Last Friday was a long, long day. Gavin didn't sleep well the night before because he's teething therefore I didn't sleep well the night before. The following day was a wee bit of a grump fest although Ryan and I were very gracious to each other as it was Valentine's Day. I think Valentine's Day saved us from potentially nasty behavior.
Ryan bought me a goodie basket - frozen yogurt, a box of candy conversation hearts and a bag of baked Sour Cream & Ruffles chips (which make an excellent appetizer to breakfast, by the way) and daffodils. My gift to Ryan was our date later in the evening. I was so excited about our date that I couldn't even nap! I snuck off to our bedroom to call the club we were going to, Highway 99 Blues Club, to see what time we had to be there before the show started. The hostess told me that since the show started at 8:00 we had to be at our table by 7:30. No problem. I called the sitter and asked if she could come over a half hour earlier than we originally scheduled.
Little Gavin was set, asleep in his crib; as far as he knew we never left the house. Ryan gave the sitter a tour of the pantry and I gave her the contact information of where we would be. Then with 15 minutes to spare I told Ryan we needed to leave so we could be on time. We are quite often tardy to events which drives me nuts but we had to be on time tonight so I hustled us out the door.
Driving under the viaduct (highway 99), I spotted the sign to the venue and even sweeter than finding the venue of the first try was seeing a man unlock his car front and center. "Stop! That guy is leaving!" We scored a free parking spot directly in front of the club. On a Saturday night. On a big date holiday Saturday night. We were thrilled.
Ryan seemed pretty excited about the joint. Food and good music coupled with my unbeatable company - what more could he want?
When we were seated I saw a band member fiddling with some equipment on stage and I had a feeling something was a bit off. It was the way his short hair was slicked back; the thin strip of facial hair cutting across his face on either side, his tight red shirt with white piping. He looked a bit 50's and a bit country. I kept my observations to myself.
The waitress quickly took our drink orders then after about a half hour or longer she took our food order. We were very naughty and ordered an appetizer of chicken sliders. Yum. Well, 45 minutes later, yum. That place was hoppin'. It was at least an hour from the time we ordered our food until it came. I had a rockfish that was super rich and Ryan had a chicken gumbo which I was surprised he liked because I think it had okra in it.
If you do the math you will notice we arrived at 7:30, our order was taken around 8:00 and food arrived around 9:00. All the while we are enjoying each other's company and surprisingly our conversation did not all revolve around Gavin. That was a good sign.
When our harried waitress zipped by we asked when the show was going to start. Any minute now. Sure. At one point we considered leaving and doing something else but I thought, what are we going to do? We don't know the happening joints in Seattle and we just ate dinner so we stayed and waited. And waited and waited some more.
Finally, 2 hours after the show was supposed to start this dude carrying a big case walks to the stage and I see the red shirt band member shake his hand as he gets his instrument ready. I believe the bass player was the reason the show was late. Mr. Bassman, you sir are a hoser. It didn't seem like anyone else minded that the show was so late. There was a good music playing, everyone was enjoying their dates and people we taking dancing lessons on the dance floor.
Then the red shirt with piping dude steps up to the mike. He's the singer and he's flanked by a young looking kid on the right wearing a black shirt and black beret with a guitar hanging at his waist. To the left of the singer was the hoser of a bass player with his super cool shiny bass, also wearing a black beret.
Then the music started. My eyes widened. Nooooo!!!!! I slowly turned my head to the left to sneak a peak at Ryan; I mouth "sorry" to him. The band was a rockabilly band. If you don't know rockabilly think country music on crack. Ryan said he could have sang, "Go Johnny, Go!" to everyone one of their songs.
If you know Ryan then you know he doesn't like country music. To say he doesn't like it would be the understatement of the year. He despises country music. Sure, he likes, "Friends in Low Places" by Garth Brooks but who doesn't? Country music is to Ryan like cryptonite is to Superman.
We were at his mom's house celebrating the birthday of one of her husband's relatives - a relative who liked country music. So to honor him Mary Jo put country on the stereo. Ryan asked his mom to change it. She wouldn't - it was for the birthday boy.
