There are many things I like about my house. It is cute as a button. I like that. It has period charm. I like that. It has fantastic crown molding and large baseboards. I like that. It has vibrant colors that pop against the stark white moldings. I like that. It has a beautiful kitchen with lovely counter tops and a pot rack. I like that.
There are a few things I'm not so crazy about, too. It has a small kitchen. I don't like that. It has an unfinished stairway/stairwell leading to the basement. I don't like that. The basement has low ceilings. I don't like that. The floors are kinda sloped in the basement. I don't like that.
There is one thing I hate about my house. And I mean h-a-t-e. Hate. The original 1927wood gutters. After 81 years of service they have seen better days. The downspouts were updated sometime in the previous century but they are still rusted out, rickety things that don't all connect with the gutters. The fascia board on the front of the house is rotted and it leaks. It looks like crap. But its appearance is the least of the things I hate about the gutters; it is the leak that makes me scowl and clench my jaws.
For 3 long years I have had an extra reason to hate winter (and spring and fall if I'm being honest). It is that cursed leak that is located right in front of the front door. Yep. You can't step inside or outside without getting dripped on. When it is a downpour you can't tell the difference between the drops from the gutter and the rain but when the rain is gone and the water from the ancient gutters has seeped in the fascia board and is pooled up there slowly emptying its reservoir drop by enormous drop you notice.
Long after the rain subsides you venture outside and *SPLAT* a big fat drop hits you on the forehead and splashes onto your glasses as you cross the threshold onto the front step. You turn around on the front step to lock the door and *SPLAT* a big fat wet drop hits your arm and goes through your wool sweater, creating a nice itchy spot. You come home with your arms full of groceries and *SPLAT* *SPLAT* *SPLAT* it gets your right arm as you unlock the door and then your left ear as you adjust the groceries on your hip and then on your forehead as you pass under it. And as the water drips down your face you seethe.
And then three years later you've both had enough of it and call someone to come out and give a quote on replacing the gutters.
Ding-dong the gutters are dead! A guy came out today and ripped them off along with some rotten fascia boards. Tomorrow he comes to put up new gutters and new fascia board.
This makes me so very, very happy. No more water falling on my head. No more water splashing my glasses. No more water torture!
Monday, November 17, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Soap Box
Today I drove a girlfriend to Gig Harbor to pick up a car; it wasn't until we hit Fife that I thought to visit my in-laws in Belfair, about 45 minutes east of Tacoma. On the way to Belfair there are a few roadside coffee stands that I always want to try but never do because I'm usually with Ryan who loathes coffee and extra stops on the way home so today was the perfect day for an extra stop.
Driving down Highway 2 through the middle of Belfair I saw the new drive through Starbucks on my right and thought that would be a decent option but ended up deciding against it because I have had Starbucks many a time and I wanted to support the little guy, the small business. Then I saw the coffee stand kitty corner to Starbucks and pulled in the queue. There was a green pick up in front of me and on the other side of the hut was another vehicle. Great, I thought, with business like this their coffee must be above the level of swill so I was eager to see what their brew was like.
After just a few moments a coffee cup was extended out the window to the driver of the green truck and he went on his merry little way. My turn! I pulled up knowing that the barista would be helping the person on the other side of the hut but I could at least look at the menu and see what they had to offer.
My eyes never made it to the menu. I looked inside the hut and the sight greeting my eyes confused me. The visual was so real but it was just so out of place that my brain had a hard time reconciling what I was seeing to reality. The coffee hut and the barista in the hut didn't go together.
You can imagine what ran through my mind when I saw the barista's uniform was not a t-shirt or polo with the compulsory black apron but a bra. Yep. A bra. An off-white, pristine, embroidered bra. I sat there, stunned and stared at her. Then I collected myself and drove to Starbucks.
There has been much to do in the smaller outlying areas about the bikini clad baristas, some stands going so far as to go topless with just pasties to cover their nipples. I understand that the barista gets better tips when she is dressed more provocatively and even better when wearing a bikini top and even better when wearing a bra and even better when wearing pasties and I bet they would be out of this world without the pasties. Why not call a spade a spade and go strip for money? What's the difference? Is it more respectable to stand in a hut in the middle of the day and make coffee half naked for money versus dancing half naked for money?
In the past I've commented on the belief that Americans are puritanical in their views related to nudity. Yeah, we are a bit prudish when it comes to nudity relatively speaking (uptight by European standards but loose by standards set by Muslim people). Maybe we wouldn't be so uptight about nudity if what was portrayed in the media was de-sexualized. I don't think many people have a problem with seeing the naked human form when it is depicted in non-sexual ways and when a 'real' body is shown. Hugh Hefner can talk all he wants about how natural and beautiful the girls in Playboy are but we all know they are not real. Nothing about them is real. Not their platinum blond hair, their ginormous boobs or their airbrushed skin. Would Playboy have been as great a seller if they showed the average American woman, a little over weight, normal hair and skin? What if the women weren't in provocative poses? What if they showed a dumpy naked man? Oh, wait I forgot, if we are puritanical about the naked female we are over the moon about a naked man. God forbid someone should see a penis.
I have family who are in love with the idyllic notion of Smalltown America. It is a place where people whistle the tune to the Andy Griffith show and men tip their hats at the ladies and the ladies bake bread and cookies for new neighbors and everyone goes to the little white washed church on Sunday. I wonder what this family member would think of the naked barista in the very small town of Belfair.
Driving down Highway 2 through the middle of Belfair I saw the new drive through Starbucks on my right and thought that would be a decent option but ended up deciding against it because I have had Starbucks many a time and I wanted to support the little guy, the small business. Then I saw the coffee stand kitty corner to Starbucks and pulled in the queue. There was a green pick up in front of me and on the other side of the hut was another vehicle. Great, I thought, with business like this their coffee must be above the level of swill so I was eager to see what their brew was like.
After just a few moments a coffee cup was extended out the window to the driver of the green truck and he went on his merry little way. My turn! I pulled up knowing that the barista would be helping the person on the other side of the hut but I could at least look at the menu and see what they had to offer.
My eyes never made it to the menu. I looked inside the hut and the sight greeting my eyes confused me. The visual was so real but it was just so out of place that my brain had a hard time reconciling what I was seeing to reality. The coffee hut and the barista in the hut didn't go together.
You can imagine what ran through my mind when I saw the barista's uniform was not a t-shirt or polo with the compulsory black apron but a bra. Yep. A bra. An off-white, pristine, embroidered bra. I sat there, stunned and stared at her. Then I collected myself and drove to Starbucks.
There has been much to do in the smaller outlying areas about the bikini clad baristas, some stands going so far as to go topless with just pasties to cover their nipples. I understand that the barista gets better tips when she is dressed more provocatively and even better when wearing a bikini top and even better when wearing a bra and even better when wearing pasties and I bet they would be out of this world without the pasties. Why not call a spade a spade and go strip for money? What's the difference? Is it more respectable to stand in a hut in the middle of the day and make coffee half naked for money versus dancing half naked for money?
In the past I've commented on the belief that Americans are puritanical in their views related to nudity. Yeah, we are a bit prudish when it comes to nudity relatively speaking (uptight by European standards but loose by standards set by Muslim people). Maybe we wouldn't be so uptight about nudity if what was portrayed in the media was de-sexualized. I don't think many people have a problem with seeing the naked human form when it is depicted in non-sexual ways and when a 'real' body is shown. Hugh Hefner can talk all he wants about how natural and beautiful the girls in Playboy are but we all know they are not real. Nothing about them is real. Not their platinum blond hair, their ginormous boobs or their airbrushed skin. Would Playboy have been as great a seller if they showed the average American woman, a little over weight, normal hair and skin? What if the women weren't in provocative poses? What if they showed a dumpy naked man? Oh, wait I forgot, if we are puritanical about the naked female we are over the moon about a naked man. God forbid someone should see a penis.
I have family who are in love with the idyllic notion of Smalltown America. It is a place where people whistle the tune to the Andy Griffith show and men tip their hats at the ladies and the ladies bake bread and cookies for new neighbors and everyone goes to the little white washed church on Sunday. I wonder what this family member would think of the naked barista in the very small town of Belfair.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Walking
After church on the long walk from the armory to the parking lot Gavin walked between me and Ryan one chubby hand clutching one of his daddy's fingers and the other chubby hand clutching one his mommy's fingers. His smile seemed to grow wider with each stomp of his cute feet clad in laced up blue sneakers. Ryan and I smiled wide, too; proud of our little toddler toddling along. I turned to Ryan and said, "Who knew just walking to the car with our son could be so much fun?"
Really. Walking to the car was a blast. Some other things I've done that come close to as much fun as we had today:
- flying 300 feet over canyons and tree tops in Mexico on a zip line
- riding a bike at night on the crazy streets of Paris in a caravan of 30 other bicyclists
- touring the Vatican with Ryan
- playing with sting rays in the Grand Caymans
- eating the best ever spaghetti ragu with Ryan while watching the sun set on the Mediterranean in a town of Cinque Terra
- getting lost with Ryan in Venice (it so much fun to be anywhere Ryan-my-brain-is-a-map-Jahns can get lost)
That's all I wanted to write about. Being a parent is so much fun. I imagine that the fun will continue even as he gets older and more adventurous - even when he is a teenager. Hopefully the fun won't revolve around Gavin walking, though.
Really. Walking to the car was a blast. Some other things I've done that come close to as much fun as we had today:
- flying 300 feet over canyons and tree tops in Mexico on a zip line
- riding a bike at night on the crazy streets of Paris in a caravan of 30 other bicyclists
- touring the Vatican with Ryan
- playing with sting rays in the Grand Caymans
- eating the best ever spaghetti ragu with Ryan while watching the sun set on the Mediterranean in a town of Cinque Terra
- getting lost with Ryan in Venice (it so much fun to be anywhere Ryan-my-brain-is-a-map-Jahns can get lost)
That's all I wanted to write about. Being a parent is so much fun. I imagine that the fun will continue even as he gets older and more adventurous - even when he is a teenager. Hopefully the fun won't revolve around Gavin walking, though.
Friday, November 07, 2008
My First Christmas
OK, technically its my 30th Christmas on God's green earth but its my first Christmas to host. Oh the excitement! Oh, the terror!
Here it is early November and I'm already thinking about what I'm going to do for dinner. Turkey or prime rib? Mashed potatoes and candied yams? Fruit salad the way my family does it or the way Ryan's family does it? Bread or rolls? Cranberry jelly or no cranberry jelly? Canned cranberry jelly or homemade cranberry jelly? (Home made cranberry jelly is more high brow but it doesn't make the cool slurrrr-plop sound like the canned stuff does). Chocolate pie, pumpkin or pecan pie? Do I make bread pudding like Ryan's family does every year so we can light it on fire with brandy and eat it with hard sauce?
Those are just the questions about food. What about linens? Will the one table cloth we have do? Is it stained with sap from the years we used it as a makeshift tree skirt for our mini Christmas tree we hoisted on an old metal secretaries desk when Kea was a puppy? Do I try to make a pretty centerpiece for the table or do I buy one? Do I forgo the centerpiece and use the pretty silver candle sticks? Will people burn themselves if they pass dishes over the candles? But is it really my fault if people play with fire? Do I buy napkin rings? Do I make napkin rings like Martha Stewart? Are napkin rings the most useless item on the face of the planet? Do I iron the cloth napkins? Do I buy new napkins because the off-white linen ones we have now are bit casual? Am I completely crazy for thinking about buying new napkins when so many people out there would be happy with a meal from McDonald's on Christmas just because the perfectly nice and functional napkins I do have aren't pretty enough?
Am I really crazy because in all likelihood it will be me, Ryan, Gavin and Ryan's dad and step-mom for dinner? I would like to invite more people but until we have a familial head count I can't because we have a small space in which to host a sit down meal.
There is one thing I don't have a question about: china. Not China but china. Ryan's aunt and uncle give us a part of a Christmas collection of china every year as a gift. The motif is the "Christmas Story". Each plate, cup, bowl has a line from the story on it. They are beyond cute and this year we will get to use them all! I'm so excited to be able to use them at a dinner party! If we end up having more people than we have enough place settings of the cute Christmas china then I will support the economy and buy a few plates that will match but can be used off-season as well as to not make them a completely frivolous purchase.
There is so much to be done between now and Christmas! Aside from making the guest room inhabitable I have to learn how to bake a pie, make bread pudding and hard sauce and once I figure out the menu I have to learn how to cook a turkey (or prime rib) and stuffing and all of the sides and learn how to make sure they are all done at the same time! Yowza.
I think a trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond is in order. I need a lot of timers.
Here it is early November and I'm already thinking about what I'm going to do for dinner. Turkey or prime rib? Mashed potatoes and candied yams? Fruit salad the way my family does it or the way Ryan's family does it? Bread or rolls? Cranberry jelly or no cranberry jelly? Canned cranberry jelly or homemade cranberry jelly? (Home made cranberry jelly is more high brow but it doesn't make the cool slurrrr-plop sound like the canned stuff does). Chocolate pie, pumpkin or pecan pie? Do I make bread pudding like Ryan's family does every year so we can light it on fire with brandy and eat it with hard sauce?
Those are just the questions about food. What about linens? Will the one table cloth we have do? Is it stained with sap from the years we used it as a makeshift tree skirt for our mini Christmas tree we hoisted on an old metal secretaries desk when Kea was a puppy? Do I try to make a pretty centerpiece for the table or do I buy one? Do I forgo the centerpiece and use the pretty silver candle sticks? Will people burn themselves if they pass dishes over the candles? But is it really my fault if people play with fire? Do I buy napkin rings? Do I make napkin rings like Martha Stewart? Are napkin rings the most useless item on the face of the planet? Do I iron the cloth napkins? Do I buy new napkins because the off-white linen ones we have now are bit casual? Am I completely crazy for thinking about buying new napkins when so many people out there would be happy with a meal from McDonald's on Christmas just because the perfectly nice and functional napkins I do have aren't pretty enough?
