc.)
I realized today that my daughter may be suffering from some sort of psychological loss after having our false alarm over the weekend.
She's been prepared for this baby forever. Has been SO involved in choosing things, helping put things away, and arranging everything (the way SHE likes it, after Mommy has done it her way and left the room). She likes to go into the baby room just to look around, and sometimes she even snoops through the dresser drawers, although I know she's memorized each one by now.
When it was "time" for baby, she was ready, and when things didn't come through in the end, she was a little heart-broken. She took it well, and didn't seem too disappointed. In fact, she hasn't said a whole lot, and seems enthusiastic about the time coming (again). However, yesterday I went into the baby room to find this:
I realized today that my daughter may be suffering from some sort of psychological loss after having our false alarm over the weekend.
She's been prepared for this baby forever. Has been SO involved in choosing things, helping put things away, and arranging everything (the way SHE likes it, after Mommy has done it her way and left the room). She likes to go into the baby room just to look around, and sometimes she even snoops through the dresser drawers, although I know she's memorized each one by now.
When it was "time" for baby, she was ready, and when things didn't come through in the end, she was a little heart-broken. She took it well, and didn't seem too disappointed. In fact, she hasn't said a whole lot, and seems enthusiastic about the time coming (again). However, yesterday I went into the baby room to find this:
This is baby McKenna on the Boppy in the crib. She usually resides in Chloe's room in her little bassinet, and I rarely see her upstairs. I was instructed NOT to turn the lights on in there, because McKenna needed some quiet time.
I didn't think a whole lot about it. Found it kind of cute that she was playing baby in there. Then this morning when I went in to use the full-length mirror, I saw this:
Baby McKenna had mysteriously moved.
I guess Chloe decided that she was going to have that baby sister one way or another, and if I didn't bring one home, she would continue as if I had. It's comforting to see that McKenna is well cared-for. She wears a diaper and real baby clothes. She spends time on her tummy, but always sleeps on her back. And it looks like she's getting plenty of play time in the swing ;)
My daughter may be having some kind of psychological coping problem...or maybe it's just her way of nesting. Either way, I think it's pretty cute, and she's going to be a great big sister very soon. :)
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Don't (be a) Jerk
I already wrote about my false alarm with Bebe over the weekend. I mentioned a little, ah hem, incident, with my IVs, and told you that was a story for another day. Today is that day ;)
While the other nurses were flitting around making up baby beds and calling up doctors, the nurse who checked me in brought in her IV kit. She was a very nice lady, chatty, but not annoying. She got all ready to do the IV, and I turned my head away, telling her this part was about as bad as having the baby. I've never had bad luck with an IV. I have pretty 'bulgy' veins in my arms, and even at my lowest, most dehydrated pitiful weight when my veins seemed to be shriveled up to nothing, the nurses were able to find one for blood.
She got started with the initial sting on my lower left arm. I froze, gritted my teeth, and waited for the pain to subside, but it didn't. There was some jabbing and digging. Then a sigh.
"Well your vein started to cooperate, but now it just won't," she said. I looked over to see the vial with just a few bloody bubbles inside. Ew. "Your veins roll really easily here," she said. "I'll put one in your hand, that should work better," she tried to console.
Great, I thought. I don't want the IV in my hand. It's too hard to keep it from setting off the alarm. Every time I bend my wrist or move, it will pull. Ugh.
(Note to self: Be careful what you wish for....)
"Ok, I'm about to start. Try not to jerk this time."
Um what? I thought, locking my jaw again. I'm pretty sure I didn't jerk anything.
I began to become irritated, but I kept a lid on it. Tried to let it roll and not get flustered.
The sting again.
And the digging.
Poking.
More stinging.
Tears welled up in my eyes. She kept saying sorry, but I didn't acknowledge her this time. I sat, gaze fixed away, trying not to let the tears fall.
"UGGGGGH!" she groaned. "Your veins are NOT cooperating and I am getting VERY FRUSTRATED!" she said with a little fury.
Oh I'm sorry. Let me give them a stern talking-to and see if they are a little more cooperative for you...
"I won't try more than twice. You'll hate me the rest of the time you're here," she said. I smirked a little, thinking one more try probably wouldn't make me hate her any MORE than I already did at that point. I probably could've over-looked it if she hadn't made that comment about jerking. Or *MY* uncooperative veins. I wasn't going to blame her, but she jumped right into blaming my body, so I figured tit for tat.
"I'll send someone else in to try," she said.
I looked down at my arm, red already, a knot on my hand, and the tears stung almost as much as the needle.
And in came Miss P. She was the nurse who was with me when I delivered Chloe. I felt so comforted. I knew she'd been nursing there for a long time, and I felt like if anyone could help, she could. She not only slid the IV in with one quick swoop, but she also sensed my mood and knew how to talk to me. She said she'd heard I'd been tested as a pin cushion and wasn't liking it very much. She was kind, yet still had a sense of humor. She was gentle, yet did what she needed to do.
She pulled three vials of blood for testing and never once crammed the needle further into my vein. She left nothing more than a little pin-hole when she was finished. I thanked her, and she said anytime I need an IV just holler at her. She'd be glad to stick me ;)
Lesson learned. When I go in again to have this Bebe, I will be requesting Miss P :)
While the other nurses were flitting around making up baby beds and calling up doctors, the nurse who checked me in brought in her IV kit. She was a very nice lady, chatty, but not annoying. She got all ready to do the IV, and I turned my head away, telling her this part was about as bad as having the baby. I've never had bad luck with an IV. I have pretty 'bulgy' veins in my arms, and even at my lowest, most dehydrated pitiful weight when my veins seemed to be shriveled up to nothing, the nurses were able to find one for blood.
She got started with the initial sting on my lower left arm. I froze, gritted my teeth, and waited for the pain to subside, but it didn't. There was some jabbing and digging. Then a sigh.
"Well your vein started to cooperate, but now it just won't," she said. I looked over to see the vial with just a few bloody bubbles inside. Ew. "Your veins roll really easily here," she said. "I'll put one in your hand, that should work better," she tried to console.
Great, I thought. I don't want the IV in my hand. It's too hard to keep it from setting off the alarm. Every time I bend my wrist or move, it will pull. Ugh.
(Note to self: Be careful what you wish for....)
"Ok, I'm about to start. Try not to jerk this time."
Um what? I thought, locking my jaw again. I'm pretty sure I didn't jerk anything.
I began to become irritated, but I kept a lid on it. Tried to let it roll and not get flustered.
The sting again.
And the digging.
Poking.
More stinging.
Tears welled up in my eyes. She kept saying sorry, but I didn't acknowledge her this time. I sat, gaze fixed away, trying not to let the tears fall.
"UGGGGGH!" she groaned. "Your veins are NOT cooperating and I am getting VERY FRUSTRATED!" she said with a little fury.
Oh I'm sorry. Let me give them a stern talking-to and see if they are a little more cooperative for you...
"I won't try more than twice. You'll hate me the rest of the time you're here," she said. I smirked a little, thinking one more try probably wouldn't make me hate her any MORE than I already did at that point. I probably could've over-looked it if she hadn't made that comment about jerking. Or *MY* uncooperative veins. I wasn't going to blame her, but she jumped right into blaming my body, so I figured tit for tat.
"I'll send someone else in to try," she said.
I looked down at my arm, red already, a knot on my hand, and the tears stung almost as much as the needle.
First attempt...
Second try =/
And in came Miss P. She was the nurse who was with me when I delivered Chloe. I felt so comforted. I knew she'd been nursing there for a long time, and I felt like if anyone could help, she could. She not only slid the IV in with one quick swoop, but she also sensed my mood and knew how to talk to me. She said she'd heard I'd been tested as a pin cushion and wasn't liking it very much. She was kind, yet still had a sense of humor. She was gentle, yet did what she needed to do.
She pulled three vials of blood for testing and never once crammed the needle further into my vein. She left nothing more than a little pin-hole when she was finished. I thanked her, and she said anytime I need an IV just holler at her. She'd be glad to stick me ;)
And the spot where I actually *had* an IV for almost 24 hours...
Sunday, April 22, 2012
A False Alarm
I've known all along this baby had a mind of her own. From day one she has been completely different from my daughter and my first pregnancy in every way. I was sick and lost 18lbs the first 6 months (and still medicate for that), we almost lost her at 13 weeks, she gave me gall bladder trouble, plagued me with Braxton Hicks, and has been unusually active in-utero.