I used his aversion to country to my advantage once. I was sitting on the couch watching some tv show when Ryan plopped down next to me with a bag of carrots. Crunchy, crunchy carrots which he proceeded to eat. There is one little quirk that Ryan and I share. We both hate to listen to other people eat crunchy foods. While he hates to listen to the crunch I go above and beyond and do not want to hear any part of the mastication process whatsoever. No lip smacking, teeth scraping of utensils, no chomping, crunching, slurping - nothing. To force me in the vicinity of a noisy eater is to place one's own bodily health in danger. It pushes me to a homicidal point that I don't like being pushed to.
So... there I was sitting - not antagonizing anyone and my beloved sits next to me and goes to town on some carrots. He was enjoying making the crunching as loud as he could as he made sure to not muffle any sound by keeping his lips apart and leaning closer to me. Now, he would normally win this battle because I would just run from the room with my hands over my ears screaming at the top of my lungs. But no. I wasn't going to budge. I had the remote and I had just discovered the music channels on the tv. I pulled up the menu and selected a county station. "No. That's too rock 'n roll.... how's about this one," I said as I found the old school country where there was sure to be some pronounced twang.
Ryan sat there and smiled. Soon his smile looked forced and I think I may have seen a tear in his eye. He didn't even last a minute. "You win! You win! Just turn the station! Please!"
HA! I won. I never win!
Now do you have an idea of how Ryan feels about country? He looked at me as if to say, "really?" I pointed at the huge sign behind the band that said, "real blues. cool joint."
How was I to know I bought tickets to a rockabilly concert at a blues club? I was expecting something along the lines of BB King not Scott Marshall Warner. I enjoyed the music but knowing that I was killing Ryan's spirit I told him we could leave. It must have been the two beers because he decided it would be ok to stay. I have to admit that after a while the music did sound the same.
After they played there was a burlesque show which was a little different from what I thought a burlesque show was. I thought the women did their little old fashioned Betty Boop dancing and ended up in a bikini. Not so much. It was pretty comical, though. The women came to the stage and danced what I'm sure was a provocative number in WWII but seemed cartoonish to me. When the dancer got down to the frilly underwear she would take her top off to reveal pasty covered boobs at which point she would quickly bow, scoop up her clothes and dash off stage. It kind of reminded me of a peep show at the "museum" in Longview where Jake the Alligator man lives. You put a nickel in the machine and a silent film plays. There is a woman who acts coy in her underwear (think big white petticoat), she takes her arms out of her petticoat (va-va-voom) and cut - next scene you see a pile of underwear next to tub with the woman in the tub with just her head above the water. Hilarious. I think I called my mom over to watch the show I thought it was so funny.
We left after the burlesque girls finished their number. It was getting late and the band following Scott Marshall Warner was another rockabilly band.
At least Ryan appreciated the effort I made to get a sitter and find something and make reservations. Too bad I took him to his own custom fit hell.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Sunday, February 08, 2009
E.R.
Our plans for the day were pretty simple. Go to the Love and Logic parenting class at church then probably eat lunch at Ryan's favorite Mexican fast food place, I can never remember its name they all seem the same to me, Chipotle, Q'doba, Baja Fresh...
Since class wasn't until noon I had the whole morning ahead of me. On top of my list of things to do was clean. You would never know by looking at my house that I'm always cleaning the kitchen or picking up toys or vacuuming. No sooner are all counter tops clean and all dishes washed and taken care then crumbs start popping up on the counters and dishes jump out of the cupboards and throw themselves around the kitchen. Sneaky dishes. Then of course there are toys that mysteriously end up in the kitchen behind the trash can. It's almost like a toddler stands at the gate barring him from entry and throws toys over and watches them roll to the far corners.
So there I am in the kitchen cleaning and cleaning some more. Ryan made delicious smoothies last night and that meant there was a blender to clean. The base was difficult to loose from the pitcher and after much effort it finally gave. I lifted the pitcher from the motor/base to remove the blade and rubber gasket. The blade slipped from my hands and I instinctively grabbed it.
*&*#(*!!!
Not my finest moment. I have only my cat like reflexes to blame for my stab wound. The blade went in on my right hand just below my pinkie finger on the side. What really surprised me was that it didn't really hurt. I guess its true what they say about sharp knives.