Am I really crazy because in all likelihood it will be me, Ryan, Gavin and Ryan's dad and step-mom for dinner? I would like to invite more people but until we have a familial head count I can't because we have a small space in which to host a sit down meal.
There is one thing I don't have a question about: china. Not China but china. Ryan's aunt and uncle give us a part of a Christmas collection of china every year as a gift. The motif is the "Christmas Story". Each plate, cup, bowl has a line from the story on it. They are beyond cute and this year we will get to use them all! I'm so excited to be able to use them at a dinner party! If we end up having more people than we have enough place settings of the cute Christmas china then I will support the economy and buy a few plates that will match but can be used off-season as well as to not make them a completely frivolous purchase.
There is so much to be done between now and Christmas! Aside from making the guest room inhabitable I have to learn how to bake a pie, make bread pudding and hard sauce and once I figure out the menu I have to learn how to cook a turkey (or prime rib) and stuffing and all of the sides and learn how to make sure they are all done at the same time! Yowza.
I think a trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond is in order. I need a lot of timers.
Boo Bees
Since no one braved a guess from the last picture on the Halloween post the picture below 'spells' the word boobies (boo bees).
Doggy
There are no words to completely describe how incredibly adorable this moment I'm going to share with you was.
It was midnight and I was tired. Gavin started crying, "feed me! feed me!" as only he can. I flung the fluffy and warm comforter aside and shuffled to the kitchen to warm some cow's milk for him. I then shuffled to his room and erased my scowl as I opened the door to his room and replaced it with a little smile and said, "Hi, Sweetheart."
That usually elicits some excited grunting through the crying. Crying that usually does not cease until his mouth is full. As I expected he was none to pleased to see the sippy cup. Too bad. He must have been hungry because his screaming protest didn't last long and he pounded the milk; he hardly paused to breath he sucked it down so fast.
Once he had his fill he stood there in his crib, whimpering and holding onto the rail. I saw his plush doggy was on the floor so I picked it up and tossed it into the crib and turned my attention to helping Gavin back to sleep but it wasn't necessary. Gavin saw me throw the dog in and he made some cute little baby babble/grunt/statement and collapsed to his knees, turned around and flung himself onto the dog and and rubbed his face in the doggy and fell asleep.
That moment is one that I hope never fades in my mind. It was so precious.
It was midnight and I was tired. Gavin started crying, "feed me! feed me!" as only he can. I flung the fluffy and warm comforter aside and shuffled to the kitchen to warm some cow's milk for him. I then shuffled to his room and erased my scowl as I opened the door to his room and replaced it with a little smile and said, "Hi, Sweetheart."
That usually elicits some excited grunting through the crying. Crying that usually does not cease until his mouth is full. As I expected he was none to pleased to see the sippy cup. Too bad. He must have been hungry because his screaming protest didn't last long and he pounded the milk; he hardly paused to breath he sucked it down so fast.
Once he had his fill he stood there in his crib, whimpering and holding onto the rail. I saw his plush doggy was on the floor so I picked it up and tossed it into the crib and turned my attention to helping Gavin back to sleep but it wasn't necessary. Gavin saw me throw the dog in and he made some cute little baby babble/grunt/statement and collapsed to his knees, turned around and flung himself onto the dog and and rubbed his face in the doggy and fell asleep.
That moment is one that I hope never fades in my mind. It was so precious.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
It Happened
Tonight is a night for the history books. It is a night when America walked the talk. We have elected a black man to be our president. My son will grow up in a country where the color divide has experienced its largest set back.
I cannot believe that I get to be part of such a positive, momentous event. These kinds of events are so few and far between that we only get a handful per lifetime.
I cannot believe that I get to be part of such a positive, momentous event. These kinds of events are so few and far between that we only get a handful per lifetime.
Monday, November 03, 2008
No More Nickel For Me
I had the last two screws taken out of my foot today! I am titanium and nickel free! The nickel is most likely what is causing the continued swelling and discomfort in my foot. Now we can get on with the healing process.
I would post pictures of my foot and the screws but they kind of look the same although one of the screws is a little bigger than the last one - and my foot is still kind of a mess and I don't think anyone would appreciate the bloody sight. Maybe if I had the procedure on Halloween I would have posted a gross picture.
This time the doc also gave me a cortisone shot going the length of my scar as it will help shrink it from the huge red worm like thing that it is now into a faded silver gray strip of a scar. I was feeling particularly brave today and watched him take the screws out. Freaky. Even though I could watch him use a screw driver on my foot I still couldn't watch him suturing the incisions; and I peeked when he gave me the cortisone shot but had to quickly look away even though my foot was numb.
I'm supposed to take it easy to today and Gavin has helped me tremendously with his 3+ hour nap! Mommy got a two hour nap! Glorious, glorious sleep! And I changed the sheets on the bed this morning before we went to my appointment so it was just any old nap; it was a nap in a cool clean bed. If I had the time and energy to do so I would change the linens every 3rd day. Every week will have to do. Or if I'm being honest, every 10 days.
I would post pictures of my foot and the screws but they kind of look the same although one of the screws is a little bigger than the last one - and my foot is still kind of a mess and I don't think anyone would appreciate the bloody sight. Maybe if I had the procedure on Halloween I would have posted a gross picture.
This time the doc also gave me a cortisone shot going the length of my scar as it will help shrink it from the huge red worm like thing that it is now into a faded silver gray strip of a scar. I was feeling particularly brave today and watched him take the screws out. Freaky. Even though I could watch him use a screw driver on my foot I still couldn't watch him suturing the incisions; and I peeked when he gave me the cortisone shot but had to quickly look away even though my foot was numb.
I'm supposed to take it easy to today and Gavin has helped me tremendously with his 3+ hour nap! Mommy got a two hour nap! Glorious, glorious sleep! And I changed the sheets on the bed this morning before we went to my appointment so it was just any old nap; it was a nap in a cool clean bed. If I had the time and energy to do so I would change the linens every 3rd day. Every week will have to do. Or if I'm being honest, every 10 days.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Participation Ribbon
Do elementary schools still have Field Day? In the small coastal town where I grew up Field Day was on the last day of school. It was my favorite day of the year for two reasons: the obvious reason 1) it was the last day of school, and the surprising reason, 2) the special brown bag lunch. Mom would take us to the grocery store where we could pick out a can of soda that she would wrap in aluminum foil to keep it cold and she made our sandwich with the thin deli style sliced meat instead of regular bologna. I think we also got potato chips and a twinkie or some other delightful treat.
The winners of the 3-legged race, the potato sack run, tug of war, the egg toss and whatever other games I'm forgetting would win the coveted blue ribbon. Then there was the red ribbon and after that was the participation ribbon. You showed up and were a good sport and played the games. The games were fun, you were fun and without you the other team wouldn't have had anyone to beat so your participation was vital. For getting your behind throttled by your fellow 7 year old classmates you received a ribbon for showing up and being kind enough to come in 3rd or 4th place.
Last night I received the adult equivalent to the participation award: the Brave award. It wasn't a physical ribbon or metal trophy (thank God - I don't need a physical reminder of my bravery, the memory will do just fine, thanks).
Our friend Tyler had a birthday on Thursday. We celebrated last night with some homemade desserts by his wife Katie: a flourless chocolate cake and eclairs. D-e-c-a-d-e-n-t. After we ate birthday dessert we headed off to the Maple Leaf Chinese Restaurant; not for Chinese food, although I did order a side of barbecue pork with hot mustard that got me many, many times. We did not come for the drinks in the lounge, although I did have a White Russian and annoyed the waitress with my blank stare when she asked me what kind of vodka I wanted my drink mixed with. I dunno. She rattled off a bunch of labels and my blank stare persisted and I said, "House?" She seemed annoyed.
I decided I didn't like her.
As I slurped my White Russian I nervously looked at the big white binders on the tables in the lounge that people were thumbing through. Tyler was very carefully studying the song sheets.
Yes. We were there to karaoke.
After I ate the barbecue pork and drank the White Russian I was still nervous. Not quite ready to grab a slip of paper and put a song down that I wanted to sing I ordered a Lemon Drop.
The waitress asked me what kind of vodka I wanted. She received the same blank stare but this time a shoulder shrug, too. She smiled and laughed and asked me if I wanted it sweet then made an executive decision when I told her yes.
I decided that I did like her after all.
Since Katie was certain she wasn't going to sing and I saw Heather looking through the binder I asked her if she wanted to sing a duet. She had been eyeing Creepin' In by Norah Jones and I said I knew that song and that I loved it. After she handed me the slip of paper to give to the DJ I thought about the song. Yes, I knew the song but it has been years since it was in my CD rotation (yes, I am old school and do not own an iPod).
Heather had done karaoke before so she wasn't nervous. I did karaoke once as well, at a friends house. My friend Megan and I sang "I Will Survive" by Cake. It was fun. We kind of botched the song and she did better than I did. After that all the women at the party sang a Thai love song. The guys "sang" a Thai rap song. It really isn't that odd; it was a going away party for Ryan's Thai co-worker, Song, and his wife Pen. Thai love karaoke. It was fun.
One big difference between karaoke at a friends' house and in a lounge is the audience. Another difference is the regulars at the lounge. One guy was horrific. I imagine if he was younger he would be one to try out for American Idol and be shocked when the judges scoffed at his clear lack of talent. The other regulars were decent. One guy stuck to Garth Brooks but he didn't sing Friends in Low Places. Boo. If you are going to sing country pick a good one, please. We don't need to hear Honky Tonk Badonkadonk. Actually, I don't know who sings that one. But the contry loving dude said he would like some 'help' up front since it was his first time singing this particular song so two of the other regulars went up to the dance floor and 'danced'. I kept thinking, does Hat Girl (so named because she was wearing a hat. Clever, I know), realize that by dancing to Honky Tonk Badonkadonk we are all staring at her badonkadonk? Of course she did. I thought of my Grandma Opal and some advice she gave me once while we were in the car in a Safeway parking lot. She pointed at some young girls about my age who were being loud and obnoxious and dressed a bit on the provocative side and she simply said, "April, you don't have to be like that." That was all she said but it was enough.
But enough about the butt shaking (pun intended). Back to me and how nervous I was. My nerves work their way out through my bladder. It is so annoying. In High School before a concert (I wear my band nerd stripes proudly) I tried to time my bathroom run as close as possible to go time. It didn't matter how many times I ran off to the bathroom, I would feel like I had to go again in five minutes. Last night was no different. Well, yes, a little different. Expectations in high school were much higher.
When the DJ called out "Heather and April, singing for the first time tonight" I wanted to say, "Just kidding, Heather," and run to the bathroom to pee. Instead, I stood up and covered my mouth and looked at my friends with my eyes screaming, "Aah! What have I done?!"
I was singing the part of Norah and Heather was singing Dolly's part. When the words came on the screen Heather said, "That's you." I jumped in about the second line. I would say I started singing on the second line but it was more like I was reciting the words on the screen. I got behind, I couldn't jump in so Heather jumped in and started singing my part. Whew.
Then her part came on and she sang her part beautifully. Then my part came back and I choked. She sang my part and I choked some more. Then during the part where Norah and Dolly take turns singing the same line, "Creepin' In" it was me in a great monotone voice speaking the line with Heather singing her part.
Like most people who did karaoke Heather danced a bit while singing. Me? I stood stock still and stared at the monitor. I don't know if Heather looked up at our friends or not because, like I said, I kept my eyes fixed on the monitor. During a musical interlude I did look up once and saw the polite smiles on everyone's faces. I wished I hadn't looked up. As I was standing there with all of the moves of Al Gore, Heather leaned over and said, "dance." I laughed. My singing would be award winning in comparison to my dancing. I dropped the microphone a bit and said, "No."
Mercifully the song came to an end. Heather and I took our seats. I put my head down on the table and moaned even though some young guys were kind enough to say, "Way to go ladies." Which was very nice of them to say but it made me feel old. They were obviously in their young to mid-twenties and my group was obviously not the young, mid or even late 20's group.
Katie and I-forget-her-name co-worker of the birthday boy made it clear that they were not going to sing but told me I was very brave to go up there and sing. Mm hm. I know what that means. You were brave = You sucked but kudos on the nerve to show off your lack of talent. Knowing in my heart of hearts what the answer was going to be I leaned across the table and implored of Katie, "Was I at least better than that guy?" referring to the guy who loved him some karaoke at the expense of everyone listening. She didn't have to say anything, her face said it all, "Well, he is so confident. You were so nervous."
I wailed and buried my head in my arms in shame. "But you were so brave, April. I could never do that," Katie said.
"Great, I get the brave award," I moaned.
People who don't karaoke aren't chicken. They are smart! They know where their talents lie. Lay. Hmm, lay or lie? I know humans lie down and objects lay down but what about where talents lay/lie? Ooh, I'm show-casing one of my talents right now as a dork.
I am not smart however because if I was I would steer clear of all public singing save for singing at church with the rest of the congregation. I suppose I could live with having the most appreciative audience of one, my sweet little Gavin. He doesn't know that his mommy could peel paint off a wall with her voice.
But, alas, I am a glutton for punishment because I'm already thinking of the song that I will practice, practice, practice for the next time I karaoke.
The winners of the 3-legged race, the potato sack run, tug of war, the egg toss and whatever other games I'm forgetting would win the coveted blue ribbon. Then there was the red ribbon and after that was the participation ribbon. You showed up and were a good sport and played the games. The games were fun, you were fun and without you the other team wouldn't have had anyone to beat so your participation was vital. For getting your behind throttled by your fellow 7 year old classmates you received a ribbon for showing up and being kind enough to come in 3rd or 4th place.