So why would I be surprised when she decided to make her entrance (or lack-there-of) just as dramatic and just as much on HER terms.
Friday morning I woke up at about 6:30 and was having contractions. No big deal. Like I said, I've been having them for well over a month and they've not been anything alarming. It was unusual, though, because usually they are sparked by excessive walking, being more active than normal, or doing a lot of bending (aka laundry). I'd been under strict orders to take it easy and stay off my feet this past week because I was already 3cm and my Doc didn't want me delivering this week.
On top of that, my mom would be out of town Friday and Saturday, and the entire Chaney clan was scheduled to be gone Saturday and Sunday. So it was an inopportune time for bebe. And I took it easy. Nothing sparked these babies except for, well, the bebe and her strong will.
I monitored them throughout the morning when I noticed they weren't stopping. I had gone on to work (I stay off my feet better there than at home hehe) and by lunch time they were 10-12 minutes apart. I rode with hubby to get gravel after lunch, and told him that I might go home, because they were coming about every 8 mins now and I thought I should rest. He didn't seem too concerned, and they weren't really painful, so I waited.
By 2 I decided to call my doctor's office. I was becoming paranoid about everyone being gone the next day, and thought I'd feel better if she'd just check me. When I told the nurse the situation, she explained that my doctor was out of the office, and that she'd like me to go be monitored for an hour or so at the hospital. They would be able to watch the contractions and check me, and I could have some peace of mind.
When I arrived I was 4cm, which didn't surprise me since I'd been 3 on Monday. I was having contractions about every 6 minutes. The nurse had me go walk for an hour, then wanted to check me again at 3:30.
When she checked me again, I was 5cm and still contracting. She called Dr. B who was on call, and he told her to admit me.
"You're not going anywhere, missy," she told me. She and the other nurses began to (somewhat frantically) prepare the room. They stocked the closet and then they put a sheet and blanket in a baby bed and wheeled it in. And that did it for me.
I called hubbs at work and told him the final verdict, instructed him what to do with Miss Chloe and had him get my things. He was there within an hour.
In the mean time the nurse had blown two of my veins (OUCH!) (and possibly blamed me for it??? that's for another story), got another nurse to IV me correctly, and asked about my birth plan (nurses and drugs, remember?). She was talking like we could expect Bebe before morning.
Bebe would've been 22 days early, but they didn't seem concerned. 37 weeks is considered term, and even though she is small, they were confident she'd be ok.
When hubby arrived he explained the situation with Chloe, we discussed what to do with her for the remainder of the weekend, and we informed our families about what was happening. Then he pulled out the baby name book.
"We have to name this baby," he said, smiling. We talked for a couple of hours off and on, and I'm pleased to tell you that bebe actually HAS a name now :)
My contractions began picking up in intensity, and were beginning to make me uncomfortable.
Hubby's family came later in the evening and brought Chloe for a visit. They took hubby to get some dinner and then came by to say goodbye and drop off some drinks for me. By that time I was sure I was in the beginning stages of labor. I was uncomfortable with my contractions, they were coming about 3 minutes apart, and I was getting irritable ;)
By the time they checked me at 10:30, though, I hadn't changed a bit. They called Dr. B and he said to keep me overnight for sure. The nurse had asked him if they could break my water or something to move things along, but he said no. Being only 37 weeks they didn't want to take even the slightest chance of forcing her if her lungs weren't ready. I understood, but felt that delivery was going to happen either way, so was hoping they would help it along in that way.
Dr. B said to watch me over night.
And as the night progressed, my contractions became less uncomfortable.
And then farther apart.
And at about the same rate she got me to the height of that situation, she took me right back to square one.
Dr. B. said I was welcome to stay or go home, whatever was my desire, and was completely surprised that this had happened. He explained that if I were a couple weeks farther along he would break my water and it would be done, but he knew forcing it wasn't a good idea (plus I know my doctor would also disapprove of that, especially since she wasn't there). I agreed with him and told him I'd rather go home. He told me goodbye, and said he wouldn't be surprised to see me back in a day or two, but explained I could go longer than that. Stranger things have happened.
So we came home. We were exhausted and uncomfortable. I hadn't eaten in 24 hours, was needing my meds from home for nausea and heart burn, and was soooooooo tired.
On the way home I had grand plans of finishing up some things around the house, eating some food, going for a walk, and maybe even mowing (among other things...winky wink hehe) to spur her back into a pattern.
But as soon as I finished my sandwich and got comfy on the couch every bit of that planned changed. I just wanted to sleep.
And sleep I did :)
People consoled me and sent sweet messages and phone calls my way. I appreciated them very much. I was commended on my high spirits and my ability to 'keep it together' after having to come home empty-handed.
But the truth was that even though I WAS very disappointed (really it was the made-up baby bed that got my mommy clock tickin') I was so glad to be home. I know that no one has ever stayed pregnant forever, and at the most I have 3 weeks to go. Being 5 cm makes me believe I won't go nearly that long. So I know she's coming.
Hubby and I had the luxury of a test-run. We worked out some kinks. We know what we forgot and have it packed, now. We know what we needed to do at home and have it done now. We realized no one packed a bag for Chloe, and we have her ready now.
And we named our baby :)
So when we do go, even if it's in the middle of the night, we are better prepared than we were. Every day we wait is a day for her to grow and get stronger, and a day to relieve some of my anxiety over the possibility she's not ready. And. I have hope that MY doctor will be the one delivering her, which would not have been the case this weekend. Also? Our entire family won't be out of town anytime in the next 3 weeks.
In the end, I try not to look at it as time wasted, but as a saving grace. It was a learning experience. It was better safe than sorry (because Lord knows if Hubbs had gone out of town she would've come full steam ahead...we already know this girl's personality!), and it was productive, even if not in the way of bringing home a baby.
Now I wait. Patiently as I can :)
So why would I be surprised when she decided to make her entrance (or lack-there-of) just as dramatic and just as much on HER terms.
Friday morning I woke up at about 6:30 and was having contractions. No big deal. Like I said, I've been having them for well over a month and they've not been anything alarming. It was unusual, though, because usually they are sparked by excessive walking, being more active than normal, or doing a lot of bending (aka laundry). I'd been under strict orders to take it easy and stay off my feet this past week because I was already 3cm and my Doc didn't want me delivering this week.
On top of that, my mom would be out of town Friday and Saturday, and the entire Chaney clan was scheduled to be gone Saturday and Sunday. So it was an inopportune time for bebe. And I took it easy. Nothing sparked these babies except for, well, the bebe and her strong will.
I monitored them throughout the morning when I noticed they weren't stopping. I had gone on to work (I stay off my feet better there than at home hehe) and by lunch time they were 10-12 minutes apart. I rode with hubby to get gravel after lunch, and told him that I might go home, because they were coming about every 8 mins now and I thought I should rest. He didn't seem too concerned, and they weren't really painful, so I waited.
By 2 I decided to call my doctor's office. I was becoming paranoid about everyone being gone the next day, and thought I'd feel better if she'd just check me. When I told the nurse the situation, she explained that my doctor was out of the office, and that she'd like me to go be monitored for an hour or so at the hospital. They would be able to watch the contractions and check me, and I could have some peace of mind.
When I arrived I was 4cm, which didn't surprise me since I'd been 3 on Monday. I was having contractions about every 6 minutes. The nurse had me go walk for an hour, then wanted to check me again at 3:30.
When she checked me again, I was 5cm and still contracting. She called Dr. B who was on call, and he told her to admit me.
"You're not going anywhere, missy," she told me. She and the other nurses began to (somewhat frantically) prepare the room. They stocked the closet and then they put a sheet and blanket in a baby bed and wheeled it in. And that did it for me.
I called hubbs at work and told him the final verdict, instructed him what to do with Miss Chloe and had him get my things. He was there within an hour.
In the mean time the nurse had blown two of my veins (OUCH!) (and possibly blamed me for it??? that's for another story), got another nurse to IV me correctly, and asked about my birth plan (nurses and drugs, remember?). She was talking like we could expect Bebe before morning.
Bebe would've been 22 days early, but they didn't seem concerned. 37 weeks is considered term, and even though she is small, they were confident she'd be ok.
When hubby arrived he explained the situation with Chloe, we discussed what to do with her for the remainder of the weekend, and we informed our families about what was happening. Then he pulled out the baby name book.
"We have to name this baby," he said, smiling. We talked for a couple of hours off and on, and I'm pleased to tell you that bebe actually HAS a name now :)
My contractions began picking up in intensity, and were beginning to make me uncomfortable.