After inspecting my hand and noting that the wound kind of looked like a coin pouch I told Ryan that we would need to go to the emergency room as it was going to require stitches. If it wasn't so darn deep I would have been happy to just put some butterfly bandages on it and call it good. Well, that and I plunged my hand in the dish water and thought it might be good to have the wound irrigated since I don't think dish water with food bits is good for the inside of a wound.
My instincts steered me wrong this morning. Let the blade fall on the ground. Put owie under fresh running water.
Ryan bandaged me up and I kept adding layers as needed all the while getting dressed to go to the hospital. A half an hour later we were all dressed and ready to go. Ten minutes later we were parked and realized we were clear on the wrong side of the hospital from the ER.
I checked myself in and ask where we can go to get some food because I know they aren't going to see me right away. The grumpy receptionist tells me I can't eat because they may want to run some tests on me and that I need to talk to the nurse first. Ryan and Gavin go off to eat delicious food and I starve because they are going to give me life altering stitches. I forgot that we should have eaten first (or not mention food and just ate anyway). I kept putting off getting admitted to the hospital when I gave birth to Gavin because I knew they wouldn't let me eat so we came and went from the hospital until I was in pain and actually wanted to stay (and get an epidural).
Ryan brought me back a sandwich. I ask Ms. Grumpypants if I can eat since I saw the nurse already. "You most certainly may not!" I so wanted to slap Miss Congeniality. Instead I say, "Fine," like a sullen teenager. I should have told her a simple no would have sufficed and that she could lose the attitude. I was the one with the stab wound in my hand I was much more pleasant than she was.
I asked the triage nurse how long before I would be seen. She said with a laceration I have to be treated within 6 hours. Me: "Six hours!" Nurse: "You have to be treated within 6 hours of the laceration. It won't take that long." That was her way of saying it was going to take between 0-5 hours. She asked me when I hurt myself so I said, "Forty min... I mean 5 hours ago. Ha ha ha." I hope she appreciates the laughter I brought to that miserable little place.
It wasn't that miserable there except for the crazy lady. Let me tell ya something about myself. My tolerance for crazy hovers somewhere around nil. Correction. I can handle senile 'crazy', old people crazy but I don't do well with paranoid crazy. Having worked in geriatric (old people) care for a number of years as everything from a housekeeper to a nurse I understand the many ways the craziness manifests. One year I filled in for the housekeeper at the assisted living facility where I worked as an aide. I was in room # 208 or #308, I remember the woman's face but can't remember her name. She came back to her room after lunch and there I was cleaning her room. She grabbed a pairing knife and said, "Who are you?!" I said, "It's me April, I'm the housekeeper."
"Housekeeper the devil! I'm the housekeeper!"
I put my hands up and said, "OK" and I inched my way past her and left her room a disheveled mess. I told the administrator a certain someone had a knife that needed to be confiscated.
Another time a dear woman came down while I was working graveyard as a nurse's aide. "Help! A little boy fell down the well!" Me: "?" Senior: "Hurry! He fell down the well." Me: "OK. Let's go see what we can do."
We get in the elevator and go up to her room. Once inside she leads me to the well. Her t.v. It was off and the screen was black. I showed her that the well was a tv. I tapped on the glass and she kind of snapped out of it. "Oh." I went back to my station and not fifteen minutes later she was back as the boy was back in the well. This time I turned the tv on. She must have fallen asleep after that because there were no more boys in wells.
My favorite crazy episode really wasn't at all crazy because the lady knew her hallucinations weren't real; they were a side effect of her medicine. She would laugh hysterically and describe what she was seeing and I would hold my hand up and poke "them" and she would laugh even harder. Oh, I miss her. She had the most infectious laugh.
My least favorite crazy was the lady who thought we were recording her every move and were broadcasting for the whole world to see, kind of like the Truman Show. We were "them" and "they" two things you do not want to be. There is no reasoning with someone who thinks you are one of them.
Back to the crazy lady in the ER. She wasn't paranoid, not that I could tell but she was plenty annoying. Maybe a bit of a hypochondriac. "I need oxygen. Help. I need oxygen." Nurse: "The doctor worked up your heart and determined you don't need oxygen. Your ride is going to be here any minute."