Last night I received the adult equivalent to the participation award: the Brave award. It wasn't a physical ribbon or metal trophy (thank God - I don't need a physical reminder of my bravery, the memory will do just fine, thanks).
Our friend Tyler had a birthday on Thursday. We celebrated last night with some homemade desserts by his wife Katie: a flourless chocolate cake and eclairs. D-e-c-a-d-e-n-t. After we ate birthday dessert we headed off to the Maple Leaf Chinese Restaurant; not for Chinese food, although I did order a side of barbecue pork with hot mustard that got me many, many times. We did not come for the drinks in the lounge, although I did have a White Russian and annoyed the waitress with my blank stare when she asked me what kind of vodka I wanted my drink mixed with. I dunno. She rattled off a bunch of labels and my blank stare persisted and I said, "House?" She seemed annoyed.
I decided I didn't like her.
As I slurped my White Russian I nervously looked at the big white binders on the tables in the lounge that people were thumbing through. Tyler was very carefully studying the song sheets.
Yes. We were there to karaoke.
After I ate the barbecue pork and drank the White Russian I was still nervous. Not quite ready to grab a slip of paper and put a song down that I wanted to sing I ordered a Lemon Drop.
The waitress asked me what kind of vodka I wanted. She received the same blank stare but this time a shoulder shrug, too. She smiled and laughed and asked me if I wanted it sweet then made an executive decision when I told her yes.
I decided that I did like her after all.
Since Katie was certain she wasn't going to sing and I saw Heather looking through the binder I asked her if she wanted to sing a duet. She had been eyeing Creepin' In by Norah Jones and I said I knew that song and that I loved it. After she handed me the slip of paper to give to the DJ I thought about the song. Yes, I knew the song but it has been years since it was in my CD rotation (yes, I am old school and do not own an iPod).
Heather had done karaoke before so she wasn't nervous. I did karaoke once as well, at a friends house. My friend Megan and I sang "I Will Survive" by Cake. It was fun. We kind of botched the song and she did better than I did. After that all the women at the party sang a Thai love song. The guys "sang" a Thai rap song. It really isn't that odd; it was a going away party for Ryan's Thai co-worker, Song, and his wife Pen. Thai love karaoke. It was fun.
One big difference between karaoke at a friends' house and in a lounge is the audience. Another difference is the regulars at the lounge. One guy was horrific. I imagine if he was younger he would be one to try out for American Idol and be shocked when the judges scoffed at his clear lack of talent. The other regulars were decent. One guy stuck to Garth Brooks but he didn't sing Friends in Low Places. Boo. If you are going to sing country pick a good one, please. We don't need to hear Honky Tonk Badonkadonk. Actually, I don't know who sings that one. But the contry loving dude said he would like some 'help' up front since it was his first time singing this particular song so two of the other regulars went up to the dance floor and 'danced'. I kept thinking, does Hat Girl (so named because she was wearing a hat. Clever, I know), realize that by dancing to Honky Tonk Badonkadonk we are all staring at her badonkadonk? Of course she did. I thought of my Grandma Opal and some advice she gave me once while we were in the car in a Safeway parking lot. She pointed at some young girls about my age who were being loud and obnoxious and dressed a bit on the provocative side and she simply said, "April, you don't have to be like that." That was all she said but it was enough.
But enough about the butt shaking (pun intended). Back to me and how nervous I was. My nerves work their way out through my bladder. It is so annoying. In High School before a concert (I wear my band nerd stripes proudly) I tried to time my bathroom run as close as possible to go time. It didn't matter how many times I ran off to the bathroom, I would feel like I had to go again in five minutes. Last night was no different. Well, yes, a little different. Expectations in high school were much higher.
When the DJ called out "Heather and April, singing for the first time tonight" I wanted to say, "Just kidding, Heather," and run to the bathroom to pee. Instead, I stood up and covered my mouth and looked at my friends with my eyes screaming, "Aah! What have I done?!"
I was singing the part of Norah and Heather was singing Dolly's part. When the words came on the screen Heather said, "That's you." I jumped in about the second line. I would say I started singing on the second line but it was more like I was reciting the words on the screen. I got behind, I couldn't jump in so Heather jumped in and started singing my part. Whew.
Then her part came on and she sang her part beautifully. Then my part came back and I choked. She sang my part and I choked some more. Then during the part where Norah and Dolly take turns singing the same line, "Creepin' In" it was me in a great monotone voice speaking the line with Heather singing her part.
Like most people who did karaoke Heather danced a bit while singing. Me? I stood stock still and stared at the monitor. I don't know if Heather looked up at our friends or not because, like I said, I kept my eyes fixed on the monitor. During a musical interlude I did look up once and saw the polite smiles on everyone's faces. I wished I hadn't looked up. As I was standing there with all of the moves of Al Gore, Heather leaned over and said, "dance." I laughed. My singing would be award winning in comparison to my dancing. I dropped the microphone a bit and said, "No."
Mercifully the song came to an end. Heather and I took our seats. I put my head down on the table and moaned even though some young guys were kind enough to say, "Way to go ladies." Which was very nice of them to say but it made me feel old. They were obviously in their young to mid-twenties and my group was obviously not the young, mid or even late 20's group.
Katie and I-forget-her-name co-worker of the birthday boy made it clear that they were not going to sing but told me I was very brave to go up there and sing. Mm hm. I know what that means. You were brave = You sucked but kudos on the nerve to show off your lack of talent. Knowing in my heart of hearts what the answer was going to be I leaned across the table and implored of Katie, "Was I at least better than that guy?" referring to the guy who loved him some karaoke at the expense of everyone listening. She didn't have to say anything, her face said it all, "Well, he is so confident. You were so nervous."
I wailed and buried my head in my arms in shame. "But you were so brave, April. I could never do that," Katie said.
"Great, I get the brave award," I moaned.
People who don't karaoke aren't chicken. They are smart! They know where their talents lie. Lay. Hmm, lay or lie? I know humans lie down and objects lay down but what about where talents lay/lie? Ooh, I'm show-casing one of my talents right now as a dork.
I am not smart however because if I was I would steer clear of all public singing save for singing at church with the rest of the congregation. I suppose I could live with having the most appreciative audience of one, my sweet little Gavin. He doesn't know that his mommy could peel paint off a wall with her voice.
But, alas, I am a glutton for punishment because I'm already thinking of the song that I will practice, practice, practice for the next time I karaoke.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Boo
My family celebrated Halloween until I was 10; then my parents decided it wasn't exactly extolling Christian virtues so we quit celebrating. But it was too late. I already had 1o years of Halloween infused fun so I just took a hiatus until I was no longer under their roof. Now that I have a little kiddo Halloween festivities have resumed. The Gavinator was the cutest little arachnid! Here are some pictures from tonight (and from his birthday party when I put him in his costume for the grandparents).
The first house where someone was home, our neighbor Trevor and a fellow transportation engineer Ryan works with from time to time. Trevor's cat did NOT like Gavin crawling around in his living room - he arched his back and his fur poofed up a bit; it was hilarious!
Cruising the halls of Keller Williams (my former office).
Seeing a baby dressed up in a spider costume crawling around was to cute.
The first house where someone was home, our neighbor Trevor and a fellow transportation engineer Ryan works with from time to time. Trevor's cat did NOT like Gavin crawling around in his living room - he arched his back and his fur poofed up a bit; it was hilarious!
Our neighbor Jeff (wife Katie not pictured) and daughter Hattie.
Cruising the halls of Keller Williams (my former office).
Seeing a baby dressed up in a spider costume crawling around was to cute.
Time
When do we become aware of time? More specifically, when do we become aware of the passing of time? It seems as children time is something we will to go by, and to please go by quickly, already! Time seemed to stand still as a child. I remember my mom granting me 15 minutes to play across the street with the neighbor kids when, judging by the house associated with the memory, I was under 6 years old. That quarter of an hour seemed like all of the time in the world. I also remember it taking forever to eat an apple and that half an apple was a big snack. Oh, to be filled up by half an apple.
The first 18 years went by so slowly although time did pick up its pace in passing as the years went on, especially high school. Time in Junior High felt like it stood still then picked up pace in the high school years; probably because I was starting to enjoy school and was becoming comfortable being me; just residing in my own skin. I wasted so much time wishing I was someone else when the people I wished I was were probably doing some silly self swapping wishing of their own.
On some level I knew that time was precious and limited because my dad died so young, when I was so young, but I still did not appreciate the gift of life and of the limited time we have with the life we are given. My eyes were opened a bit for the first time to the rapid nature of time passage in my senior year of high school, in PE - the class I hated most. It was in the Fall because I planned to get PE over with so I could fully enjoy my senior year and made sure my requirements were met early. In class that day we were jogging some number of miles, probably 3. For at least part of the jog around campus and the adjacent football stadium, McKenzie stadium, and its woods I was with my friend Wendy - or I think was because she was in my little vision. Maybe it was an after school jog which I was crazy enough to do from time to time when I wanted to get into shape.
There we were jogging in the woods near the football field chatting about what ever it was we chatted about - probably boys - when I had the most surreal vision. I felt like I was looking at us from outside my body; I was looking down on us, jogging on the brown dirt path strewn with Evergreen needles, idly chatting, waiting to get on with life and finish this last year of school and I saw it all, that very event, as a distant even of the past. Time shot forward into the future like an arcing flash of light and I was sitting in a rocking chair reflecting on this distant memory from my youth.
That event was just my first real introduction to time passage. I am now keenly aware of how quickly it passes. It gets faster and faster with each passing year feeling shorter and shorter than the previous year. Having a child accelerates time passing like nothing else. The more I want to hold on to the time I have now the swifter it passes. I feel like I'm holding on to sand and trying to hug it close to my body in a vain attempt to keep as much as I can.
My baby is a year old now. A year! Heck, it's been two weeks since his birthday, he almost 13 months old. Was it only yesterday to my mom that I was a baby? That her brood was still in her nest? My nest isn't full but I already anticipate that it will be empty in the blink of an eye.
Part of me wishes that I wasn't so acutely aware of how quickly time passes but if I wasn't aware would I appreciate the time that I have with loved ones less? Can one be in a perpetual state of thanksgiving and awe for what all that one has?
The first 18 years went by so slowly although time did pick up its pace in passing as the years went on, especially high school. Time in Junior High felt like it stood still then picked up pace in the high school years; probably because I was starting to enjoy school and was becoming comfortable being me; just residing in my own skin. I wasted so much time wishing I was someone else when the people I wished I was were probably doing some silly self swapping wishing of their own.
On some level I knew that time was precious and limited because my dad died so young, when I was so young, but I still did not appreciate the gift of life and of the limited time we have with the life we are given. My eyes were opened a bit for the first time to the rapid nature of time passage in my senior year of high school, in PE - the class I hated most. It was in the Fall because I planned to get PE over with so I could fully enjoy my senior year and made sure my requirements were met early. In class that day we were jogging some number of miles, probably 3. For at least part of the jog around campus and the adjacent football stadium, McKenzie stadium, and its woods I was with my friend Wendy - or I think was because she was in my little vision. Maybe it was an after school jog which I was crazy enough to do from time to time when I wanted to get into shape.
There we were jogging in the woods near the football field chatting about what ever it was we chatted about - probably boys - when I had the most surreal vision. I felt like I was looking at us from outside my body; I was looking down on us, jogging on the brown dirt path strewn with Evergreen needles, idly chatting, waiting to get on with life and finish this last year of school and I saw it all, that very event, as a distant even of the past. Time shot forward into the future like an arcing flash of light and I was sitting in a rocking chair reflecting on this distant memory from my youth.
That event was just my first real introduction to time passage. I am now keenly aware of how quickly it passes. It gets faster and faster with each passing year feeling shorter and shorter than the previous year. Having a child accelerates time passing like nothing else. The more I want to hold on to the time I have now the swifter it passes. I feel like I'm holding on to sand and trying to hug it close to my body in a vain attempt to keep as much as I can.
My baby is a year old now. A year! Heck, it's been two weeks since his birthday, he almost 13 months old. Was it only yesterday to my mom that I was a baby? That her brood was still in her nest? My nest isn't full but I already anticipate that it will be empty in the blink of an eye.
Part of me wishes that I wasn't so acutely aware of how quickly time passes but if I wasn't aware would I appreciate the time that I have with loved ones less? Can one be in a perpetual state of thanksgiving and awe for what all that one has?
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Sleep Training
A new parent has many concerns. First and foremost they want to know their child is healthy. Every sneeze, cough, rash and vomit has the new parent turning to their new parent handbook (for us it was The Baby Book by Dr. Sears. We outgrew that phase. I don't think I've cracked the book open in at least a month.
Some concerns are more about the parents and less about the baby. The biggest of which is, "When will the baby sleep through the night?" It is one of the first questions family, friends, co-workers and strangers will ask, "How does he sleep?" If your answer is a groan as you rub your crusty eyes and absent-mindedly run your hands through your hair which causes you pause as you think not about the baby sleeping but when was the last time you washed your hair, then you will get lots of advice on how to ensure the baby sleeps, or promises that the baby will sleep when he reaches 10 pounds, or 15 pounds or 6 weeks, or 10 weeks or 3 months or 6 months. At some point people just look at you in disbelief. How can he not be sleeping through the night? What on earth am I doing to him to make him wake up?
Gavin hasn't slept through the night since before we went on vacation in April. True. For 2 or 3 glorious weeks he slept 10-12 hours a night. It was amazing. It was short lived. So very short lived. It gave me a taste of rest.
Recently Gavin's schedule has been to wake up 3 times a night. The first feeding didn't bother me because I was awake anyway. 11-3-6 (roughly) has been his schedule. This past week he has been waking up every 2 hours which is obviously unacceptable. So here I am at 1:30 in the morning, awake. Tired. So very tired. He woke up at 11:45 and I went into his room to offer him some milk (ala bovine) but the more I tried to offer him his sippy cup the more he screamed. Seriously. He was screaming. Forget crying. He wanted milk from the tap and he wanted to be in my arms and at said tap. Being the gentle loving mother that I am, I patted his back and spoke to him in soothing tones even though he couldn't hear me over the ear splitting screaming. I eventually left his room and within in moments he was asleep.