Hubby's family came later in the evening and brought Chloe for a visit. They took hubby to get some dinner and then came by to say goodbye and drop off some drinks for me. By that time I was sure I was in the beginning stages of labor. I was uncomfortable with my contractions, they were coming about 3 minutes apart, and I was getting irritable ;)
By the time they checked me at 10:30, though, I hadn't changed a bit. They called Dr. B and he said to keep me overnight for sure. The nurse had asked him if they could break my water or something to move things along, but he said no. Being only 37 weeks they didn't want to take even the slightest chance of forcing her if her lungs weren't ready. I understood, but felt that delivery was going to happen either way, so was hoping they would help it along in that way.
Dr. B said to watch me over night.
And as the night progressed, my contractions became less uncomfortable.
And then farther apart.
And at about the same rate she got me to the height of that situation, she took me right back to square one.
Dr. B. said I was welcome to stay or go home, whatever was my desire, and was completely surprised that this had happened. He explained that if I were a couple weeks farther along he would break my water and it would be done, but he knew forcing it wasn't a good idea (plus I know my doctor would also disapprove of that, especially since she wasn't there). I agreed with him and told him I'd rather go home. He told me goodbye, and said he wouldn't be surprised to see me back in a day or two, but explained I could go longer than that. Stranger things have happened.
So we came home. We were exhausted and uncomfortable. I hadn't eaten in 24 hours, was needing my meds from home for nausea and heart burn, and was soooooooo tired.
On the way home I had grand plans of finishing up some things around the house, eating some food, going for a walk, and maybe even mowing (among other things...winky wink hehe) to spur her back into a pattern.
But as soon as I finished my sandwich and got comfy on the couch every bit of that planned changed. I just wanted to sleep.
And sleep I did :)
People consoled me and sent sweet messages and phone calls my way. I appreciated them very much. I was commended on my high spirits and my ability to 'keep it together' after having to come home empty-handed.
But the truth was that even though I WAS very disappointed (really it was the made-up baby bed that got my mommy clock tickin') I was so glad to be home. I know that no one has ever stayed pregnant forever, and at the most I have 3 weeks to go. Being 5 cm makes me believe I won't go nearly that long. So I know she's coming.
Hubby and I had the luxury of a test-run. We worked out some kinks. We know what we forgot and have it packed, now. We know what we needed to do at home and have it done now. We realized no one packed a bag for Chloe, and we have her ready now.
And we named our baby :)
So when we do go, even if it's in the middle of the night, we are better prepared than we were. Every day we wait is a day for her to grow and get stronger, and a day to relieve some of my anxiety over the possibility she's not ready. And. I have hope that MY doctor will be the one delivering her, which would not have been the case this weekend. Also? Our entire family won't be out of town anytime in the next 3 weeks.
In the end, I try not to look at it as time wasted, but as a saving grace. It was a learning experience. It was better safe than sorry (because Lord knows if Hubbs had gone out of town she would've come full steam ahead...we already know this girl's personality!), and it was productive, even if not in the way of bringing home a baby.
Now I wait. Patiently as I can :)
Monday, April 16, 2012
Our First Anniversary
Happy Anniversary to the Mister and me! What I wrote on our wedding day basically sums up our relationship, and though it has grown and changed over the past year, I feel like that post is "us" and always will be. There's not much I can say about him or us that I haven't said already.
What I can say, is what a journey this year has been. I had come to see marriage as merely a "legal technicality" in a way. We had lived together 16 months before we wed. I didn't think that our commitment was changing or that marriage was going to be any different from what we already had.
I was wrong.
I can honestly say that "piece of paper" makes a huge difference in a relationship. It provides security, yes. And it also takes away independence. There were times that this year I truly understood the whole "the first year is the worst" statement, even though I thought our first year living together should've counted (and it was far from difficult!).
But that first year of marriage IS different. Suddenly there's no 'escape clause.' You don't have the freedom of thinking that you can draw a line and walk away if it gets difficult. Suddenly you have to weigh every disagreement and disappointment against the consequences of leaving, which is now a legal step.
Suddenly you feel a little more secure knowing your partner also has to weigh those consequences.
You fight a little less fair. You test each other a little more. You push the boundaries a little harder.
This year wasn't always easy. It certainly wasn't perfect. It was equally rewarding and difficult.
But at the end of our first year together, I can honestly say we are closer. We love each other more, and in new ways. We've learned about each other the things we may have never known had we not been married. We've grown and changed individually and as a couple. As a family. More than anything, we walked through the good times and the bad and we are happy.
I look SO forward to many more years together, full of love and hope. The best thing is knowing we can get through the tough times. Knowing no matter how rough things get, we are in this together, we love each other, and we value our relationship and our family enough to MAKE it work even when the world seems to be against us. Having that one person by your side who knows you, loves you, irritates you, pushes you, holds you, helps you, and lives FOR you.
I'm blessed. I'm happy. And for the first time in my life I truly understand marriage. It is a LOT of work, but the rewards far outweigh the effort put into it.
Happy Anniversary Mister. I love you.
What I can say, is what a journey this year has been. I had come to see marriage as merely a "legal technicality" in a way. We had lived together 16 months before we wed. I didn't think that our commitment was changing or that marriage was going to be any different from what we already had.
I was wrong.
I can honestly say that "piece of paper" makes a huge difference in a relationship. It provides security, yes. And it also takes away independence. There were times that this year I truly understood the whole "the first year is the worst" statement, even though I thought our first year living together should've counted (and it was far from difficult!).
But that first year of marriage IS different. Suddenly there's no 'escape clause.' You don't have the freedom of thinking that you can draw a line and walk away if it gets difficult. Suddenly you have to weigh every disagreement and disappointment against the consequences of leaving, which is now a legal step.
Suddenly you feel a little more secure knowing your partner also has to weigh those consequences.
You fight a little less fair. You test each other a little more. You push the boundaries a little harder.
This year wasn't always easy. It certainly wasn't perfect. It was equally rewarding and difficult.
But at the end of our first year together, I can honestly say we are closer. We love each other more, and in new ways. We've learned about each other the things we may have never known had we not been married. We've grown and changed individually and as a couple. As a family. More than anything, we walked through the good times and the bad and we are happy.
I look SO forward to many more years together, full of love and hope. The best thing is knowing we can get through the tough times. Knowing no matter how rough things get, we are in this together, we love each other, and we value our relationship and our family enough to MAKE it work even when the world seems to be against us. Having that one person by your side who knows you, loves you, irritates you, pushes you, holds you, helps you, and lives FOR you.
I'm blessed. I'm happy. And for the first time in my life I truly understand marriage. It is a LOT of work, but the rewards far outweigh the effort put into it.
Happy Anniversary Mister. I love you.
Friday, April 13, 2012
5QF: mowing and spaghetti...what more could I ask for??
It's Friday, yay! Hubbs and I are holding down the shop by ourselves today, and this weekend is our anniversary weekend :) I'm so pregnant and the weather's so nasty there isn't a lot we can do, but all the Mister's family and Chloe will be gone this weekend so we will be totally on our own for two days. I can't wait!
1. Who mows your grass?
I have a really cute frame set that I want to put up, but again with the not matching. Maybe one day we will re-do our room and I can do one in there :) Until then, it's just the most important pictures above the couch, and a hodge-podge of eclectic shots and mis-matched frames on a built-in bookshelf in the hall.
4. Do you have allergies? If so, how do you handle it this time of year?I do. And with the mowing, they are even worse (and yet I still LOVE it!). My fall allergies are worse than my summer ones, but they all give me fits. Alamast eye drops and Benadryl are my friends.
Until then, I'll pass some time with 5QF.
1. Who mows your grass?
I do! I do! I love to mow. Even 9 months pregnant you can drive by our house and see me bouncing my baby bump around on the lawn mower. It's my me time. I can plug in my ear phones, listen to my "mow" play list (Jamey Johnson, beachy songs, Hank Jr, and I'm Yours are my MUST LISTEN songs) and just ride, not being interrupted or bothered. Hubby is kind enough to take care of the weeds, and since I've been pregnant he's been mowing the ditches and the steep parts. He mowed while I was visiting family a couple of weekends ago and I pouted for two days. He laughed and told me I had to be the only wife who would throw a fit and get mad because her husband mowed the yard :) And yet he still loves me.