Crazy lady: "I have rights you know. I need oxygen. What if I have a heart attack? What are you guys going to do?"
(I'm thinking if you have a heart attack you couldn't be in a better place, lady).
Crazy lady: "I need to call my cousin Stephanie; she's a lawyer. I don't have her phone number with me. I need to call 411. Will someone help me call my cousin Stephanie? Help. I have rights you know. Her number is long distance. Stephanie! Stephanie! Help me!"
They finally call my name after hanging out over 2 hours. A nurse sets me up in a bed and pulls the curtain. She asks a few questions and says the doctor will be in a minute to see me. Or 30 or 40 minutes. In comes Mr. Doctor he has more questions for me. He looks at wound and says he will numb it up so a tech can clean it out. Dr. shoots fire, a.k.a., lidocaine in my hand. I don't think they cut it with sodium bicarb to lessen the sting. It hurt. More than the actual stab wound.
30 minutes later Kevin comes in and shoots saline in to the wound three times. Judging by the splashing of saline and I'm sure blood that hit my face I am pretty confident that any dirty dishwater and food bits were removed from my hand.
Kevin leaves and says doctor will be back to stitch me up. Sure. After about an hour I parted the curtain and asked someone in scrubs behind a desk if I could eat something. I held up my hand and said, "I'm just getting stitches." The lady in scrubs said, "Well... are you feeling nauseous or weak?" I wanted to say, "Yes, from hunger," but thought a simple "No" would result in me putting food in the gaping grumbling hole known as my stomach. "I suppose you can have some crackers," she conceded. I pointed to my bag and said, "I have a sandwich." She gave me an opening and I took off with it.
Then out of the corner of my eye I see some dude stand up. It's Dr. Twiddling-His-Thumbs. "Let's just get you stitched up." I tried really hard, and I succeeded, in not glaring at him. Why was he just sitting there? Don't tell me he was charting because they were using all electronic charts. Today was their first day of exclusive electronic charting.
I told the Dr. that would be nice. I lay down and I ask him to poke my hand first to make sure it was still numb (my subtle way of saying it has been ages since you numbed me up). "Sure. But the medicine I gave you lasts for 4 hours." Then he proceeds to shove the needle in my skin. "Ooh, that stings a bit."
Doctor: "You shouldn't feel anything."
Me (to myself): "Well, Jackass. I just told you that I felt something and it wasn't altogether pleasant."
Doctor then plunges the needle back into my skin. "That stings, too."
Doctor: "Hmphf." Then he plunges the needle back into my skin and this time I gasp and my left leg goes shooting up in the air.
Dr. Jackass: "Clearly you felt that. Oh well. That was the last one. Sorry."
This time I didn't hide the disdain in my eyes. I was a touch angry. He gave some directions which I took with a scowl and he left and told me the tech would be back in to clean me up. He left and I went to my purse and inhaled my sandwich with one hand careful to keep the other bloody mess away from the food. Then when I was done with my sandwich I read all of the cards on the supply cart that list the doctor's preferences for sutures, their glove sizes and when I was done with that I inspected the stuff left on my bed that they used to treat me. I pulled back a towel and what did I find? They syringe with lidocaine buried - Dr. J carelessly left it there where it could have ended up in a laundry and someone could have been poked (and numbed with all of the medicine left in it).
Someone walked by my curtained space and I poked my head out. "I'll just wash my hand and leave." That made her very uncomfortable. Too bad. I was done. D-O-N-E. They sent in an RN to finish me up - can't have a woman with some stitches leaving before being properly discharged. And I don't think I want to make an appointment to have my stitches taken out. I think I can take them out just fine at home - it won't be the first time.
Since class wasn't until noon I had the whole morning ahead of me. On top of my list of things to do was clean. You would never know by looking at my house that I'm always cleaning the kitchen or picking up toys or vacuuming. No sooner are all counter tops clean and all dishes washed and taken care then crumbs start popping up on the counters and dishes jump out of the cupboards and throw themselves around the kitchen. Sneaky dishes. Then of course there are toys that mysteriously end up in the kitchen behind the trash can. It's almost like a toddler stands at the gate barring him from entry and throws toys over and watches them roll to the far corners.