And so it has gone for an hour and a half. He screams, I offer his sippy cup and pat his back and provide some comfort and after being rejected I leave and he falls asleep for a few minutes. He has been asleep for 30 minutes now but I don't know if I should try and fall asleep or not. As soon as I drift off I just know he's going to wake up.
The next time he wakes up he get milk from the tap since it will have been 5 hours since he went to bed for the night. That is the goal. To get him to sleep at least 5 hours between feedings. He is certainly old enough. His doctor had me do this sleep training after his 9 month check up. She said it would take 3 nights and she was right. She also said right around a year or so to expect more sleep issues. Right again.
So we are back to sleep training. During the day I am making a great effort to feed him more solids and to give him a big dinner so his tummy will stay full longer.
I really need this to work. I am exhausted. Ryan really needs this to work too because I'm going to start calling on him on weekends to give me a night off. I can't believe I function as well as I do with so little sleep. Granted waking up with Gavin now is nothing at all like waking up with him when he was a newborn. Then just feeding him took at least 45 minutes. That was crazy.
I'm going to go to sleep now. And Gavin will take that as his cue to wake up. And round and round we go.
Some concerns are more about the parents and less about the baby. The biggest of which is, "When will the baby sleep through the night?" It is one of the first questions family, friends, co-workers and strangers will ask, "How does he sleep?" If your answer is a groan as you rub your crusty eyes and absent-mindedly run your hands through your hair which causes you pause as you think not about the baby sleeping but when was the last time you washed your hair, then you will get lots of advice on how to ensure the baby sleeps, or promises that the baby will sleep when he reaches 10 pounds, or 15 pounds or 6 weeks, or 10 weeks or 3 months or 6 months. At some point people just look at you in disbelief. How can he not be sleeping through the night? What on earth am I doing to him to make him wake up?
Gavin hasn't slept through the night since before we went on vacation in April. True. For 2 or 3 glorious weeks he slept 10-12 hours a night. It was amazing. It was short lived. So very short lived. It gave me a taste of rest.
Recently Gavin's schedule has been to wake up 3 times a night. The first feeding didn't bother me because I was awake anyway. 11-3-6 (roughly) has been his schedule. This past week he has been waking up every 2 hours which is obviously unacceptable. So here I am at 1:30 in the morning, awake. Tired. So very tired. He woke up at 11:45 and I went into his room to offer him some milk (ala bovine) but the more I tried to offer him his sippy cup the more he screamed. Seriously. He was screaming. Forget crying. He wanted milk from the tap and he wanted to be in my arms and at said tap. Being the gentle loving mother that I am, I patted his back and spoke to him in soothing tones even though he couldn't hear me over the ear splitting screaming. I eventually left his room and within in moments he was asleep.
And so it has gone for an hour and a half. He screams, I offer his sippy cup and pat his back and provide some comfort and after being rejected I leave and he falls asleep for a few minutes. He has been asleep for 30 minutes now but I don't know if I should try and fall asleep or not. As soon as I drift off I just know he's going to wake up.
The next time he wakes up he get milk from the tap since it will have been 5 hours since he went to bed for the night. That is the goal. To get him to sleep at least 5 hours between feedings. He is certainly old enough. His doctor had me do this sleep training after his 9 month check up. She said it would take 3 nights and she was right. She also said right around a year or so to expect more sleep issues. Right again.
So we are back to sleep training. During the day I am making a great effort to feed him more solids and to give him a big dinner so his tummy will stay full longer.
I really need this to work. I am exhausted. Ryan really needs this to work too because I'm going to start calling on him on weekends to give me a night off. I can't believe I function as well as I do with so little sleep. Granted waking up with Gavin now is nothing at all like waking up with him when he was a newborn. Then just feeding him took at least 45 minutes. That was crazy.
I'm going to go to sleep now. And Gavin will take that as his cue to wake up. And round and round we go.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Birthday Fun
Here are some pictures from the Gavinator's first birthday party.
As my friend Wendy says the Costco cake is just an excuse to have a birthday party.
He wasn't sure what to do with the cupcake. He stuck his fingers in the frosting and examined them for a bit before sticking them in his mouth.
Still dainty with the frosting.
Back for more
I couldn't capture how hard he was sucking on his fingers in the photo. I half expected his fingers to come out just bones like in cartoons when they pop a chicken leg in their mouth and pull out a bone.
I think he likes the sugar
SO MUCH FUN!!!
Thumb sucking duo
Gavin's first balloons from the baby-whisperer herself, Jenn
Gavin & Laura
Gavin, Master Clapper
Sweet Family
Another of Gavin and his cousin Laura
As my friend Wendy says the Costco cake is just an excuse to have a birthday party.
He wasn't sure what to do with the cupcake. He stuck his fingers in the frosting and examined them for a bit before sticking them in his mouth.
Still dainty with the frosting.
Back for more
I couldn't capture how hard he was sucking on his fingers in the photo. I half expected his fingers to come out just bones like in cartoons when they pop a chicken leg in their mouth and pull out a bone.
I think he likes the sugar
SO MUCH FUN!!!
Thumb sucking duo
Gavin's first balloons from the baby-whisperer herself, Jenn
Gavin & Laura
Gavin, Master Clapper
Sweet Family
Another of Gavin and his cousin Laura
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Big Boy
Gavin's hair was getting quite long. I tried to trim it myself but the diagonal bang look didn't work on him; I don't think it works on many people. I was going to take him to a barber to trim his hair before his birthday but I am so glad it didn't work out. Well, it didn't work out with timing and I am too cheap even if timing wasn't an issue. I wasn't going to pay $14 for a baby hair cut. Really.
Monday I finally got around to his hair cut. Cut, Cuts and Kicks is a local barbershop up here on the Hill. I walk by it often on my way to the former Galaxie Espresso, now V3 (bought by Victrola coffee, so the coffee is the same) for a caffeine fix. I popped in and waited my turn. It was getting late in the afternoon and Gavin's mood was deteriorating by the second. He wanted to crawl on the floor in the hair trimmings. The barber swept up the hair shavings but when you are cutting hair its a losing battle so I tried to keep Gavin occupied with lots of monster noises while Mommy 'ate' his tummy (Gavin's, not the barber). The young boys were probably annoyed that they heard, "I'm gonna get you! Argh, rowr, yum, yum, yum," followed by shrieking baby laughter instead of the sports casters on ESPN. Sports casters are lame, anyway. Their jokes are lame and they talk to each other as if the entire viewing audience is in on their private jokes. NEWSFLASH: We aren't! We are watching the FOOTBALL game and don't care about the LAME Basketball jokes you are making!
So, it was finally Gavin's turn so I sat in the barber chair and held him. He was surprisingly still for having an electric razor whirring around his head. I told the barber that I didn't want him to have a big boy hair cut. He asked if I wanted him to take the sides in a little. I said, "Yeah. But just a little, though."
Apparently "Big boy haircut" is not an official hair style and I should have been a little more specific because my baby is now a little boy! Ryan keeps telling me that even though he looks older he doesn't act older. Men just don't understand.
Here he is, my baby:
Monday I finally got around to his hair cut. Cut, Cuts and Kicks is a local barbershop up here on the Hill. I walk by it often on my way to the former Galaxie Espresso, now V3 (bought by Victrola coffee, so the coffee is the same) for a caffeine fix. I popped in and waited my turn. It was getting late in the afternoon and Gavin's mood was deteriorating by the second. He wanted to crawl on the floor in the hair trimmings. The barber swept up the hair shavings but when you are cutting hair its a losing battle so I tried to keep Gavin occupied with lots of monster noises while Mommy 'ate' his tummy (Gavin's, not the barber). The young boys were probably annoyed that they heard, "I'm gonna get you! Argh, rowr, yum, yum, yum," followed by shrieking baby laughter instead of the sports casters on ESPN. Sports casters are lame, anyway. Their jokes are lame and they talk to each other as if the entire viewing audience is in on their private jokes. NEWSFLASH: We aren't! We are watching the FOOTBALL game and don't care about the LAME Basketball jokes you are making!
So, it was finally Gavin's turn so I sat in the barber chair and held him. He was surprisingly still for having an electric razor whirring around his head. I told the barber that I didn't want him to have a big boy hair cut. He asked if I wanted him to take the sides in a little. I said, "Yeah. But just a little, though."
Apparently "Big boy haircut" is not an official hair style and I should have been a little more specific because my baby is now a little boy! Ryan keeps telling me that even though he looks older he doesn't act older. Men just don't understand.
Here he is, my baby:
Monday, October 20, 2008
Neurotic
I'm not a perfectionist. Not even close. I've heard it argued that people who live in squalor are sometimes perfectionists. It's not a complete stretch. When one wants everything to be perfect - the house, the car, the food, the clothes and they realize it is impossible they don't know where to put their efforts in cleaning as it all seems pointless because they can never maintain their ideal.
That still doesn't describe me because we don't live in squalor; not even close. It's a bit disheveled but I try to keep it clean even though papers stack up and pens and glasses are left scattered about but I will still vacuum, clean the sinks and scrub the toilet. Then when I'm cleaning the microwave I notice the knobs on the stove are a bit icky. I pop 'em off and clean then. Then I notice the pulls on the kitchen cabinets need to be wiped down. Then I notice the seam between the counter top and the cook top has an accumulation of food in the crevice so I scrub it and scrub it and when that doesn't work I get out the box of toothpicks to complete the job. Before you know it I've scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees because I mop so infrequently that a regular mopping just won't do and the base molding was also in need of some spot cleaning and *poof* an hour just flew out the window. And for what? A kitchen that will stay clean until the next meal is prepared?
Lame.
I'm sitting at the dining room table as I write this with my back to a messy kitchen that I can't clean right now for fear of waking Gavin and I face a mass of papers on the table that I'm not going through because I really don't want to and beyond the pile of papers are three baskets of laundry in the living room that need to be folded that aren't going to be folded tonight because I need to vacuum the area rug before I fold clothes (it's fold them on the area rug or on the kitchen table and it will be way easier to vacuum the area rug than go through the mountains of papers). But I can't vacuum because it is midnight and I would wake Ryan and Gavin. That would make for two grumpy guys. Not so good.
I did get one thing accomplished today (aside from washing and drying all of the clothes): clean sheets on the bed. Clean sheets are so nice; I really should change them twice a week but it is such a hassle because I take them off in the morning but never put them back on until the evening when Ryan is ready to go to bed. You think I would learn to put the sheets on before he is ready for bed.
Not for the reason you think. It is not about getting the bed ready before the bread winner is ready for his hard earned sleep. It is about putting the sheets on the way I want them on. It about getting them on without being hassled by said bread winner.
A few things from nursing school have stuck with me. Making a perfect bed, as it pertains to sheets only, has stayed with me. Anyone who has gone through nurse's aide training or nursing school is taught the fine art of making a hospital bed (and often making a bed with an immobile person in it). I used to tuck the top sheet in on both sides and at the foot of the bed and make perfect 45 degree corners at the foot of the bed. Making corners with the sheets on my bed at home is borderline certifiable craziness. Since I can't stand the top sheet tucked in I no longer tuck them in but each corner of the bottom sheet has to be secure in its attachment to the mattress; the elastic has to reach all the way around the corner and rest on the underside of the mattress. There can be no buckling and bunching on top at the corners. The sheet needs to be stretched and taut, no waves and wrinkles.
I'm not done. The top sheet. It needs to be smooth and wrinkle free with an equal overhang on each side of the bed with the foot board end of the sheet tucked neatly down the foot board but not under the mattress because that would be silly since we don't like our sheets tucked in.
Believe it or not I've dialed back the crazy as related to the bed sheets because I used to have specifics for the pillow cases as well (the seam of the pillow case and the opening of the pillow case all had to be just so).
If there was a question before I think the above settled it: I am neurotic about the sheets on my bed. But there is a catch. They only have to be perfect the when I first put them on. The day after I put the clean sheets on I don't go to any great measures to make the bed. I pull the top sheet up and make a half hearted attempt to pull the duvet up over the pillows. That's it. So, yeah, I'm a little crazy. I admit it.
People, what do we do with crazy people?
a) poke them with a stick
or
b) let them be
You smart folks chose 'b', I just know you did.
What does my beloved husband do? He pokes me with a stick! When we are making the bed at night with the clean sheets he enjoys trying to get under the top sheet before I've smoothed out the wrinkles. He likes to throw his pillow on the top sheet as I'm trying to put the top sheet on. He likes to do the last corner because he knows he can't do it as well as I do - he always says its impossible to get all four corners on.
I know I'm a bit crazy over this matter of seeming little significance but let me have my bit of crazy! I'm not hurting anyone. Not yet at least.
Don't mess with my sheets.
That still doesn't describe me because we don't live in squalor; not even close. It's a bit disheveled but I try to keep it clean even though papers stack up and pens and glasses are left scattered about but I will still vacuum, clean the sinks and scrub the toilet. Then when I'm cleaning the microwave I notice the knobs on the stove are a bit icky. I pop 'em off and clean then. Then I notice the pulls on the kitchen cabinets need to be wiped down. Then I notice the seam between the counter top and the cook top has an accumulation of food in the crevice so I scrub it and scrub it and when that doesn't work I get out the box of toothpicks to complete the job. Before you know it I've scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees because I mop so infrequently that a regular mopping just won't do and the base molding was also in need of some spot cleaning and *poof* an hour just flew out the window. And for what? A kitchen that will stay clean until the next meal is prepared?
Lame.