2. Do you have a picture wall or picture gallery in your house (show us! <--- my addition to the question)?
I have a few pictures on the two "big" walls in our living room. I really want to make a picture wall in the dining area, but right now it's occupied by turkey fans and a coon. I'm not sure my picture wall will fit into our woodsy themed decor =/I have a really cute frame set that I want to put up, but again with the not matching. Maybe one day we will re-do our room and I can do one in there :) Until then, it's just the most important pictures above the couch, and a hodge-podge of eclectic shots and mis-matched frames on a built-in bookshelf in the hall.
3. What book has influenced your thinking the most? Or, what blog? (I want to read what gets people thinking!)
I don't think there is any book or blog that I would say influences my thinking. There are books and blogs that make me think. Some of which have been "The Deadline," "The Five People You Meet in Heaven," and "The Atonement Child" as well as Mama M (most specifically her "Talkin' Shop" posts) and Chibi Jeebs because she just gets it, and always has a fresh perspective :)
4. Do you have allergies? If so, how do you handle it this time of year?
5. What's your go to meal to cook in an hurry?
Spaghetti and tacos. Hubby doesn't care for spaghetti, Chlo and I don't really like tacos, so we eat them on the same night. I come home, grab a bag of burger, fry it up and boil my noodles. I take out a little meat for our spaghetti, then make the taco meat for hubbs and we have a meal ready lickety split. I always keep spaghetti and taco fixin's on hand so we can have a dinner in a pinch.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
A year ago...
A year ago at this time I was less than a week away from my wedding day. I was cutting calories (and carbs!), exercising, and thriving on stress. I was planning and preparing and struggling with sleepless nights trying to get everything done, both in my brain and in the real world. I'm so glad now that I blogged about the little mundane things, because they are lost in my memory banks somewhere far far away now.
And this year, this week is much the same in a very different way. I'm still frying food for the Mister and having to substitute for myself. But now instead of subbing a big salad and a bowl of fruit, I'm eating extra mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and ice cream or strawberry shortcake to make up for my inability to consume fried things :)
I'm still watching my waist line, but instead of measuring it daily to see if it's shrunk, I'm watching happily as it grows and becomes more round with each day. Rather than digging out my skinny jeans, I'm putting them away and opting for stretchy things (finally hehe).
Exercise? Well, I'm not running. I'm not even walking. But I waddle now and then :) Burning calories these days means climbing the stairs or taking the laundry to the laundry room.
Spending? It all goes to Target hehe. We needed lots and lots of baby things, and slowly but surely we have acquired at least the basic necessities. I'm not shelling out money for a beautiful dress or decorations. Now I'm buying diapers and blankies and everything in between.
Stress? Yes. But now I'm worrying about baby names and bedroom things rather than flowers and cake. Mmmm. Cake......
Oh and I'm a bit distractable ;)
It's funny how much can change in a year.
And this year, this week is much the same in a very different way. I'm still frying food for the Mister and having to substitute for myself. But now instead of subbing a big salad and a bowl of fruit, I'm eating extra mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and ice cream or strawberry shortcake to make up for my inability to consume fried things :)
I'm still watching my waist line, but instead of measuring it daily to see if it's shrunk, I'm watching happily as it grows and becomes more round with each day. Rather than digging out my skinny jeans, I'm putting them away and opting for stretchy things (finally hehe).
Exercise? Well, I'm not running. I'm not even walking. But I waddle now and then :) Burning calories these days means climbing the stairs or taking the laundry to the laundry room.
Spending? It all goes to Target hehe. We needed lots and lots of baby things, and slowly but surely we have acquired at least the basic necessities. I'm not shelling out money for a beautiful dress or decorations. Now I'm buying diapers and blankies and everything in between.
Stress? Yes. But now I'm worrying about baby names and bedroom things rather than flowers and cake. Mmmm. Cake......
Oh and I'm a bit distractable ;)
It's funny how much can change in a year.
Friday, April 6, 2012
5QF: Dinner plans, Easter treats, and life
I've been a lazy blogger lately. Just the other day I had a great post RD'd in my head, but now I can't remember what it was even ABOUT. Not for the life of me. Sigh. Pregnancy brain. I only have five more weeks to blame it on something other than old-age or poor brain cells :)
Anyway, it's Friday, so I'm going to do five questions and call it good :)
1. Would you prefer having people over for dinner or going to their house?
I would prefer to have dinner at "their" house, whoever "their" might be. For many reasons, most of them selfish and somewhat snobby :) First of all, I'd much rather bring a dish or a dessert than cook for other people. I get all nervous when I'm cooking for someone else, and in my attempt to make my dish perfect, I usually screw it up somehow. Something I've cooked amazingly for my family a million times becomes something too dry or too brown or too salty when other people get involved.
Also? Dishes. I'll help load your dish washer and rinse your dishes if we can eat at your house so I don't have to scrub pots and pans and dishes in my sink at home. Because I'm sans dishwasher. And I'm NOT bitter. At all ;)
Finally, and this is the snobby-ish rude one, but the one you'll nod your head at and say, "Oh yes that sounds like Andrea." By coming to your house I can end the night whenever I want. And no, I'm not intending on wearing out my welcome. I HATE when you have people over and they JUST WON'T LEAVE. I'm like a two year old when it comes to socializing. When I'm done, I'm done, and any further interaction just annoys me. So if I come to you I can say, "Well we better get going. I have to get Chloe in bed," or something similar. And you'll be happy. And I'll be happy. And as long as you don't say "OH NO! You can't rush off yet!" we'll be good to go :)
2. Favorite Bible verse and why?
I really don't have a "favorite" one. There are some that I memorized growing up. In fact I think we had to memorize a whole chapter or book or something one time....and while I remember the content, I don't remember the locations of all of them. But I guess if I had to pick one that I like best, or that always fits is the one from 1st Corinthians 13. ...and now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. <3
3. What was the first concert you ever attended, and the most recent one?
I'm not sure on my time-frames, but I'm pretty sure the first one I ever went to was Alan Jackson/Randy Travis with my granny and dad. My grandma saw Alan Jackson on Star Search or something and she fell madly in love with him. And they've been having this one-way affair ever since ;) I've been with her to see him probably six times over the years, if not more. She's in love. Back then he was a nobody, and was opening for Randy Travis at the MO State Fair. When Alan was done Granny was ready to leave, and my dad was irritated because we hadn't even seen the "good" act yet hehe.
And the most recent one? Hahahahahahaha. Ironically, you guessed it....Alan Jackson. This time with Jerrod Niemann opening for him, and a million new songs since that first album. What's funny is that I wouldn't necessarily consider myself an AJ "fan," but I've seen him lots of times.
4. The year is 2025. What are you doing, and what have you done?
Well, I've probably had some sort of melt-down over my age. Geesh. Forty-four. But hopefully aside from my melt-downs I will have been a good farm wife and mommy, and will be in the home-stretch of raising two (maybe three?) wonderful children. Chloe will be 19 and will have been out of school for a year, and hopefully have some college courses under her belt, or else be an actress or dancer or something extremely profitable ;)
If you ask her, though, we will all be living in her mansion on Pensacola Beach. The one she attained by marrying a rich handsome prince AND being a tv star like Victorious. And by "all living," I mean Hubbs and I, the bebe and her, as well as her Nana, Uncle Coco, and anyone else she invites into this communal family. If she's right, I may be having a meltdown much more epic than the 44 one ;) Even living on the beach wouldn't make it easy to cram all of our extended family under one (enormous) roof.
But back to reality. I will be starting the Dark Ages aka teen years with bebe by then, so hopefully I will be of sound mind :)
Either way, all I really hope to have accomplished is to raise happy children in a loving home who are indpenedent (but still need their Mama sometimes) and self-assured. The rest is just life.
5. What's your favorite Easter treat?
Before I was preggo I would've said Reeses Eggs for sure. Last year I ate them by the bundles! They were definitely my PMS go-to food and calmed many a raging hormone. But since I've been pregnant peanut butter tastes weird to me. It's more....nutty? than normal. I don't know. It's not sweet enough or something and I don't care much for it.
As a kid I always loved those Sweet Tart chick/bunny treats. They were my favorite thing to get in my Easter basket. And once I learned the truth about Mr. Bunny, I started telling 'him' directly just to hook me up with a couple bags of those ;)
Happy Good Friday :)
Anyway, it's Friday, so I'm going to do five questions and call it good :)
1. Would you prefer having people over for dinner or going to their house?
I would prefer to have dinner at "their" house, whoever "their" might be. For many reasons, most of them selfish and somewhat snobby :) First of all, I'd much rather bring a dish or a dessert than cook for other people. I get all nervous when I'm cooking for someone else, and in my attempt to make my dish perfect, I usually screw it up somehow. Something I've cooked amazingly for my family a million times becomes something too dry or too brown or too salty when other people get involved.