So there I am in the kitchen cleaning and cleaning some more. Ryan made delicious smoothies last night and that meant there was a blender to clean. The base was difficult to loose from the pitcher and after much effort it finally gave. I lifted the pitcher from the motor/base to remove the blade and rubber gasket. The blade slipped from my hands and I instinctively grabbed it.
*&*#(*!!!
Not my finest moment. I have only my cat like reflexes to blame for my stab wound. The blade went in on my right hand just below my pinkie finger on the side. What really surprised me was that it didn't really hurt. I guess its true what they say about sharp knives.
After inspecting my hand and noting that the wound kind of looked like a coin pouch I told Ryan that we would need to go to the emergency room as it was going to require stitches. If it wasn't so darn deep I would have been happy to just put some butterfly bandages on it and call it good. Well, that and I plunged my hand in the dish water and thought it might be good to have the wound irrigated since I don't think dish water with food bits is good for the inside of a wound.
My instincts steered me wrong this morning. Let the blade fall on the ground. Put owie under fresh running water.
Ryan bandaged me up and I kept adding layers as needed all the while getting dressed to go to the hospital. A half an hour later we were all dressed and ready to go. Ten minutes later we were parked and realized we were clear on the wrong side of the hospital from the ER.
I checked myself in and ask where we can go to get some food because I know they aren't going to see me right away. The grumpy receptionist tells me I can't eat because they may want to run some tests on me and that I need to talk to the nurse first. Ryan and Gavin go off to eat delicious food and I starve because they are going to give me life altering stitches. I forgot that we should have eaten first (or not mention food and just ate anyway). I kept putting off getting admitted to the hospital when I gave birth to Gavin because I knew they wouldn't let me eat so we came and went from the hospital until I was in pain and actually wanted to stay (and get an epidural).
Ryan brought me back a sandwich. I ask Ms. Grumpypants if I can eat since I saw the nurse already. "You most certainly may not!" I so wanted to slap Miss Congeniality. Instead I say, "Fine," like a sullen teenager. I should have told her a simple no would have sufficed and that she could lose the attitude. I was the one with the stab wound in my hand I was much more pleasant than she was.
I asked the triage nurse how long before I would be seen. She said with a laceration I have to be treated within 6 hours. Me: "Six hours!" Nurse: "You have to be treated within 6 hours of the laceration. It won't take that long." That was her way of saying it was going to take between 0-5 hours. She asked me when I hurt myself so I said, "Forty min... I mean 5 hours ago. Ha ha ha." I hope she appreciates the laughter I brought to that miserable little place.
It wasn't that miserable there except for the crazy lady. Let me tell ya something about myself. My tolerance for crazy hovers somewhere around nil. Correction. I can handle senile 'crazy', old people crazy but I don't do well with paranoid crazy. Having worked in geriatric (old people) care for a number of years as everything from a housekeeper to a nurse I understand the many ways the craziness manifests. One year I filled in for the housekeeper at the assisted living facility where I worked as an aide. I was in room # 208 or #308, I remember the woman's face but can't remember her name. She came back to her room after lunch and there I was cleaning her room. She grabbed a pairing knife and said, "Who are you?!" I said, "It's me April, I'm the housekeeper."
"Housekeeper the devil! I'm the housekeeper!"
I put my hands up and said, "OK" and I inched my way past her and left her room a disheveled mess. I told the administrator a certain someone had a knife that needed to be confiscated.
Another time a dear woman came down while I was working graveyard as a nurse's aide. "Help! A little boy fell down the well!" Me: "?" Senior: "Hurry! He fell down the well." Me: "OK. Let's go see what we can do."
We get in the elevator and go up to her room. Once inside she leads me to the well. Her t.v. It was off and the screen was black. I showed her that the well was a tv. I tapped on the glass and she kind of snapped out of it. "Oh." I went back to my station and not fifteen minutes later she was back as the boy was back in the well. This time I turned the tv on. She must have fallen asleep after that because there were no more boys in wells.