I'm sitting at the dining room table as I write this with my back to a messy kitchen that I can't clean right now for fear of waking Gavin and I face a mass of papers on the table that I'm not going through because I really don't want to and beyond the pile of papers are three baskets of laundry in the living room that need to be folded that aren't going to be folded tonight because I need to vacuum the area rug before I fold clothes (it's fold them on the area rug or on the kitchen table and it will be way easier to vacuum the area rug than go through the mountains of papers). But I can't vacuum because it is midnight and I would wake Ryan and Gavin. That would make for two grumpy guys. Not so good.
I did get one thing accomplished today (aside from washing and drying all of the clothes): clean sheets on the bed. Clean sheets are so nice; I really should change them twice a week but it is such a hassle because I take them off in the morning but never put them back on until the evening when Ryan is ready to go to bed. You think I would learn to put the sheets on before he is ready for bed.
Not for the reason you think. It is not about getting the bed ready before the bread winner is ready for his hard earned sleep. It is about putting the sheets on the way I want them on. It about getting them on without being hassled by said bread winner.
A few things from nursing school have stuck with me. Making a perfect bed, as it pertains to sheets only, has stayed with me. Anyone who has gone through nurse's aide training or nursing school is taught the fine art of making a hospital bed (and often making a bed with an immobile person in it). I used to tuck the top sheet in on both sides and at the foot of the bed and make perfect 45 degree corners at the foot of the bed. Making corners with the sheets on my bed at home is borderline certifiable craziness. Since I can't stand the top sheet tucked in I no longer tuck them in but each corner of the bottom sheet has to be secure in its attachment to the mattress; the elastic has to reach all the way around the corner and rest on the underside of the mattress. There can be no buckling and bunching on top at the corners. The sheet needs to be stretched and taut, no waves and wrinkles.
I'm not done. The top sheet. It needs to be smooth and wrinkle free with an equal overhang on each side of the bed with the foot board end of the sheet tucked neatly down the foot board but not under the mattress because that would be silly since we don't like our sheets tucked in.
Believe it or not I've dialed back the crazy as related to the bed sheets because I used to have specifics for the pillow cases as well (the seam of the pillow case and the opening of the pillow case all had to be just so).
If there was a question before I think the above settled it: I am neurotic about the sheets on my bed. But there is a catch. They only have to be perfect the when I first put them on. The day after I put the clean sheets on I don't go to any great measures to make the bed. I pull the top sheet up and make a half hearted attempt to pull the duvet up over the pillows. That's it. So, yeah, I'm a little crazy. I admit it.
People, what do we do with crazy people?
a) poke them with a stick
or
b) let them be
You smart folks chose 'b', I just know you did.
What does my beloved husband do? He pokes me with a stick! When we are making the bed at night with the clean sheets he enjoys trying to get under the top sheet before I've smoothed out the wrinkles. He likes to throw his pillow on the top sheet as I'm trying to put the top sheet on. He likes to do the last corner because he knows he can't do it as well as I do - he always says its impossible to get all four corners on.
I know I'm a bit crazy over this matter of seeming little significance but let me have my bit of crazy! I'm not hurting anyone. Not yet at least.
Don't mess with my sheets.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Eh?!
The Vice Presidential debate is over and the speculation about how Sarah Palin would do has been put to rest. We all know how she did because we as a nation watched with baited breath. But how did she do, really? John McCain was talking to supporters at a rally today saying, "How about Sarah Palin? How did she do last night? Wasn't she great? Eh? Eh? Eh?" It was almost as if he himself was in shock that she did so well (and by well I mean she didn't completely choke).
He, as a 72 year old, should really re-think the use of "Eh" in his speech. If his waxen, death warmed over look doesn't highlight that he is well into his seventh decade on this planet the use of, "Eh" certainly does the trick. Another word I would like to strip from his and Sarah's vocabulary: "maverick". Gag me. Like, totally. With a spoon.
I was very disappointed in the debate last night for many reasons. First, I was really hoping to be able to laugh at Sarah Palin. Yes, I know that sounds very mean spirited, but, I don't care. I was expecting something along the lines of the Katie Couric interviews. I figured if she choked when asked hard hitting questions like what her choice of reading materials included before joining the McCain ticket then I just knew that she would spontaneously combust when asked about foreign policy or health care. Second, she used her time to answer the question given to her to talk about whatever struck her fancy. Third, because she was so warm and charming (to which I say puh-leeze) and was able to speak (in circles like a dog chasing his tail, mind you) the American sheeple thought she was wonderful.
But, alas, there was no spontaneous combustion; nor were there answers to the moderators questions. There were lots of sound bites and "ya know" and "joe six pack" and soccer mom references. And for the love of all things dignified QUIT WINKING! Is she trying to seduce the vote? Is there some inside joke we are supposed to be laughing at?
Me and my home girls forsook our bible study to watch the Biden v. Palin smack down. Joe Biden wasn't the only one sighing and Sarah Palin wasn't the only one rolling her eyes last night. We agreed that watching Biden and Palin on the same screen seemed a bit surreal. There was the elder statesman of Joe Biden giving clear, concise answers to the moderators questions. He spoke from experience and knowledge and it seemed as if he knew what he was talking about. He spoke with conviction and I believed him. In stark contrast to Joe Biden's direct answers were Sarah Palin's "answers" to the questions - if she chose to actually answer the question posed to her, that is - where she spoke in circles and was trying so hard to connect with the "average American" but when she quit speaking we knew no more about her and McCain's policies than when she first opened her mouth.
And just who is this average American she is trying to connect with? Is the average American duped by her? Does it only take saying, "You betcha" and calling herself a maverick and a soccer mom to get to the White House? Really? I for one do not want an average American as President or Vice President. I want an exceptional American to lead this country and I believe that one who is exceptionally bright would have no problem agreeing to a live interview.
As painful as the Katie Couric interviews were to watch (and as great as the SNL sketches with Tina Fay were to watch) they did help Sarah Palin in the debates because the bar was set so low that all she had to do to be declared victorious was to give a lucid response without the gleam of terror or panic in her eyes that Katie Couric's hard hitting questions seemed to elicit.
This election is momentous in that it is historic with a black man running on the Democratic ticket and a woman running for VP on the Republican ticket but it also seems like a sick joke. McCain was so desperate to capture the Hilary vote that instead of looking for a qualified candidate to run with he looked for a woman and is trying to make her into something she is not: qualified. Who would have ever thought that someone with less than a full term as Governor of the 4th smallest state in the Union and 6 years as Mayor of a town that is a fraction of the size of the school district I grew up in, could be so close to the Oval office?
Unreal.
I wonder how I would have voted if McCain had selected a different running mate. Would he have had a fighting chance? Is Palin's supposed success in last night's debate enough to make up ground they lost after her interviews were aired? Is she going to be stuck in a closet from now until the election?
He, as a 72 year old, should really re-think the use of "Eh" in his speech. If his waxen, death warmed over look doesn't highlight that he is well into his seventh decade on this planet the use of, "Eh" certainly does the trick. Another word I would like to strip from his and Sarah's vocabulary: "maverick". Gag me. Like, totally. With a spoon.
I was very disappointed in the debate last night for many reasons. First, I was really hoping to be able to laugh at Sarah Palin. Yes, I know that sounds very mean spirited, but, I don't care. I was expecting something along the lines of the Katie Couric interviews. I figured if she choked when asked hard hitting questions like what her choice of reading materials included before joining the McCain ticket then I just knew that she would spontaneously combust when asked about foreign policy or health care. Second, she used her time to answer the question given to her to talk about whatever struck her fancy. Third, because she was so warm and charming (to which I say puh-leeze) and was able to speak (in circles like a dog chasing his tail, mind you) the American sheeple thought she was wonderful.
But, alas, there was no spontaneous combustion; nor were there answers to the moderators questions. There were lots of sound bites and "ya know" and "joe six pack" and soccer mom references. And for the love of all things dignified QUIT WINKING! Is she trying to seduce the vote? Is there some inside joke we are supposed to be laughing at?
Me and my home girls forsook our bible study to watch the Biden v. Palin smack down. Joe Biden wasn't the only one sighing and Sarah Palin wasn't the only one rolling her eyes last night. We agreed that watching Biden and Palin on the same screen seemed a bit surreal. There was the elder statesman of Joe Biden giving clear, concise answers to the moderators questions. He spoke from experience and knowledge and it seemed as if he knew what he was talking about. He spoke with conviction and I believed him. In stark contrast to Joe Biden's direct answers were Sarah Palin's "answers" to the questions - if she chose to actually answer the question posed to her, that is - where she spoke in circles and was trying so hard to connect with the "average American" but when she quit speaking we knew no more about her and McCain's policies than when she first opened her mouth.
And just who is this average American she is trying to connect with? Is the average American duped by her? Does it only take saying, "You betcha" and calling herself a maverick and a soccer mom to get to the White House? Really? I for one do not want an average American as President or Vice President. I want an exceptional American to lead this country and I believe that one who is exceptionally bright would have no problem agreeing to a live interview.
As painful as the Katie Couric interviews were to watch (and as great as the SNL sketches with Tina Fay were to watch) they did help Sarah Palin in the debates because the bar was set so low that all she had to do to be declared victorious was to give a lucid response without the gleam of terror or panic in her eyes that Katie Couric's hard hitting questions seemed to elicit.
This election is momentous in that it is historic with a black man running on the Democratic ticket and a woman running for VP on the Republican ticket but it also seems like a sick joke. McCain was so desperate to capture the Hilary vote that instead of looking for a qualified candidate to run with he looked for a woman and is trying to make her into something she is not: qualified. Who would have ever thought that someone with less than a full term as Governor of the 4th smallest state in the Union and 6 years as Mayor of a town that is a fraction of the size of the school district I grew up in, could be so close to the Oval office?
Unreal.
I wonder how I would have voted if McCain had selected a different running mate. Would he have had a fighting chance? Is Palin's supposed success in last night's debate enough to make up ground they lost after her interviews were aired? Is she going to be stuck in a closet from now until the election?
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Bling Bling Baby and some other stuff
I am once again wearing my wedding ring. I took it off shortly into my pregnancy because of weight gain and swelling. Gavin is almost a year old and ring didn't fit still, even though at one point I weighed 10 pounds less than when I got pregnant. What can I say? I have puffy sausage fingers. But now my puffy sausage fingers have a little bling.
It was with a mixture of defeat and eagerness that I took my beloved ring to the jeweler on Wednesday. I was eager to have my sparkly bauble back but at the same time I was waiving the white flag of defeat by having the ring re-sized (up 1.5 sizes).
My jeweler told me to take the ring to Ben Bridge or Zales in the mall because they have jewelers in the store and could fix it quickly. The Ben Bridge people told me it was going to cost $95 to have the ring re-sized so I took it to Zales and they told me it was going to cost $200. Tough call. Also, Zales was going to charge another $200 to secure the stone because it was visibly loose (I dropped it on the kitchen floor that very morning). Ben Bridge was going to charge $50 to secure the stone. Another tough call.
After I dropped the ring off at Ben Bridge I decided to check out the new and improved Southcenter mall. Wow. It was under construction for a long time and I like outcome. Hmm, now that I think about it I may have liked it so much because it was in the middle of the day on Wednesday and there wasn't a horde of teenagers clogging the walking paths.
The sales people at the clothing stores all looked like teenagers, though. So young! I was, and still am, on a mission to find a purse that will take the place of carrying both a purse and a diaper bag. I went in and out of most stores. I found a lovely messenger bag that would have worked beautifully at Macy's but it was more than I wanted to spend at $78. For a messenger bag? I think not. If I didn't have an obscene number of purses as is it would be easier to justify buying but I can't. Especially now that Ryan's work with his friend is drawing to a close and his work with the city begins. Ryan's friend paid him every month but the city may not pay Ryan until the work is done, 3 months from now. Not to worry, we have a small stash to pay bills but I don't think buying another bag would be the most prudent thing to do. Although I would be helping the economy by buying a bag. Just doing my American duty!
My tour through the mall made me want to cling to Gavin and his babyhood all the more. The stores that obviously cater to young teens were borderline obscene. And dark, and loud and smelly. I never, ever, set foot in the stores that blare music and have just enough light so you can see the clothes on the rack in front of you but not enough to the clothes on the rack across the aisle from you. Since I was on a quest for a messenger type bag I had no choice but to visit these scary, scary stores. The music was so loud that WELCOME. IF I CAN HELP YOU FIND SOMETHING LET ME KNOW!" I responded, "I'M LOOKING FOR A MESSENGER STYLE BAG." The sales person carefully studied my lips as I was shouting as another tool to help them decipher what I was yelling - the music was that loud. I didn't complain about the music because I'm in the over 20 crowd that clearly doesn't belong in those stores; and I really don't belong while pushing a stroller with my little guy. If the music wasn't so loud I would have turned the excursion into a learning experience.
Me: "Gavin, do you hear that music? It is too loud. Value your hearing."
Gavin: "Ma ma ma ma! Di di di di!"
Me: "Those posters on the walls objectified women and young men. Women are to be valued and respected. You, too are to be valued and respected and you have value and worth even when you keep your shirt on."
Gavin: "Da da da da! Eeeeee!"
I could not get over the clothing in the stores that catered to teenage girls. The underwear was sexy, if not a bit slutty and the skirts were short and bit on the slutty side. Same goes for the shirts. I know that I have a boy but there are going to be girls all around him wearing this stuff! And it's not just the girls clothing that gets me its the advertising for the boys (mens) clothing; the guys with their washboard abs, wearing their pants partially unzipped with a scantily clad woman fawning all over him. Can't they at least try to be somewhat subtle with the sex sells?