Also? Dishes. I'll help load your dish washer and rinse your dishes if we can eat at your house so I don't have to scrub pots and pans and dishes in my sink at home. Because I'm sans dishwasher. And I'm NOT bitter. At all ;)
Finally, and this is the snobby-ish rude one, but the one you'll nod your head at and say, "Oh yes that sounds like Andrea." By coming to your house I can end the night whenever I want. And no, I'm not intending on wearing out my welcome. I HATE when you have people over and they JUST WON'T LEAVE. I'm like a two year old when it comes to socializing. When I'm done, I'm done, and any further interaction just annoys me. So if I come to you I can say, "Well we better get going. I have to get Chloe in bed," or something similar. And you'll be happy. And I'll be happy. And as long as you don't say "OH NO! You can't rush off yet!" we'll be good to go :)
2. Favorite Bible verse and why?
I really don't have a "favorite" one. There are some that I memorized growing up. In fact I think we had to memorize a whole chapter or book or something one time....and while I remember the content, I don't remember the locations of all of them. But I guess if I had to pick one that I like best, or that always fits is the one from 1st Corinthians 13. ...and now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. <3
3. What was the first concert you ever attended, and the most recent one?
I'm not sure on my time-frames, but I'm pretty sure the first one I ever went to was Alan Jackson/Randy Travis with my granny and dad. My grandma saw Alan Jackson on Star Search or something and she fell madly in love with him. And they've been having this one-way affair ever since ;) I've been with her to see him probably six times over the years, if not more. She's in love. Back then he was a nobody, and was opening for Randy Travis at the MO State Fair. When Alan was done Granny was ready to leave, and my dad was irritated because we hadn't even seen the "good" act yet hehe.
And the most recent one? Hahahahahahaha. Ironically, you guessed it....Alan Jackson. This time with Jerrod Niemann opening for him, and a million new songs since that first album. What's funny is that I wouldn't necessarily consider myself an AJ "fan," but I've seen him lots of times.
4. The year is 2025. What are you doing, and what have you done?
Well, I've probably had some sort of melt-down over my age. Geesh. Forty-four. But hopefully aside from my melt-downs I will have been a good farm wife and mommy, and will be in the home-stretch of raising two (maybe three?) wonderful children. Chloe will be 19 and will have been out of school for a year, and hopefully have some college courses under her belt, or else be an actress or dancer or something extremely profitable ;)
If you ask her, though, we will all be living in her mansion on Pensacola Beach. The one she attained by marrying a rich handsome prince AND being a tv star like Victorious. And by "all living," I mean Hubbs and I, the bebe and her, as well as her Nana, Uncle Coco, and anyone else she invites into this communal family. If she's right, I may be having a meltdown much more epic than the 44 one ;) Even living on the beach wouldn't make it easy to cram all of our extended family under one (enormous) roof.
But back to reality. I will be starting the Dark Ages aka teen years with bebe by then, so hopefully I will be of sound mind :)
Either way, all I really hope to have accomplished is to raise happy children in a loving home who are indpenedent (but still need their Mama sometimes) and self-assured. The rest is just life.
5. What's your favorite Easter treat?
Before I was preggo I would've said Reeses Eggs for sure. Last year I ate them by the bundles! They were definitely my PMS go-to food and calmed many a raging hormone. But since I've been pregnant peanut butter tastes weird to me. It's more....nutty? than normal. I don't know. It's not sweet enough or something and I don't care much for it.
As a kid I always loved those Sweet Tart chick/bunny treats. They were my favorite thing to get in my Easter basket. And once I learned the truth about Mr. Bunny, I started telling 'him' directly just to hook me up with a couple bags of those ;)
Happy Good Friday :)
Monday, March 19, 2012
i waffle.
No, this isn't about some new kind of Apple breakfast gadget. Although, it is kind of catchy.
"Want me to make you breakfast? I'm just dying to use my new i-waffle." Hehe.
No.
The truth is, I waffle. Verb. As in, I can't make up my mind. I've always been horrible about this. I have a tendency sometimes to just shut-down and ignore something I don't know how to deal with, but lately it's been much worse.
For example, I still don't have baby bedding. It's not because I can't afford it, or because I haven't looked. I have looked. I have even bought a set and taken it back. I've looked at every store between here and the south side of Springfield. I've looked online. At everything. If you tell me what color scheme or theme you want to do in your nursery, I can probably tell you who has what you want for the best price. I KNOW what's out there.
But I can't decide.
It's been that way through this whole pregnancy. We save up some money and head to Springfield bound and determined to finish baby shopping, and then we get in the store and I waffle. I hem-haw as my granny would say. I like this, but I don't want to spend the money. I need this, but not right now, so maybe we should wait. We need bottles, but there are four hundred different kinds and I don't know which ones are best. I like this outfit, but does she need it? She might need more onesies, but maybe not. We'll just wait and see.
Wait and see.
Wait and see.
And usually, although I'm not good at making decisions, I'm a planner. I like to know what is happening and when and be prepared for it.
When I found out Chloe was a girl I already had her room ready. It was all done in Classic Pooh, with a perfect mix of baby blue, pink, green, and yellow, just waiting for extra touches of pink or blue, depending how the ultrasound went.
I didn't have firm names, but as soon as I found out she was a girl, I had named her within 24 hours. By the time I had my baby shower her name was hung on her wall and printed neatly in ink in various places. My shower cake had her name on it. I was ready. I knew what I wanted.
And now I'm so "eh," about everything.
Don't get me wrong. I can't WAIT until this baby gets here. I'm very excited about the arrival and about having a new member of our family. Babies are my FAVORITE and I think about her all the time. But right now I just can't seem to get it in gear. I want to. But I lack something. Motivation? Determination? First-time-mama-crazies? I don't know.
And instead of getting better, it's getting worse.
Much worse.
As in.
That name we picked?
I don't know anymore.
I have dreams that we change our minds and the nurses won't let us change her name.
Chloe or my mom calls the baby by her name and it makes me feel all.....weird.
And the Mister and I still call her bebe, or "the baby." We never refer to her by name. Ever.
I like the name we chose. And if we end up sticking with it, I won't be unhappy or disappointed, I don't think, but there's just something about it that doesn't feel final. I feel unsettled.
But the thought of going back and agreeing on another name is daunting. There's nothing else I necessarily prefer. I just can't seem to shake that feeling that there might be a better choice for her. For us. For me.
Sigh.
Seven weeks and five days.
But who's counting?
Not me. I'm too busy waffling.
"Want me to make you breakfast? I'm just dying to use my new i-waffle." Hehe.
No.
The truth is, I waffle. Verb. As in, I can't make up my mind. I've always been horrible about this. I have a tendency sometimes to just shut-down and ignore something I don't know how to deal with, but lately it's been much worse.
For example, I still don't have baby bedding. It's not because I can't afford it, or because I haven't looked. I have looked. I have even bought a set and taken it back. I've looked at every store between here and the south side of Springfield. I've looked online. At everything. If you tell me what color scheme or theme you want to do in your nursery, I can probably tell you who has what you want for the best price. I KNOW what's out there.
But I can't decide.
It's been that way through this whole pregnancy. We save up some money and head to Springfield bound and determined to finish baby shopping, and then we get in the store and I waffle. I hem-haw as my granny would say. I like this, but I don't want to spend the money. I need this, but not right now, so maybe we should wait. We need bottles, but there are four hundred different kinds and I don't know which ones are best. I like this outfit, but does she need it? She might need more onesies, but maybe not. We'll just wait and see.
Wait and see.
Wait and see.
And usually, although I'm not good at making decisions, I'm a planner. I like to know what is happening and when and be prepared for it.
When I found out Chloe was a girl I already had her room ready. It was all done in Classic Pooh, with a perfect mix of baby blue, pink, green, and yellow, just waiting for extra touches of pink or blue, depending how the ultrasound went.
I didn't have firm names, but as soon as I found out she was a girl, I had named her within 24 hours. By the time I had my baby shower her name was hung on her wall and printed neatly in ink in various places. My shower cake had her name on it. I was ready. I knew what I wanted.
And now I'm so "eh," about everything.