My favorite crazy episode really wasn't at all crazy because the lady knew her hallucinations weren't real; they were a side effect of her medicine. She would laugh hysterically and describe what she was seeing and I would hold my hand up and poke "them" and she would laugh even harder. Oh, I miss her. She had the most infectious laugh.
My least favorite crazy was the lady who thought we were recording her every move and were broadcasting for the whole world to see, kind of like the Truman Show. We were "them" and "they" two things you do not want to be. There is no reasoning with someone who thinks you are one of them.
Back to the crazy lady in the ER. She wasn't paranoid, not that I could tell but she was plenty annoying. Maybe a bit of a hypochondriac. "I need oxygen. Help. I need oxygen." Nurse: "The doctor worked up your heart and determined you don't need oxygen. Your ride is going to be here any minute."
Crazy lady: "I have rights you know. I need oxygen. What if I have a heart attack? What are you guys going to do?"
(I'm thinking if you have a heart attack you couldn't be in a better place, lady).
Crazy lady: "I need to call my cousin Stephanie; she's a lawyer. I don't have her phone number with me. I need to call 411. Will someone help me call my cousin Stephanie? Help. I have rights you know. Her number is long distance. Stephanie! Stephanie! Help me!"
They finally call my name after hanging out over 2 hours. A nurse sets me up in a bed and pulls the curtain. She asks a few questions and says the doctor will be in a minute to see me. Or 30 or 40 minutes. In comes Mr. Doctor he has more questions for me. He looks at wound and says he will numb it up so a tech can clean it out. Dr. shoots fire, a.k.a., lidocaine in my hand. I don't think they cut it with sodium bicarb to lessen the sting. It hurt. More than the actual stab wound.
30 minutes later Kevin comes in and shoots saline in to the wound three times. Judging by the splashing of saline and I'm sure blood that hit my face I am pretty confident that any dirty dishwater and food bits were removed from my hand.
Kevin leaves and says doctor will be back to stitch me up. Sure. After about an hour I parted the curtain and asked someone in scrubs behind a desk if I could eat something. I held up my hand and said, "I'm just getting stitches." The lady in scrubs said, "Well... are you feeling nauseous or weak?" I wanted to say, "Yes, from hunger," but thought a simple "No" would result in me putting food in the gaping grumbling hole known as my stomach. "I suppose you can have some crackers," she conceded. I pointed to my bag and said, "I have a sandwich." She gave me an opening and I took off with it.
Then out of the corner of my eye I see some dude stand up. It's Dr. Twiddling-His-Thumbs. "Let's just get you stitched up." I tried really hard, and I succeeded, in not glaring at him. Why was he just sitting there? Don't tell me he was charting because they were using all electronic charts. Today was their first day of exclusive electronic charting.
I told the Dr. that would be nice. I lay down and I ask him to poke my hand first to make sure it was still numb (my subtle way of saying it has been ages since you numbed me up). "Sure. But the medicine I gave you lasts for 4 hours." Then he proceeds to shove the needle in my skin. "Ooh, that stings a bit."
Doctor: "You shouldn't feel anything."
Me (to myself): "Well, Jackass. I just told you that I felt something and it wasn't altogether pleasant."
Doctor then plunges the needle back into my skin. "That stings, too."
Doctor: "Hmphf." Then he plunges the needle back into my skin and this time I gasp and my left leg goes shooting up in the air.
Dr. Jackass: "Clearly you felt that. Oh well. That was the last one. Sorry."
This time I didn't hide the disdain in my eyes. I was a touch angry. He gave some directions which I took with a scowl and he left and told me the tech would be back in to clean me up. He left and I went to my purse and inhaled my sandwich with one hand careful to keep the other bloody mess away from the food. Then when I was done with my sandwich I read all of the cards on the supply cart that list the doctor's preferences for sutures, their glove sizes and when I was done with that I inspected the stuff left on my bed that they used to treat me. I pulled back a towel and what did I find? They syringe with lidocaine buried - Dr. J carelessly left it there where it could have ended up in a laundry and someone could have been poked (and numbed with all of the medicine left in it).