Another shocker, a book that was compiled of advice for teenage girls from a regular column in Seventeen magazine. It was all about sex. I know kids are having sex at younger and younger ages and I'm not opposed to sex ed (heck, look at Bristol Palin) but can't we encourage the kids to delay gratification? It seems like a lot of parallels could be drawn between how we, as Americans, want everything NOW and our economic crisis. Wall street is just a reflection of our greed in mainstream America.
This could get me a lot of flack but I don't care. Yes, I know the CEO's are greedy little bastards but you know who else is greedy? Me. I want a specialty coffee drink, I want $100 shoes, I want a cheap shirt so I can have 3 shirts instead of one really nice shirt. I want a nice house with nice decorations. I want my son to have cute clothes and a cute Halloween costume. It's not bad to want all of this stuff but when we put those material wants above all else and we spend more than we make then we create a life that is built on one huge lie. Then our neighbors see what we have and they want what we have while we in turn want what they have so we are constantly consuming and consuming and are never satisfied. We want more, more stuff to fill the void that grows larger and larger as we try to cram it full of useless stuff.
Now that I re-read what I just wrote it seems I took a huge leap from the sexualization of kids to the current economic crisis without connecting the dots as well as I think they are connected in my head. Too bad you can't jump in my head because it is crystal clear up there - to me. Eh. I would try to write more to connect the dots but the dog is looking like she's going to barf and Gavin just went down for a nap so I should finish this post I've been working on for a couple of days now and go get some housework done while I have some free time.
It was with a mixture of defeat and eagerness that I took my beloved ring to the jeweler on Wednesday. I was eager to have my sparkly bauble back but at the same time I was waiving the white flag of defeat by having the ring re-sized (up 1.5 sizes).
My jeweler told me to take the ring to Ben Bridge or Zales in the mall because they have jewelers in the store and could fix it quickly. The Ben Bridge people told me it was going to cost $95 to have the ring re-sized so I took it to Zales and they told me it was going to cost $200. Tough call. Also, Zales was going to charge another $200 to secure the stone because it was visibly loose (I dropped it on the kitchen floor that very morning). Ben Bridge was going to charge $50 to secure the stone. Another tough call.
After I dropped the ring off at Ben Bridge I decided to check out the new and improved Southcenter mall. Wow. It was under construction for a long time and I like outcome. Hmm, now that I think about it I may have liked it so much because it was in the middle of the day on Wednesday and there wasn't a horde of teenagers clogging the walking paths.
The sales people at the clothing stores all looked like teenagers, though. So young! I was, and still am, on a mission to find a purse that will take the place of carrying both a purse and a diaper bag. I went in and out of most stores. I found a lovely messenger bag that would have worked beautifully at Macy's but it was more than I wanted to spend at $78. For a messenger bag? I think not. If I didn't have an obscene number of purses as is it would be easier to justify buying but I can't. Especially now that Ryan's work with his friend is drawing to a close and his work with the city begins. Ryan's friend paid him every month but the city may not pay Ryan until the work is done, 3 months from now. Not to worry, we have a small stash to pay bills but I don't think buying another bag would be the most prudent thing to do. Although I would be helping the economy by buying a bag. Just doing my American duty!
My tour through the mall made me want to cling to Gavin and his babyhood all the more. The stores that obviously cater to young teens were borderline obscene. And dark, and loud and smelly. I never, ever, set foot in the stores that blare music and have just enough light so you can see the clothes on the rack in front of you but not enough to the clothes on the rack across the aisle from you. Since I was on a quest for a messenger type bag I had no choice but to visit these scary, scary stores. The music was so loud that WELCOME. IF I CAN HELP YOU FIND SOMETHING LET ME KNOW!" I responded, "I'M LOOKING FOR A MESSENGER STYLE BAG." The sales person carefully studied my lips as I was shouting as another tool to help them decipher what I was yelling - the music was that loud. I didn't complain about the music because I'm in the over 20 crowd that clearly doesn't belong in those stores; and I really don't belong while pushing a stroller with my little guy. If the music wasn't so loud I would have turned the excursion into a learning experience.
Me: "Gavin, do you hear that music? It is too loud. Value your hearing."
Gavin: "Ma ma ma ma! Di di di di!"
Me: "Those posters on the walls objectified women and young men. Women are to be valued and respected. You, too are to be valued and respected and you have value and worth even when you keep your shirt on."
Gavin: "Da da da da! Eeeeee!"
I could not get over the clothing in the stores that catered to teenage girls. The underwear was sexy, if not a bit slutty and the skirts were short and bit on the slutty side. Same goes for the shirts. I know that I have a boy but there are going to be girls all around him wearing this stuff! And it's not just the girls clothing that gets me its the advertising for the boys (mens) clothing; the guys with their washboard abs, wearing their pants partially unzipped with a scantily clad woman fawning all over him. Can't they at least try to be somewhat subtle with the sex sells?
Another shocker, a book that was compiled of advice for teenage girls from a regular column in Seventeen magazine. It was all about sex. I know kids are having sex at younger and younger ages and I'm not opposed to sex ed (heck, look at Bristol Palin) but can't we encourage the kids to delay gratification? It seems like a lot of parallels could be drawn between how we, as Americans, want everything NOW and our economic crisis. Wall street is just a reflection of our greed in mainstream America.
This could get me a lot of flack but I don't care. Yes, I know the CEO's are greedy little bastards but you know who else is greedy? Me. I want a specialty coffee drink, I want $100 shoes, I want a cheap shirt so I can have 3 shirts instead of one really nice shirt. I want a nice house with nice decorations. I want my son to have cute clothes and a cute Halloween costume. It's not bad to want all of this stuff but when we put those material wants above all else and we spend more than we make then we create a life that is built on one huge lie. Then our neighbors see what we have and they want what we have while we in turn want what they have so we are constantly consuming and consuming and are never satisfied. We want more, more stuff to fill the void that grows larger and larger as we try to cram it full of useless stuff.
Now that I re-read what I just wrote it seems I took a huge leap from the sexualization of kids to the current economic crisis without connecting the dots as well as I think they are connected in my head. Too bad you can't jump in my head because it is crystal clear up there - to me. Eh. I would try to write more to connect the dots but the dog is looking like she's going to barf and Gavin just went down for a nap so I should finish this post I've been working on for a couple of days now and go get some housework done while I have some free time.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Going on Strike
It is day three of the strike and there is no end in sight. It is with much tears, crying, and whining that the strike is being enforced. Never mind there the one who is on strike has red, weary looking eyes that are rubbed frequently nor that the striking party's bouncing nature, if you will, takes a serious turn south just before the eye rubbing commences. All signs point to a state of fatigue, tiredness, a state that shouts: "I need a nap!"
Being the dutiful, loving mother that I am, I give my precious baby boy some warm milk for the tummy (which I should probably not be doing before nap time because it is just ingraining the whole eat before bedtime thing which I know is not good... but one battle at a time, please), and gently lie him down in his crib. And as I oh-so-gently place him in his crib he arches his back and screams.
As he grows I know that his nap schedule will change. This is a fact that I can accept. I have accepted that he no longer goes back to sleep a mere 30 minutes after waking up in the morning. I can not accept his refusal of the first morning nap when he is clearly tired. What else am I supposed to make of a crying, grumpy, eye rubbing, ear tugging baby boy?
I'm hoping most of this is just related to teething since the little G is has 3, maybe 4 teeth, busting through right now. Tylenol and medicated teething swabs help a night and I just numbed up his gums on the side he sticks his tongue to chew on (it's super cute, btw). Keep your fingers crossed! Well, it's been about 15 minutes since I swabbed his gums and now he is at least lying down and not hollering. He is talking though.
He's saying, "A di. A di. Bwaa. A-dah, eh, A-dah. Da. A-yay."
Translation, "Neener, neener, I'm not going to sleep mom, even though I'm tired. You can put me in my crib but you can't make me sleep. Why don't you come get me out the crib and go to the gym all of 10 minutes away so I can fall asleep on the car ride over."
Really. Yesterday to let me know he was not going to take a nap he screamed and screamed and screamed some more. Between screaming sessions I went in to comfort him and to make sure he was ok (he even got some Tylenol and a teething swab). Nothing. On one of my trips in he had a poopy diaper (I knew the second I opened the door to his room). I can't blame him for not wanting to sleep in a dirty diaper - but I can take issue with him not sleeping in the fluffy clean diaper I put him. Nothing. No sleep, not even close. More weeping and gnashing of gums and some teeth was to be had.
I had enough of trying to get him to sleep, and I couldn't take anymore screaming so I packed my gym bag, grabbed the G man and we drove all of 10 minutes to the gym. He fell asleep on the car ride over. !
! Can you feel the frustration? How is a car seat more comfortable than a crib with a nice mattress? I took him to the kiddie day care and laid him down in one of their cribs but he didn't sleep. He did however get to crawl and play for a solid 90 minutes which led to a 2 hour nap when we got home.
The way this is shaping up he's not going to sleep. He is standing up again. I think I'll load up the car with the Exersaucer and Johnny Jump Up to return to Ryan's former co-worker who so graciously lent them to us. Hopefully he will sleep in the car so he won't be a total grumpy pants at our PEPS (mommy group) this afternoon.
I love being a mom but I do not this fighting over naps business. Why fight a nap? A nap is one of the most beautiful, underrated pleasures in life. I should have been born in Spain so I could enjoy guilt free siestas.
Being the dutiful, loving mother that I am, I give my precious baby boy some warm milk for the tummy (which I should probably not be doing before nap time because it is just ingraining the whole eat before bedtime thing which I know is not good... but one battle at a time, please), and gently lie him down in his crib. And as I oh-so-gently place him in his crib he arches his back and screams.
As he grows I know that his nap schedule will change. This is a fact that I can accept. I have accepted that he no longer goes back to sleep a mere 30 minutes after waking up in the morning. I can not accept his refusal of the first morning nap when he is clearly tired. What else am I supposed to make of a crying, grumpy, eye rubbing, ear tugging baby boy?
I'm hoping most of this is just related to teething since the little G is has 3, maybe 4 teeth, busting through right now. Tylenol and medicated teething swabs help a night and I just numbed up his gums on the side he sticks his tongue to chew on (it's super cute, btw). Keep your fingers crossed! Well, it's been about 15 minutes since I swabbed his gums and now he is at least lying down and not hollering. He is talking though.
He's saying, "A di. A di. Bwaa. A-dah, eh, A-dah. Da. A-yay."
Translation, "Neener, neener, I'm not going to sleep mom, even though I'm tired. You can put me in my crib but you can't make me sleep. Why don't you come get me out the crib and go to the gym all of 10 minutes away so I can fall asleep on the car ride over."
Really. Yesterday to let me know he was not going to take a nap he screamed and screamed and screamed some more. Between screaming sessions I went in to comfort him and to make sure he was ok (he even got some Tylenol and a teething swab). Nothing. On one of my trips in he had a poopy diaper (I knew the second I opened the door to his room). I can't blame him for not wanting to sleep in a dirty diaper - but I can take issue with him not sleeping in the fluffy clean diaper I put him. Nothing. No sleep, not even close. More weeping and gnashing of gums and some teeth was to be had.
I had enough of trying to get him to sleep, and I couldn't take anymore screaming so I packed my gym bag, grabbed the G man and we drove all of 10 minutes to the gym. He fell asleep on the car ride over. !
! Can you feel the frustration? How is a car seat more comfortable than a crib with a nice mattress? I took him to the kiddie day care and laid him down in one of their cribs but he didn't sleep. He did however get to crawl and play for a solid 90 minutes which led to a 2 hour nap when we got home.
The way this is shaping up he's not going to sleep. He is standing up again. I think I'll load up the car with the Exersaucer and Johnny Jump Up to return to Ryan's former co-worker who so graciously lent them to us. Hopefully he will sleep in the car so he won't be a total grumpy pants at our PEPS (mommy group) this afternoon.
I love being a mom but I do not this fighting over naps business. Why fight a nap? A nap is one of the most beautiful, underrated pleasures in life. I should have been born in Spain so I could enjoy guilt free siestas.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Not For the Faint of Heart
At this very moment I am on-line looking for a purse. I don't feel like going from store to store to find one. Ebags didn't have anything, Overstock had nothing, craigslist had nothing and freecycle had nothing. OK, they had purses but I'm looking for one I can wear across the body and one that is HUGE so I can carry one bag instead of a purse and a diaper bag. The diaper bag I use is a small backpack and its not exactly my style.
So why am I telling you about something as mundane as shopping for a purse? I'll tell you why. The results on e-bay were too many so I sorted them from priced lowest to highest. That wasn't helpful since there were a ton of little $0.99 coin purses. So I sorted high to low and was going to go that route.
Warning: If you have a bad heart (or you are a guy) STOP READING!!!
I saw a purse, a purse, a purse, a purse, a purse, a p-u-r-s-e that had the buy-it-now price of
$78,000.
FOR A PURSE!!!
You could buy a home in some parts of the country for that much money. You could feed an army for that much money. You could buy 78 overpriced at $1,000 purses for that much money. You could buy a couple of cars for that much money. You could (almost) add another story to your house for that much money. You could pay for 7.8 expensive $10,000 weddings for that much money. You could take the ultimate vacation (with your entire family and all of your friends) for that much money.
Maybe the person who buys the $78,000 purse would think my idea of an ultimate vacation for family and friends would be slummin' it.
Who buys a $78,000 purse? Really? Who?
Well, I'm not going to find my $30 or under purse if I keep writing and looking at $78,000 purses. At least they were cute. (Oh, yeah. There was more than one outrageously priced purse).
*****
I just logged on and showed Ryan the purse and I didn't put the right price down. The purse is not $78,000. It is $78,999. But what is an extra $999?
So why am I telling you about something as mundane as shopping for a purse? I'll tell you why. The results on e-bay were too many so I sorted them from priced lowest to highest. That wasn't helpful since there were a ton of little $0.99 coin purses. So I sorted high to low and was going to go that route.
Warning: If you have a bad heart (or you are a guy) STOP READING!!!