Don't get me wrong. I can't WAIT until this baby gets here. I'm very excited about the arrival and about having a new member of our family. Babies are my FAVORITE and I think about her all the time. But right now I just can't seem to get it in gear. I want to. But I lack something. Motivation? Determination? First-time-mama-crazies? I don't know.
And instead of getting better, it's getting worse.
Much worse.
As in.
That name we picked?
I don't know anymore.
I have dreams that we change our minds and the nurses won't let us change her name.
Chloe or my mom calls the baby by her name and it makes me feel all.....weird.
And the Mister and I still call her bebe, or "the baby." We never refer to her by name. Ever.
I like the name we chose. And if we end up sticking with it, I won't be unhappy or disappointed, I don't think, but there's just something about it that doesn't feel final. I feel unsettled.
But the thought of going back and agreeing on another name is daunting. There's nothing else I necessarily prefer. I just can't seem to shake that feeling that there might be a better choice for her. For us. For me.
Sigh.
Seven weeks and five days.
But who's counting?
Not me. I'm too busy waffling.
Friday, March 16, 2012
I need a vacation!
It's Friday!! Hooray! I haven't had the time or write-mindedness to do a five questions in a long time, so I thought I would break the cycle today. Something about the beautiful weather just makes it easier to write.
1. Will you run to the store or to pick up a kid looking a mess?
Years ago this would have been a big fat NO. Not under any circumstances. Being a teacher meant running into people I knew CONSTANTLY. And I just couldn't have my students see me in sweats and a pony-tail with no make-up!I still *prefer* to have my hair washed and chiiiied the day of any outing, but there are times when I will bite the bullet and go in public looking less than normal. If I don't have to exit the car, absolutely. If we're just going to feed cows, sure. If it's an emergency that requires me to leave (ah hem, hubby needs jeans because his just ripped), then I will do what I have to, but I am still super self-conscious about it.
2. Do you finish a book if it's boring or you don't like it?
Nope. If it doesn't grab me in the first few chapters I quit. I don't feel one bit bad about it, either. Even if it was for an assignment, I would give it up and read the cliffs notes...or spark notes :) But shhhh. English majors (or degree-holders) aren't supposed to do that! That's like a math geek using a calculator for 9x6 or something hehe.3. Beach or mountain vacations?
I loved loved loved our mountain vacation. BUT. Given the choice I would choose beach over mountains anytime. I just love the beach. Specifically the Gulf coast. It's where I want to be most of the time. The smell of salt in the air gets me every time. And somehow the sun just *feels* different down there. Take me now.
Someone?
Anyone?
Please?
4. What thing/event says "winter will end and spring is right around the corner" to you?
GREEN.When the weather warms up it's very nice. But if things are still dead and brown I just can't feel spring. It's after the first rain and the subsequent sunny day when the grass starts to green and the trees begin to bud that it really FEELS like spring to me. A day much like today. I noticed the grass becoming lush for the first time this morning, and finally came to terms with the fact that winter is over. We got NO good snow, and it's time to move on and get in the spring/summer groove.
5. Would you prefer couples or family vacation?
I dunno. I wrestle with that a lot when I'm dreaming of taking off one weekend to go somewhere. I had SO much fun on my girls only family Pensacola trip. Chloe enjoyed it SO much and STILL talks about it. But I also kinda got gyped on my honeymoon with the mister having Bells Palsey and the onset of Ramsay Hunt Syndrome, so we didn't get to fully enjoy a couple's vacation.So I need one of each, please.
One beachy adult vacation complete with non-pregnancy, fruity drinks from the tiki-bar, and lazy days on the shore.
And one fun-filled family vacation with lots of activities, kid-friendly stops along the way, and my video camera.
Now I want to go on vacation pretty bad :(
So, Sue Me
How many times have you heard someone say, "So, sue me," in sarcasm? The first time I heard it I was just a kid, and I had no idea what it really even meant. It took me a few times to understand that it was sarcasm, and that people didn't *really* sue each other for silly reasons.
And those were the good old days.
The first really crazy law suit I was ever aware of was the infamous McDonald's coffee-in-the-lap law suit. I think that one really started the snowball rolling with people being awarded money over the most RIDICULOUS things.
There was a time in life when rational people would hear about one of these law suits and think, "No judge in America is going to take that seriously. He/she will be laughed out of court!"
But these days, rational people are forced to think, "Shoot. I hope my neighbor doesn't sue me over my dog pooping in his yard."
We don't talk about law suits around the house. It's not something we even say in jest, really, but Chloe has picked it up. I don't think she even understands what it means, but I had to laugh as she suggested it to me the other day.
We were shopping, and I was browsing the baby section. I was still looking for a "coming home" outfit for bebe, but not having a lot of luck.
"Ugh," I sighed. Everything cute and frilly is 0-3. Why can't they make them in newborn, too? The way things are looking, this won't be a very big baby," I said, more to myself than anyone. Then a little irritated voice chimed in.
"Ya really! Why dontcha just sue dem, mom?"
"Sue them?" I asked her.
"Ya. For not making the kind of baby clothes you need!"
And while it was hard to stifle a laugh at her oh-so-serious reaction to my problem, she made a point. Because somewhere in America there is probably a lawyer and a judge who would take time and money from serious business to hear a case of a pregnant lady who couldn't find a dress for her newborn. And somewhere a mad pregnant mama might be awarded enough money to clothe her child for life.
That's the society we live in, unfortunately. Sadly, my five year old is aware of it =/
And those were the good old days.
The first really crazy law suit I was ever aware of was the infamous McDonald's coffee-in-the-lap law suit. I think that one really started the snowball rolling with people being awarded money over the most RIDICULOUS things.
There was a time in life when rational people would hear about one of these law suits and think, "No judge in America is going to take that seriously. He/she will be laughed out of court!"
But these days, rational people are forced to think, "Shoot. I hope my neighbor doesn't sue me over my dog pooping in his yard."
We don't talk about law suits around the house. It's not something we even say in jest, really, but Chloe has picked it up. I don't think she even understands what it means, but I had to laugh as she suggested it to me the other day.
We were shopping, and I was browsing the baby section. I was still looking for a "coming home" outfit for bebe, but not having a lot of luck.
"Ugh," I sighed. Everything cute and frilly is 0-3. Why can't they make them in newborn, too? The way things are looking, this won't be a very big baby," I said, more to myself than anyone. Then a little irritated voice chimed in.
"Ya really! Why dontcha just sue dem, mom?"
"Sue them?" I asked her.
"Ya. For not making the kind of baby clothes you need!"
And while it was hard to stifle a laugh at her oh-so-serious reaction to my problem, she made a point. Because somewhere in America there is probably a lawyer and a judge who would take time and money from serious business to hear a case of a pregnant lady who couldn't find a dress for her newborn. And somewhere a mad pregnant mama might be awarded enough money to clothe her child for life.
That's the society we live in, unfortunately. Sadly, my five year old is aware of it =/
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Customer? Not always right. Me? Usually right.
I got a text from my best friend this morning asking how my day was going. I told her that it was a good day so far, and I meant it. It's nice out, I feel well, and I'm emotionally balanced (which, let's face it, is a rare thing these days!)
I guess I was tempting the stars by saying so, because a few minutes later the business phone rang.
"Mister's Tire Shop," I greeted the customer. He wanted to talk to my father in law, but he was busy so I asked to take a message. He wanted a price on a lawn mower tire. That's my job.
"I can help you with that, what size are you looking for?" I asked politely. He couldn't read the tire, and had a couple of numbers mixed up, so I had to do some searching, but I finally found some tires in his size. Most of them were tractor-style tires, so I asked him what the tires were for specifically, and if he wanted a ribbed tire or a turf tire.
"Have you ever seen a lawn tractor with a ribbed tire on it?" he asked me, using that tone that (mostly older) men sometimes find suitable when speaking to women or children.
Yes, actually, I said to myself in my head, but refrained and simply kept looking for a turf tire.
"Give me just another second," I said, as I checked the fifth tire supplier. Sometimes mower tires are tough to find.
"Just go ask one of the guys. They ought to know how much it is. Ought to be 8-10 bucks." I giggled inside. We can't even buy a tube for that. "Just tell them the size and they can tell you how much it is," he suggested.
Have you MET my father-in-law? I thought to myself. All he will do is say, "Hell if I know, check Shumaker or something," and send me right back in here.
"Ok, here we go," I started. But I was rudely interrupted.
"There has to be one of the guys there who can tell you. They know how much they are. Just go ask them."