Someone walked by my curtained space and I poked my head out. "I'll just wash my hand and leave." That made her very uncomfortable. Too bad. I was done. D-O-N-E. They sent in an RN to finish me up - can't have a woman with some stitches leaving before being properly discharged. And I don't think I want to make an appointment to have my stitches taken out. I think I can take them out just fine at home - it won't be the first time.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Visual Delight
Holding Elmo by the foot Gavin was walking and shrieking with
laughter all while shaking his head
Sitting on doggy
Doggy did not like being a chair
Hug for doggy
Kind of looks like he's dancing
Something upset Gavin and Daddy offered up a nice shoulder to lean on
Pictured: first time coloring.
Not pictured: first time eating crayons.
Gavin wanted the push toy and Chiara wanted to push the highchair
Gavin changed his mind. The highchair makes a good push toy.
Gavin wanted the push toy and Chiara wanted to push the highchair
Gavin changed his mind. The highchair makes a good push toy.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Valentine's Day Through the Years
Hallmark's favorite holiday is just around the corner. Valentine's Day is such an awkward holiday for singles and marrieds. A day when you are supposed to profess your love for your mate, date or whomever. I've never been the biggest Valentine's Day fan but if Wendy or Kim is reading this they may remember it a little differently since they knew me in elementary school and on through High School.
I did, however, like the Valentine's Day party at school. After agonizing over which cards to buy at the grocery store, you know, Garfield, My Little Pony, Ziggy (Iggy - I never understood why an 8 year old would pick his cards), Snoopy - all of which were smaller than an index card and twice as thin, we spent the night before signing the cards. The brave among us would add a note in addition to our name scrawled on the card. Some people would declare their undying love with a bold statement like, "I like you." but neglect to add their identifying mark - his or her name. Or, you could sign all cards, "Love" and know that you really only meant it for one person but to save face you have to sign all cards the same so no one could say, "Oooh! Sara likes Mike!" which would of course lead to a rousing chorus of, "Sara and Mike sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!"
There was one move that was reserved for the true Casanovas: strategic placement of candy conversation hearts. I recall being careless about the candy hearts. I tossed two or three in each envelope but I made sure there was nothing suggestive about the messages on the hearts for the boys, especially, if I didn't like the boy. I certainly didn't need grief about liking a boy that I despised.
That was elementary school. Then Valentine's Day just added a new dimension of uncomfortableness to the awkwardness that was Junior High. As if Junior High wasn't bad enough in and of itself there was February 14th to make you feel like an even bigger loser because you didn't have a boyfriend. Never mind you wouldn't know what to do if you did have a boyfriend since you died every time a boy you were even remotely interested in passed you in the hall - or *gasp* made eye contact with you or double *gasp* said "hey" to you.
In High School I was a little more comfortable in my own skin and was growing more confident with each year until it was time to leave. I was still boyfriend-less throughout high school. Boys liked me but they were either in the My-parents-could-never-know-about-them-cause-they-are-so-bad crowd or in the uh-dad-a-boy-asked-me-out-can-you-say-I-can't-go-out-with-him-because-I-don't-want-to-hurt-his-feelings crowd. The bad boys were easy to say no to but they didn't get it. I was the wallflower that should have swooned because they took a shine to me. Once I realized that I got a little sinister pleasure out of turning them down. Bitchy, I know. Bwa-ha ha ha.
By time college came around I had boyfriends but then we were too poor to do anything for Valentine's Day. Then as I got older I just didn't care. This year marks mine and Ryan's 8th Valentine's together, our second as parents. I don't remember what we did last year. I think we got cards for each other at the grocery store on the 14th and maybe went out to an early dinner with Gavin in tow.
This year we have plans. Real plans. We haven't been on a date since this summer but that's not saying much. Even before Gavin we didn't do a whole heck of a lot; dinner and the occasional movie and occasional camping trip. If you know me you know I detest going to movies with friends if we don't go out for coffee or dinner afterwards. I can't watch a 2 hour flick and then not talk about it. C'mon. Our dates now consist of working out at the same time at the gym. I've been thinking we need to do something just the two of us so a couple of weeks ago I was trying to figure out a good weekend to get a sitter. As much as I want to remain an anti-Valentine's girl my resolve is crumbling this year. I did tell Ryan to not buy me flowers since they are outrageously expensive. I did not forbid him from buying me sapphires, rubies or sapphires - I don't think there is a mark up on them for V-Day. Maybe I'm confusing my excitement for our date with excitement for Valentine's Day as our date happens to fall on V-Day.