I saw a purse, a purse, a purse, a purse, a purse, a p-u-r-s-e that had the buy-it-now price of
$78,000.
FOR A PURSE!!!
You could buy a home in some parts of the country for that much money. You could feed an army for that much money. You could buy 78 overpriced at $1,000 purses for that much money. You could buy a couple of cars for that much money. You could (almost) add another story to your house for that much money. You could pay for 7.8 expensive $10,000 weddings for that much money. You could take the ultimate vacation (with your entire family and all of your friends) for that much money.
Maybe the person who buys the $78,000 purse would think my idea of an ultimate vacation for family and friends would be slummin' it.
Who buys a $78,000 purse? Really? Who?
Well, I'm not going to find my $30 or under purse if I keep writing and looking at $78,000 purses. At least they were cute. (Oh, yeah. There was more than one outrageously priced purse).
*****
I just logged on and showed Ryan the purse and I didn't put the right price down. The purse is not $78,000. It is $78,999. But what is an extra $999?
Friday, September 19, 2008
You Can Move to Seattle, Part II
I don't think I have much more to say about moving to Seattle but I said I would write part II of the post so, here I am writing...
When you do move to Seattle you can visit the Bal Mar in Ballard. My friend Krissy just celebrated her big Three-oh with friends at the Bal Mar; we went there this time last year, too and I remember it quite vividly because it was a warmish day and I was pregnant and none to happy about my state of ginormousness (no, it's not a word - yet) nor was I pleased that I could not enjoy one of their super cool cocktails, one of which is I'm a gimlet that I recall Krissy ordered.
Two other girlfriends who celebrated the big Two-nine with Krissy last year enjoyed cocktails are now in the other camp: Camp Preggo. I am SO happy I'm not in that camp right now. I can walk, I can eat brie, I can sleep (Gavin permitting), I can go more than 90 minutes without running to the bathroom to pee, I can breath (I really took breathing for granted before being pregnant).
Tonight I tried I'm a gimlet. I don't know what a gimlet is or why I would want to be one but the drink sure is tasty. It's like a mojito minus the sweetness. Yum. It's a tad strong, though and of course it was made even stronger by my empty stomach. So, word to the wise: eat first, drink second. But, really, who doesn't know that?
*****
I've been on Beacon Hill almost three years now. It's hard to believe that so much time has elapsed here. The house feels like home but the neighborhood doesn't give me a homey vibe. I know my neighbors and they are nice but it's not the same as West Seattle. This is definitely a neighborhood in transition. There isn't much to do up here although there are more places within walking distance than in our old neighborhood. There are three coffee shops, a library, and a smattering of places to eat that all close early and aren't really places where you would feel comfortable inviting friends and hanging out at.
As of November 1st I will have lived in Seattle for 7 years. SEVEN! Can you believe that? It's hard to believe that I've been up here half as long as I lived in Vancouver (14 years). Seattle is becoming my third home. Ryan and I were driving past a cemetery the other day and I told him that if I went before him he would have to spread my ashes in three places.
At Sunset Beach in Coos Bay (technically it's in Charleston) because my dad is buried in Coos Bay, in the Columbia River in Vancouver because that is where I spent the bulk of my growing up years and in the Puget Sound because that is where I'm at now. He balked not at the idea of me dying (because we were talking way out in the future) but at the idea of having to drive me in ashen form to Coos Bay and Vancouver. I often joke that it is a miracle that Ryan dated me while I was in Vancouver and he was in Seattle because he hates driving that much. He really loved me to drive almost 3 hours to see me.
So, here my wishes are in writing although I really doubt this blog will be in existence or if blogs period will be in existence in 60 or 7o years when I kick it. 70 years. I would be 101. Gavin would be 71! That's crazy! OK, I can't think about this anymore. I don't want to think about my little guy who is turning one next month as a 70 year old; it makes me sad to know that he is growing each day and turning into such a little boy. Of course, I would be really sad if he wasn't growing and developing.
What do you know? This post is being interrupted by a crying baby. I'm kind of glad he is waking up because I went out tonight and didn't get to kiss him good night.
When you do move to Seattle you can visit the Bal Mar in Ballard. My friend Krissy just celebrated her big Three-oh with friends at the Bal Mar; we went there this time last year, too and I remember it quite vividly because it was a warmish day and I was pregnant and none to happy about my state of ginormousness (no, it's not a word - yet) nor was I pleased that I could not enjoy one of their super cool cocktails, one of which is I'm a gimlet that I recall Krissy ordered.
Two other girlfriends who celebrated the big Two-nine with Krissy last year enjoyed cocktails are now in the other camp: Camp Preggo. I am SO happy I'm not in that camp right now. I can walk, I can eat brie, I can sleep (Gavin permitting), I can go more than 90 minutes without running to the bathroom to pee, I can breath (I really took breathing for granted before being pregnant).
Tonight I tried I'm a gimlet. I don't know what a gimlet is or why I would want to be one but the drink sure is tasty. It's like a mojito minus the sweetness. Yum. It's a tad strong, though and of course it was made even stronger by my empty stomach. So, word to the wise: eat first, drink second. But, really, who doesn't know that?
*****
I've been on Beacon Hill almost three years now. It's hard to believe that so much time has elapsed here. The house feels like home but the neighborhood doesn't give me a homey vibe. I know my neighbors and they are nice but it's not the same as West Seattle. This is definitely a neighborhood in transition. There isn't much to do up here although there are more places within walking distance than in our old neighborhood. There are three coffee shops, a library, and a smattering of places to eat that all close early and aren't really places where you would feel comfortable inviting friends and hanging out at.
As of November 1st I will have lived in Seattle for 7 years. SEVEN! Can you believe that? It's hard to believe that I've been up here half as long as I lived in Vancouver (14 years). Seattle is becoming my third home. Ryan and I were driving past a cemetery the other day and I told him that if I went before him he would have to spread my ashes in three places.
At Sunset Beach in Coos Bay (technically it's in Charleston) because my dad is buried in Coos Bay, in the Columbia River in Vancouver because that is where I spent the bulk of my growing up years and in the Puget Sound because that is where I'm at now. He balked not at the idea of me dying (because we were talking way out in the future) but at the idea of having to drive me in ashen form to Coos Bay and Vancouver. I often joke that it is a miracle that Ryan dated me while I was in Vancouver and he was in Seattle because he hates driving that much. He really loved me to drive almost 3 hours to see me.
So, here my wishes are in writing although I really doubt this blog will be in existence or if blogs period will be in existence in 60 or 7o years when I kick it. 70 years. I would be 101. Gavin would be 71! That's crazy! OK, I can't think about this anymore. I don't want to think about my little guy who is turning one next month as a 70 year old; it makes me sad to know that he is growing each day and turning into such a little boy. Of course, I would be really sad if he wasn't growing and developing.
What do you know? This post is being interrupted by a crying baby. I'm kind of glad he is waking up because I went out tonight and didn't get to kiss him good night.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
You Can Move to Seattle Now
The storm has passed and it is now safe to move to Seattle. The storm was, of course, my temper tantrum over the less than stellar weather we were having. The clouds parted and the sun shone brightly again on Seattle turning it into the sparkling gem we all love and adore.
Today felt like the first day of Autumn. It was gray all day and the air had a cool bite to it but that's ok because we were given a few good summery days. My arms are open and ready to accept the rainy and blustery days ahead.
Fall is actually one of my favorite seasons. I have so many fond memories of overcast, wet Autumn weekends as a child. Mom would take us to the neighborhood club and we would go swimming for hours and walk home with wet hair and to warm us up mom would make hot cocoa and we would bake cookies. Instead of a fence we had a long row of arbor vitae in the back yard that created a lush green appearance in our back yard. The green grass was bordered by the green arbor vitae and was partially canopied by towering Evergreen trees; the back yard positively glowed green.
That glowing backyard and the plains are two of the things I miss about Vancouver. I didn't think seeing flat lands would be something I missed until I came up to Seattle, built on hills and in valleys and in the shadows of two mountain ranges. It is nice to be able to see beyond your nose sometimes.
I miss the Columbia River Gorge and the beautiful hikes to be had there. Sure, there are lots of places to hike up here but that would involve going out and looking for them. I had a friend in Vancouver who was always up for a drive to the Gorge, actually she was the one doing the calling and urging.
This post is being interrupted by a crying and I suspect hungry baby. I'll write part two tomorrow. Or not. I'll write it when I write it.
Today felt like the first day of Autumn. It was gray all day and the air had a cool bite to it but that's ok because we were given a few good summery days. My arms are open and ready to accept the rainy and blustery days ahead.
Fall is actually one of my favorite seasons. I have so many fond memories of overcast, wet Autumn weekends as a child. Mom would take us to the neighborhood club and we would go swimming for hours and walk home with wet hair and to warm us up mom would make hot cocoa and we would bake cookies. Instead of a fence we had a long row of arbor vitae in the back yard that created a lush green appearance in our back yard. The green grass was bordered by the green arbor vitae and was partially canopied by towering Evergreen trees; the back yard positively glowed green.
That glowing backyard and the plains are two of the things I miss about Vancouver. I didn't think seeing flat lands would be something I missed until I came up to Seattle, built on hills and in valleys and in the shadows of two mountain ranges. It is nice to be able to see beyond your nose sometimes.
I miss the Columbia River Gorge and the beautiful hikes to be had there. Sure, there are lots of places to hike up here but that would involve going out and looking for them. I had a friend in Vancouver who was always up for a drive to the Gorge, actually she was the one doing the calling and urging.
This post is being interrupted by a crying and I suspect hungry baby. I'll write part two tomorrow. Or not. I'll write it when I write it.
Monday, September 08, 2008
FINALLY
In the evenings after Gavin goes to bed you can usually find me on-line writing, reading, surfing the web in general. Lately I have been attempting to make a photobook. There are so many sites and they all send me coupons that are really specific.
Free shipping! for new customers on first order
45% off all orders! on all orders $100 or more
Save $25! when you buy an 8x12 book with premium leather cover
Save $50! for new customers on first order of 8x12 book with premium leather cover that total is greater than $200
For weeks now I have been attempting to make a photo book for Grandparents Day. Yes, there is a holiday for Grandparents - it's this weekend so sorry, grandparents, your photo books are going to be late. But don't blame me - blame snapfish and picaboo and Costco but mostly snapfish.
I have a feeling the problem isn't 100% Snapfish; I just may have a bit to do with the problem. Shocking, I know.
After spending hours upon hours upon hours uploading all of my photos from the external hard drive - and I mean all photos, starting with the digitals ones going back to 1999 - I then start to experiment with the kind of book I wanted to make while keeping it within my budget (3 sets of grandparents plus one aunt who is like a grandmother to Ryan - it adds up).
It took me a while but I got the hang of how to make a book. I was able to select the photos, arrange them and wa-la, a book was made! Now that the book was made the only step left in the long drawn out exhausting, tear inducing process was to pay for it.
All I had to do was pay for the stupid book. Enter in my credit card information and click 'submit'.
I'm a smart cookie. I entered my credit card number, expiration date, secret code, all of my billing information then I took a deep breath and was ready to be done with the making of this book and clicked on 'submit'.
A message in red lettering pops up on the screen telling me that they could not process my credit card. I double checked the information and resubmitted it only to have the same annoying message pop up and scream at me. (Red lettering is equal to screaming).
After checking the number again I took a closer look to the the icons next to the credit card number field. Visa, American Express, Something Else and Something Else.
Do you know what was missing? MasterCard!
Snapfish doesn't take MasterCard!
I was livid! How dare Snapfish not take my one and only credit card? Why isn't there a huge disclaimer that pops up BEFORE you make a photobook that all of your time will be a colossal waste of time if you happen to have a MasterCard.
******
Here it is a week later. The books are done; I think I used Shutterfly, shutterfish, shuttersomething. It went just fine. They cost a little more but if I would have started with them it would have been so much easier.
Does anyone out there have a company they like for photo printing and the like?
Free shipping! for new customers on first order
45% off all orders! on all orders $100 or more
Save $25! when you buy an 8x12 book with premium leather cover
Save $50! for new customers on first order of 8x12 book with premium leather cover that total is greater than $200
For weeks now I have been attempting to make a photo book for Grandparents Day. Yes, there is a holiday for Grandparents - it's this weekend so sorry, grandparents, your photo books are going to be late. But don't blame me - blame snapfish and picaboo and Costco but mostly snapfish.
I have a feeling the problem isn't 100% Snapfish; I just may have a bit to do with the problem. Shocking, I know.
After spending hours upon hours upon hours uploading all of my photos from the external hard drive - and I mean all photos, starting with the digitals ones going back to 1999 - I then start to experiment with the kind of book I wanted to make while keeping it within my budget (3 sets of grandparents plus one aunt who is like a grandmother to Ryan - it adds up).
It took me a while but I got the hang of how to make a book. I was able to select the photos, arrange them and wa-la, a book was made! Now that the book was made the only step left in the long drawn out exhausting, tear inducing process was to pay for it.
All I had to do was pay for the stupid book. Enter in my credit card information and click 'submit'.
I'm a smart cookie. I entered my credit card number, expiration date, secret code, all of my billing information then I took a deep breath and was ready to be done with the making of this book and clicked on 'submit'.
A message in red lettering pops up on the screen telling me that they could not process my credit card. I double checked the information and resubmitted it only to have the same annoying message pop up and scream at me. (Red lettering is equal to screaming).
After checking the number again I took a closer look to the the icons next to the credit card number field. Visa, American Express, Something Else and Something Else.
Do you know what was missing? MasterCard!
Snapfish doesn't take MasterCard!
I was livid! How dare Snapfish not take my one and only credit card? Why isn't there a huge disclaimer that pops up BEFORE you make a photobook that all of your time will be a colossal waste of time if you happen to have a MasterCard.