"Sir, they do not know the price of every size tire off the top of their heads. They always have to have me look them up, and each tire price varies by supplier. I just had to find a supplier who had that size in a turf tire. Looks like it will be 48.00," I said. NICELY.
"FORTY EIGHT DOLLARS! Check that again. You've got something wrong," he said. And I had reached my limit. He had already suggested I was stupid for thinking he might want a ribbed tire (though it's not at all uncommon in that size), and he had basically told me to find someone who knew what they were doing (when I knew EXACTLY what I was doing). Now he was telling me I did something wrong. Oooooh. Nerve struck.
"It's forty-eight, sir. I have it right here in front of me," I said, in my authoritative voice, leaving no room for argument. I repeated the size to him and affirmed that it was a turf tire, then told him the brand.
"Well, ok. But I know that's not right," he said, SNOTTILY (is snottily a word? It is now!)
"Actually, it IS right, whether YOU think so or not," I replied, HATEFULLY.
And click.
"Ass hole" I muttered as I hung up the phone.
Twenty minutes later the phone rang again, and I recognized the number.
"Hey uh I called earlier about the tires," he said.
Yeah. And now you've called around and realized that the price was not only right, but most likely a little lower than the other places you called.
"Yeah," I said in a snobby teenager tone. I was done being nice. "It's still 48.00," I added.
"What about a tube for it?" he inquired.
"Sixteen," I said, after a little looking.
"So about half the price of a new tire?" he asked.
"About a third," I corrected. Snottily.
"Hm. Ok. Thanks."
I told my FIL what had happened, just so he would be prepared if the guy called again. He wasn't mad. He just smiled.
And then the next guy who came in and gave him grief over a price heard him say, "HEY! Straighten this guy out like you did the one who called earlier!" to me. Then added, "Go talk to my secretary if you think I'm tough to deal with. She'll straighten you out."
I just smiled and said, "Have a nice day!"
This is likely why I'm not REALLY in the business of customer service. Because when I'm right, I'm right, and I'm not always polite about it :)
I guess I was tempting the stars by saying so, because a few minutes later the business phone rang.
"Mister's Tire Shop," I greeted the customer. He wanted to talk to my father in law, but he was busy so I asked to take a message. He wanted a price on a lawn mower tire. That's my job.
"I can help you with that, what size are you looking for?" I asked politely. He couldn't read the tire, and had a couple of numbers mixed up, so I had to do some searching, but I finally found some tires in his size. Most of them were tractor-style tires, so I asked him what the tires were for specifically, and if he wanted a ribbed tire or a turf tire.
"Have you ever seen a lawn tractor with a ribbed tire on it?" he asked me, using that tone that (mostly older) men sometimes find suitable when speaking to women or children.
Yes, actually, I said to myself in my head, but refrained and simply kept looking for a turf tire.
"Give me just another second," I said, as I checked the fifth tire supplier. Sometimes mower tires are tough to find.
"Just go ask one of the guys. They ought to know how much it is. Ought to be 8-10 bucks." I giggled inside. We can't even buy a tube for that. "Just tell them the size and they can tell you how much it is," he suggested.
Have you MET my father-in-law? I thought to myself. All he will do is say, "Hell if I know, check Shumaker or something," and send me right back in here.
"Ok, here we go," I started. But I was rudely interrupted.
"There has to be one of the guys there who can tell you. They know how much they are. Just go ask them."
"Sir, they do not know the price of every size tire off the top of their heads. They always have to have me look them up, and each tire price varies by supplier. I just had to find a supplier who had that size in a turf tire. Looks like it will be 48.00," I said. NICELY.
"FORTY EIGHT DOLLARS! Check that again. You've got something wrong," he said. And I had reached my limit. He had already suggested I was stupid for thinking he might want a ribbed tire (though it's not at all uncommon in that size), and he had basically told me to find someone who knew what they were doing (when I knew EXACTLY what I was doing). Now he was telling me I did something wrong. Oooooh. Nerve struck.
"It's forty-eight, sir. I have it right here in front of me," I said, in my authoritative voice, leaving no room for argument. I repeated the size to him and affirmed that it was a turf tire, then told him the brand.
"Well, ok. But I know that's not right," he said, SNOTTILY (is snottily a word? It is now!)
"Actually, it IS right, whether YOU think so or not," I replied, HATEFULLY.
And click.
"Ass hole" I muttered as I hung up the phone.
Twenty minutes later the phone rang again, and I recognized the number.
"Hey uh I called earlier about the tires," he said.
Yeah. And now you've called around and realized that the price was not only right, but most likely a little lower than the other places you called.
"Yeah," I said in a snobby teenager tone. I was done being nice. "It's still 48.00," I added.
"What about a tube for it?" he inquired.
"Sixteen," I said, after a little looking.
"So about half the price of a new tire?" he asked.
"About a third," I corrected. Snottily.
"Hm. Ok. Thanks."
I told my FIL what had happened, just so he would be prepared if the guy called again. He wasn't mad. He just smiled.
And then the next guy who came in and gave him grief over a price heard him say, "HEY! Straighten this guy out like you did the one who called earlier!" to me. Then added, "Go talk to my secretary if you think I'm tough to deal with. She'll straighten you out."
I just smiled and said, "Have a nice day!"
This is likely why I'm not REALLY in the business of customer service. Because when I'm right, I'm right, and I'm not always polite about it :)
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Butt-Wrinkle
I left my wedding set at the jewelry store a few days back. It's that time of year when it needs to be polished and dipped and cleaned so it looks brand-new again. I love having it done, but I HATE leaving my rings! Because people are nosy (and weird), often they assume if you aren't wearing your rings it means your marriage is in despair (GASP!). So when they're gone, I have a little gold diamond band I wear in their place, just to hold the finger if you will.
As I was washing Chloe's hair last night, she noticed my ring (for the first time since I changed them) and let out a shocked gasp. "Where are your rings?!" she demanded.
I explained the situation to her, and told her I was wearing this one until I got my other ones back.
"Where'd ya get it?" she quizzed.
"Actually my dad gave it to me a long, long time ago," I told her. I didn't want her thinking it was from anyone else, or telling people her mom got a new wedding ring from someone. It's hard telling what she would translate.
"Oh. I see. And so you just wear it when you don't have your rings?" she asked.
"Yeah. I just like to have a ring on that finger," I told her honestly, without explaining the whole thing in-depth. She giggled.
"Is it so boys won't ask you to marry dem?" she concluded.
"Yes," I told her with a smile.
"You'd say no anyway, wouldn't ya? Because you only love Bryan."
"You're right," I told her, then added, "besides, I don't think we'll have to worry about any boys asking me to marry them." More giggles.
"Why not? Is it because you have a butt-wrinkle?" she said, going into a full-out laugh.
"Um. I was thinking because I'm visibly pregnant, but whatever you say," I finished, not sure how to continue the conversation, and not sure I wanted to. There were questions swirling in my mind, (like, DO I have a butt-wrinkle? And if I do, when did she see it? How big is it? And does it really make me THAT unattractive that NO boys would want to marry me?) but they were all questions to which I was positive I didn't want an honest, five-year-old answer.
Just when I think she can't possibly come up with ANYTHING more hilarious or inventive, (or humiliating?)she proves me wrong.
As I was washing Chloe's hair last night, she noticed my ring (for the first time since I changed them) and let out a shocked gasp. "Where are your rings?!" she demanded.
I explained the situation to her, and told her I was wearing this one until I got my other ones back.
"Where'd ya get it?" she quizzed.
"Actually my dad gave it to me a long, long time ago," I told her. I didn't want her thinking it was from anyone else, or telling people her mom got a new wedding ring from someone. It's hard telling what she would translate.
"Oh. I see. And so you just wear it when you don't have your rings?" she asked.
"Yeah. I just like to have a ring on that finger," I told her honestly, without explaining the whole thing in-depth. She giggled.
"Is it so boys won't ask you to marry dem?" she concluded.
"Yes," I told her with a smile.
"You'd say no anyway, wouldn't ya? Because you only love Bryan."
"You're right," I told her, then added, "besides, I don't think we'll have to worry about any boys asking me to marry them." More giggles.
"Why not? Is it because you have a butt-wrinkle?" she said, going into a full-out laugh.
"Um. I was thinking because I'm visibly pregnant, but whatever you say," I finished, not sure how to continue the conversation, and not sure I wanted to. There were questions swirling in my mind, (like, DO I have a butt-wrinkle? And if I do, when did she see it? How big is it? And does it really make me THAT unattractive that NO boys would want to marry me?) but they were all questions to which I was positive I didn't want an honest, five-year-old answer.