By the way, did you know that it is hard to come by a sitter on February 14th - especially when it happens to be a Saturday. Sheesh! I thought I was being on top of it by starting 3 weeks out. Not good enough.
I'm going to keep mum about what the plans for the evening are since it is a surprise for Ryan. I think he'll have a good time. I'll let you know what we did after we do what have planned to do.
I did, however, like the Valentine's Day party at school. After agonizing over which cards to buy at the grocery store, you know, Garfield, My Little Pony, Ziggy (Iggy - I never understood why an 8 year old would pick his cards), Snoopy - all of which were smaller than an index card and twice as thin, we spent the night before signing the cards. The brave among us would add a note in addition to our name scrawled on the card. Some people would declare their undying love with a bold statement like, "I like you." but neglect to add their identifying mark - his or her name. Or, you could sign all cards, "Love" and know that you really only meant it for one person but to save face you have to sign all cards the same so no one could say, "Oooh! Sara likes Mike!" which would of course lead to a rousing chorus of, "Sara and Mike sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!"
There was one move that was reserved for the true Casanovas: strategic placement of candy conversation hearts. I recall being careless about the candy hearts. I tossed two or three in each envelope but I made sure there was nothing suggestive about the messages on the hearts for the boys, especially, if I didn't like the boy. I certainly didn't need grief about liking a boy that I despised.
That was elementary school. Then Valentine's Day just added a new dimension of uncomfortableness to the awkwardness that was Junior High. As if Junior High wasn't bad enough in and of itself there was February 14th to make you feel like an even bigger loser because you didn't have a boyfriend. Never mind you wouldn't know what to do if you did have a boyfriend since you died every time a boy you were even remotely interested in passed you in the hall - or *gasp* made eye contact with you or double *gasp* said "hey" to you.
In High School I was a little more comfortable in my own skin and was growing more confident with each year until it was time to leave. I was still boyfriend-less throughout high school. Boys liked me but they were either in the My-parents-could-never-know-about-them-cause-they-are-so-bad crowd or in the uh-dad-a-boy-asked-me-out-can-you-say-I-can't-go-out-with-him-because-I-don't-want-to-hurt-his-feelings crowd. The bad boys were easy to say no to but they didn't get it. I was the wallflower that should have swooned because they took a shine to me. Once I realized that I got a little sinister pleasure out of turning them down. Bitchy, I know. Bwa-ha ha ha.
By time college came around I had boyfriends but then we were too poor to do anything for Valentine's Day. Then as I got older I just didn't care. This year marks mine and Ryan's 8th Valentine's together, our second as parents. I don't remember what we did last year. I think we got cards for each other at the grocery store on the 14th and maybe went out to an early dinner with Gavin in tow.
This year we have plans. Real plans. We haven't been on a date since this summer but that's not saying much. Even before Gavin we didn't do a whole heck of a lot; dinner and the occasional movie and occasional camping trip. If you know me you know I detest going to movies with friends if we don't go out for coffee or dinner afterwards. I can't watch a 2 hour flick and then not talk about it. C'mon. Our dates now consist of working out at the same time at the gym. I've been thinking we need to do something just the two of us so a couple of weeks ago I was trying to figure out a good weekend to get a sitter. As much as I want to remain an anti-Valentine's girl my resolve is crumbling this year. I did tell Ryan to not buy me flowers since they are outrageously expensive. I did not forbid him from buying me sapphires, rubies or sapphires - I don't think there is a mark up on them for V-Day. Maybe I'm confusing my excitement for our date with excitement for Valentine's Day as our date happens to fall on V-Day.
By the way, did you know that it is hard to come by a sitter on February 14th - especially when it happens to be a Saturday. Sheesh! I thought I was being on top of it by starting 3 weeks out. Not good enough.
I'm going to keep mum about what the plans for the evening are since it is a surprise for Ryan. I think he'll have a good time. I'll let you know what we did after we do what have planned to do.
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