Just when I think she can't possibly come up with ANYTHING more hilarious or inventive, (or humiliating?)she proves me wrong.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Exercising Exorcising Grammar
It was the summer before my senior year when I first remember becoming fully aware of my dialect. I was working at Walmart. It was an old-school Walmart. Closed at 9pm, still had a hyphen in the name, and the cashiers did everything from stock soda to straighten shelves.
At the end of each closing shift we were all told to go "face" the shelves and were not allowed to clock out until the manager had done his walk-through to be sure everything was in order. This was the time when my friend Levi, a stock-boy, and I would meet up in the toy department or cosmetics and chat about our days.
Levi and I had been going to school together for just a couple of years, but we had a lot of classes together and he became one of my great "school friends." You know. We didn't talk on the phone or really hang out in "real life," (this was the pre-texting, pre-Facebook era), but we were buddies at school, and at work.
Levi wore wranglers every day. He lived on a farm. He liked horses. He said things like "ain't" and listened to country music. He was about as country as they come at WHS. At that time I considered myself to be more of a "townie." Sure I indulged in country once in a while, when my windows were up or when I was home alone. I wore clothes from Maurices. I wore Dr. Martens.
Anyway. Back to the straightening. As we were doing so, we were discussing the fair and the country music singers. I told him that if I was going to go see anyone, I'd want to go see Faith Hill.
Levi BUSTED up laughing. He was doubling over.
"What's so funny?" I asked him.
"Say it again!" he said between laughs.
"Say what?"
"Faith Hill!"
"Faith Hill," I said, unamused. Laughter again. When he finally composed himself, he explained what he heard.
"Andrea, it's Hill. Hih-lllllll. Not Heuhl. Hiiiiillllll."
"Heeeeh iiiihl" I said slowly. He laughed. And for the entire following school year he would randomly walk up to me and say "Faith Hill," then start laughing. The cowboy. was mocking. MY. accent.
It began to disturb me. As I paid more attention to myself and watched some old home videos, I realized just how strong my accent was. And it wasn't strong like a cute Southern Belle. It was strong like Debutante meets Beverly Hillbilly with a touch of Darlene Connor. I remember sitting in English class thinking, "I'll never have a second date in college if I keep this up."
And so I made a concentrated effort to begin correcting myself. I looked closely at how words are spelled. I had only learned by LISTENING, not by deciphering. I never knew that "pin" and "pen" had different pronunciations. I just thought they were spelled differently. I guess that's probably when my true grammar flair started.
I did a good job. I worked hard and although I didn't remove my accent, I changed the way I spoke. As the years went by, and I became an English major, I started trying even harder. I was surrounded by proper grammar and speech.
I began teaching, and that meant making even more of an effort to understand words and language and to use them correctly. I had been failed by poor models in my life, so if I could at least speak as well as I wrote, I could model good grammar for my students.
Day in and day out I studied my lessons. Taught the same concept three to five times a day. Graded papers. Corrected misuse. I started to not only speak well, but to speak correctly. I started using phrases like, "for which," and "to whom," and I learned the difference between subjective and objective forms (I vs. me) and when it's right to use them. My speech became as perfect as my writing.
And then I quit.
I quit teaching, that is. I traded in my grade-books and red (actually purple) pens, my early alarm and my khaki pants for boots and jeans and a farm-wife life. I started sleeping in. I started working at home. I rode around with my farmer hubby all day checking cows and hauling hay. I moved to a farming community, full of boot-wearing, country music-listening, tractor-driving farmers. I love to listen to my hubby talk. I think he has the cutest accent, and it kind of comes with the territory down here. But it's not something I would pick up.
Right?
Before I knew it, I started to notice a change.
It was first when Chloe said "ain't," and I corrected her, and began to worry that she'd picked up the bad habit at school. (Yes, I got more irritated with her learning "ain't" at school than the day she called the dog a bitch haha).
Then the other night, hubby asked me what I had.
And I said.
"It ain't nothin', babe. Don't worry 'bout it."
And he laughed. The farm guy in his Levi's and boots laughed at how I was talking.
Just like Levi.
And I realized I have come full-circle. This little dialect demon that I thought I had overcome had reared his ugly head once again. I've realized that what I hear on a day-to-day basis affects me so much more than what I KNOW. And without daily practice and dedication, I quickly fall back to my old habits. Anyone know of an exorcist for speech and grammar demons? :)
At least I can still write well :)
At the end of each closing shift we were all told to go "face" the shelves and were not allowed to clock out until the manager had done his walk-through to be sure everything was in order. This was the time when my friend Levi, a stock-boy, and I would meet up in the toy department or cosmetics and chat about our days.
Levi and I had been going to school together for just a couple of years, but we had a lot of classes together and he became one of my great "school friends." You know. We didn't talk on the phone or really hang out in "real life," (this was the pre-texting, pre-Facebook era), but we were buddies at school, and at work.
Levi wore wranglers every day. He lived on a farm. He liked horses. He said things like "ain't" and listened to country music. He was about as country as they come at WHS. At that time I considered myself to be more of a "townie." Sure I indulged in country once in a while, when my windows were up or when I was home alone. I wore clothes from Maurices. I wore Dr. Martens.
Anyway. Back to the straightening. As we were doing so, we were discussing the fair and the country music singers. I told him that if I was going to go see anyone, I'd want to go see Faith Hill.
Levi BUSTED up laughing. He was doubling over.
"What's so funny?" I asked him.
"Say it again!" he said between laughs.
"Say what?"
"Faith Hill!"
"Faith Hill," I said, unamused. Laughter again. When he finally composed himself, he explained what he heard.
"Andrea, it's Hill. Hih-lllllll. Not Heuhl. Hiiiiillllll."
"Heeeeh iiiihl" I said slowly. He laughed. And for the entire following school year he would randomly walk up to me and say "Faith Hill," then start laughing. The cowboy. was mocking. MY. accent.
It began to disturb me. As I paid more attention to myself and watched some old home videos, I realized just how strong my accent was. And it wasn't strong like a cute Southern Belle. It was strong like Debutante meets Beverly Hillbilly with a touch of Darlene Connor. I remember sitting in English class thinking, "I'll never have a second date in college if I keep this up."
And so I made a concentrated effort to begin correcting myself. I looked closely at how words are spelled. I had only learned by LISTENING, not by deciphering. I never knew that "pin" and "pen" had different pronunciations. I just thought they were spelled differently. I guess that's probably when my true grammar flair started.
I did a good job. I worked hard and although I didn't remove my accent, I changed the way I spoke. As the years went by, and I became an English major, I started trying even harder. I was surrounded by proper grammar and speech.
I began teaching, and that meant making even more of an effort to understand words and language and to use them correctly. I had been failed by poor models in my life, so if I could at least speak as well as I wrote, I could model good grammar for my students.
Day in and day out I studied my lessons. Taught the same concept three to five times a day. Graded papers. Corrected misuse. I started to not only speak well, but to speak correctly. I started using phrases like, "for which," and "to whom," and I learned the difference between subjective and objective forms (I vs. me) and when it's right to use them. My speech became as perfect as my writing.
And then I quit.
I quit teaching, that is. I traded in my grade-books and red (actually purple) pens, my early alarm and my khaki pants for boots and jeans and a farm-wife life. I started sleeping in. I started working at home. I rode around with my farmer hubby all day checking cows and hauling hay. I moved to a farming community, full of boot-wearing, country music-listening, tractor-driving farmers. I love to listen to my hubby talk. I think he has the cutest accent, and it kind of comes with the territory down here. But it's not something I would pick up.
Right?
Before I knew it, I started to notice a change.
It was first when Chloe said "ain't," and I corrected her, and began to worry that she'd picked up the bad habit at school. (Yes, I got more irritated with her learning "ain't" at school than the day she called the dog a bitch haha).
Then the other night, hubby asked me what I had.
And I said.
"It ain't nothin', babe. Don't worry 'bout it."
And he laughed. The farm guy in his Levi's and boots laughed at how I was talking.
Just like Levi.
And I realized I have come full-circle. This little dialect demon that I thought I had overcome had reared his ugly head once again. I've realized that what I hear on a day-to-day basis affects me so much more than what I KNOW. And without daily practice and dedication, I quickly fall back to my old habits. Anyone know of an exorcist for speech and grammar demons? :)
At least I can still write well :)
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