******
Here it is a week later. The books are done; I think I used Shutterfly, shutterfish, shuttersomething. It went just fine. They cost a little more but if I would have started with them it would have been so much easier.
Does anyone out there have a company they like for photo printing and the like?
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Tropical Storms and Stormy Toddlers
Today I experienced my very first Tropical Storm as did Ryan and Gavin (I don't think his baby calendar has a sticker for 1st Tropical Storm). Tropical Storm Hannah rolled through Great Falls, Virginia last night and stayed through the early part of this afternoon. Last night we had tickets at Wolf Trap, an outdoor theater, to see Les Miserables. My sister-in-law bought tickets for Ryan (and me) for his birthday and for her mom and step-dad for her mom's birthday.
The theater was quite amazing since there is outdoor seating and covered seating as well. My sister-in-law bought covered seats since it was predicted to rain that night. Good call on her part. It didn't just rain, it rained. It was a veritable deluge. The poor folks on the grass got soaked! But the show was so great they stayed through the rain. Unlike the rain we get at home it wasn't cold, the air was warm and the rain didn't chill.
Just before we took our seats I gave a brief synopsis of the story for the group and Ryan filled in the gaps. Last night was my third time seeing the show and it was Ryan's fourth and I can say without hesitation that we would go again in a heart beat. It is our favorite show. "Cats" is our least favorite show.
If you have never seen Cats, don't bother. Blech. B-o-r-i-n-g. Correction. It is B-O-R-I-N-G!
We stayed for the first two hours of the show and left at intermission.
OK, maybe the first part of the show was less than two hours but it felt like an eternity. We couldn't follow the story, the music, eh... except for "Memories", it was the last song before intermission.
If you have never seen Les Miserables you should GO, GO, GO, now! Get the music beforehand and familiarize yourself with the music, read the book, watch the movie. It is FANtastic!
But back the fierceness that is Hannah. The thick of her storminess came late this morning, just in time for my niece's birthday party. Local streets were flooded, power went out but we didn't notice because my sister-in-law's has a generator for such events and flash floods were predicted. If there were flash floods we didn't see any. It got pretty windy but I've seen windier conditions. The rain was pretty heavy so we were all quite impressed which puzzled the local East Coasters.
Ryan and I were sitting in the screened in porch listening to the cacophony the pouring rain was creating when someone stepped out and made small talk with us. I told him we were just enjoying the downpour since we don't get much rain like this at home. You could see the question on his face before he asked, "Don't you live in Seattle?" My brother-in-law asked the same thing, "Don't you get this all the time in Seattle?" Nope. Ours is a more constant drizzle, we don't often get the rain that blows in sideways by the bucketful.
Other than the tropical storm today we've had it pretty good as far as the weather is concerned. It has been hot, high 80's, low 90's and there has been humidity but not taking a bath humidity. It was pleasant enough that we were able to go the Great Falls National Park yesterday (long before Hannah rolled in) and walked high above the Potomac River where George Washington rode his horse and devised a plan to make the river navigable to increase trade and solidify the ties between the then sovereign states. His company made canals to circumvent the impassible portions of the river and locks to get boats and ships from the top of a fall to the bottom of a falls. I was a good tourist and read the placards.
Great Falls is very impressive. You can't think of Multnomah, Silver or Snoqualmie Falls as a comparative falls as they have an impressive height from which they cascade down. Great Falls can't hold a candle to the Northwest Falls height but the 'our' falls have nothing on Great Falls in terms of width. The Potomac has a great span, I would say you if you lined our falls side by side to cross the Great Falls you would need at least five of them.
On Thursday we drove in to D.C., less than a thirty minutes drive, and toured the National Crime and Punishment Museum. I would recommend this museum IF you have already been to D.C. and toured all of the free museums AND if you find Law & Order (pick one), CSI (pick one), Cold Case, Without a Trace, any crime show really except Matlock. If you like Matlock you probably aren't going to be up for hoofing it around D.C. anyway. I would not recommend buying the audio portion of the tour as it is really lame. After going through the EMP (Experience Music Project) in Seattle and listening to that audio tour nothing compares.
Friday we went back to D.C. with my Karl and Suzanne, (FIL & stepMIL) and went to the International Spy Museum. I would highly recommend this museum, even if you have not been to all of the free ones. We saw a camera that could take a picture of a document and reduce its size to that which would fit in punctuation, like this period: . Really. An entire document. The camera was called something along the lines of a dot camera, pretty creative.
So here I sit after the storm, after the party filled with toddlers who turn stormy after food, fun and candy and cake and ice cream. Gavin ate a dinner of oatmeal with mashed up blueberries and raspberries and bananas and one prune - just one prune. It was such a messy, sticky affair and as a result he got a bath tonight where he is really getting the hang of splashing the water. Fun for him, wet for me. OK, I have fun too, even when he stands up and hangs onto me with his slippery wet self.
He is now asleep and I'm ready to crash even though it is only 8:49 pm. My sister-in-law and her family are upstairs putting Erika to bed and they have Anna, the new baby we are here to meet. Ryan, his mom and step-dad are playing Hearts in the kitchen and Ryan's dad and step-mom went to a park. That leaves me alone in the living room and do you want to know what that means?
I JUST TURNED THE TV OFF!!!
Woo-hoo.
We are in someone else's house so the TV doesn't bother me too much but when it's at my house and people are visiting it drives me bonkers but I never want to say anything because they are my guests and they are usually on vacation so why shouldn't they watch TV?
That is one other reason I want to move the TV downstairs. That way if someone wants to watch TV then they can go downstairs and watch to their hearts content and I can stay up stairs and not have my ears subject to the constant noise of the TV. That and I tend to get sucked into the programs.
Everyone eventually returned to the living room, I finally had a chance to hold Anna while she slept. Ryan programmed Kristi & John's new cell phones and I went into the kitchen to finish this post. I guess I'm being anti-social right now. Oh, well. We can't all be together all of the time.
Tomorrow is Anna's baptism and another party. It should be great since the storm is passed and the sun is set to shine again. Maybe we can play some croquet although I'm a bit afraid to go out in the grass because the have ticks out here and copperhead snakes.
The theater was quite amazing since there is outdoor seating and covered seating as well. My sister-in-law bought covered seats since it was predicted to rain that night. Good call on her part. It didn't just rain, it rained. It was a veritable deluge. The poor folks on the grass got soaked! But the show was so great they stayed through the rain. Unlike the rain we get at home it wasn't cold, the air was warm and the rain didn't chill.
Just before we took our seats I gave a brief synopsis of the story for the group and Ryan filled in the gaps. Last night was my third time seeing the show and it was Ryan's fourth and I can say without hesitation that we would go again in a heart beat. It is our favorite show. "Cats" is our least favorite show.
If you have never seen Cats, don't bother. Blech. B-o-r-i-n-g. Correction. It is B-O-R-I-N-G!
We stayed for the first two hours of the show and left at intermission.
OK, maybe the first part of the show was less than two hours but it felt like an eternity. We couldn't follow the story, the music, eh... except for "Memories", it was the last song before intermission.
If you have never seen Les Miserables you should GO, GO, GO, now! Get the music beforehand and familiarize yourself with the music, read the book, watch the movie. It is FANtastic!
But back the fierceness that is Hannah. The thick of her storminess came late this morning, just in time for my niece's birthday party. Local streets were flooded, power went out but we didn't notice because my sister-in-law's has a generator for such events and flash floods were predicted. If there were flash floods we didn't see any. It got pretty windy but I've seen windier conditions. The rain was pretty heavy so we were all quite impressed which puzzled the local East Coasters.
Ryan and I were sitting in the screened in porch listening to the cacophony the pouring rain was creating when someone stepped out and made small talk with us. I told him we were just enjoying the downpour since we don't get much rain like this at home. You could see the question on his face before he asked, "Don't you live in Seattle?" My brother-in-law asked the same thing, "Don't you get this all the time in Seattle?" Nope. Ours is a more constant drizzle, we don't often get the rain that blows in sideways by the bucketful.
Other than the tropical storm today we've had it pretty good as far as the weather is concerned. It has been hot, high 80's, low 90's and there has been humidity but not taking a bath humidity. It was pleasant enough that we were able to go the Great Falls National Park yesterday (long before Hannah rolled in) and walked high above the Potomac River where George Washington rode his horse and devised a plan to make the river navigable to increase trade and solidify the ties between the then sovereign states. His company made canals to circumvent the impassible portions of the river and locks to get boats and ships from the top of a fall to the bottom of a falls. I was a good tourist and read the placards.
Great Falls is very impressive. You can't think of Multnomah, Silver or Snoqualmie Falls as a comparative falls as they have an impressive height from which they cascade down. Great Falls can't hold a candle to the Northwest Falls height but the 'our' falls have nothing on Great Falls in terms of width. The Potomac has a great span, I would say you if you lined our falls side by side to cross the Great Falls you would need at least five of them.
On Thursday we drove in to D.C., less than a thirty minutes drive, and toured the National Crime and Punishment Museum. I would recommend this museum IF you have already been to D.C. and toured all of the free museums AND if you find Law & Order (pick one), CSI (pick one), Cold Case, Without a Trace, any crime show really except Matlock. If you like Matlock you probably aren't going to be up for hoofing it around D.C. anyway. I would not recommend buying the audio portion of the tour as it is really lame. After going through the EMP (Experience Music Project) in Seattle and listening to that audio tour nothing compares.
Friday we went back to D.C. with my Karl and Suzanne, (FIL & stepMIL) and went to the International Spy Museum. I would highly recommend this museum, even if you have not been to all of the free ones. We saw a camera that could take a picture of a document and reduce its size to that which would fit in punctuation, like this period: . Really. An entire document. The camera was called something along the lines of a dot camera, pretty creative.
So here I sit after the storm, after the party filled with toddlers who turn stormy after food, fun and candy and cake and ice cream. Gavin ate a dinner of oatmeal with mashed up blueberries and raspberries and bananas and one prune - just one prune. It was such a messy, sticky affair and as a result he got a bath tonight where he is really getting the hang of splashing the water. Fun for him, wet for me. OK, I have fun too, even when he stands up and hangs onto me with his slippery wet self.
He is now asleep and I'm ready to crash even though it is only 8:49 pm. My sister-in-law and her family are upstairs putting Erika to bed and they have Anna, the new baby we are here to meet. Ryan, his mom and step-dad are playing Hearts in the kitchen and Ryan's dad and step-mom went to a park. That leaves me alone in the living room and do you want to know what that means?
I JUST TURNED THE TV OFF!!!
Woo-hoo.
We are in someone else's house so the TV doesn't bother me too much but when it's at my house and people are visiting it drives me bonkers but I never want to say anything because they are my guests and they are usually on vacation so why shouldn't they watch TV?
That is one other reason I want to move the TV downstairs. That way if someone wants to watch TV then they can go downstairs and watch to their hearts content and I can stay up stairs and not have my ears subject to the constant noise of the TV. That and I tend to get sucked into the programs.
Everyone eventually returned to the living room, I finally had a chance to hold Anna while she slept. Ryan programmed Kristi & John's new cell phones and I went into the kitchen to finish this post. I guess I'm being anti-social right now. Oh, well. We can't all be together all of the time.
Tomorrow is Anna's baptism and another party. It should be great since the storm is passed and the sun is set to shine again. Maybe we can play some croquet although I'm a bit afraid to go out in the grass because the have ticks out here and copperhead snakes.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Journey of Self Discovery
Does 10 1/2 months seem awfully early for a baby to discover his nostrils? I think so. It has only been a day or two and the little G thinks it is wonderful that God gave him such a great play thing right on his face! As much as I want to discourage nose picking it is pretty cute to see him with his finger pointing at his nose . Ryan really thinks its cute and is trying to catch him with his finger up his nose for a great picture.
***
We finally got a good nose pick shot in the train at SeaTac so now I've moved onto discouraging his nostril expeditions. How does, "Gavin, we don't pick our noses," sound? And I do say 'we' because he has taken in interest in Mommy and Daddy's noses as well. I imagine our noses are much better for exploration because his fingers are so little and our nostrils are cavernous compared to his but I don't care how mean he thinks I am, my nostrils are off limits.
Hopefully by discouraging it now we can avoid the really gross nosepicking when he gets older and has better fine motor skills. Wishful thinking.
***
We finally got a good nose pick shot in the train at SeaTac so now I've moved onto discouraging his nostril expeditions. How does, "Gavin, we don't pick our noses," sound? And I do say 'we' because he has taken in interest in Mommy and Daddy's noses as well. I imagine our noses are much better for exploration because his fingers are so little and our nostrils are cavernous compared to his but I don't care how mean he thinks I am, my nostrils are off limits.
Hopefully by discouraging it now we can avoid the really gross nosepicking when he gets older and has better fine motor skills. Wishful thinking.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Don't Move to Seattle
What is up with this funky weather we are having up here in Seattle? Did Nature forget that this is August? August in Seattle is the BEST month! Rather, it is supposed to be the best month. Nothing but glorious blue skies allowing the sun's golden rays to tickle the water of the Puget Sound, Lakes Washington and Union giving the water logged, blinded by incessant gray Seattleites beautiful twinkling blue diamonds to gaze upon as we drive to work, school, the beach. There is not much that I find as stunning as Seattle on a sunny day. On the flip side when the sun is hidden behind a thick swatch of clouds the twinkling blue diamonds turn into lifeless gray bodies of water reflecting the gloom of the gray clouds and gray buildings that flank the waters edge.
Summer in the Northwest is not merely a time for fun in the sun. It is a time that we NEED. When else are we going to get Vitamin D?! When, I ask! We need the sun to sustain us through the long, gray, wet year. October - May and often into June and July SUCK in the Northwest. Sure we will get teasers, a couple of dry days coupled with blue skies in the winter are cold days for sure but they are BLUE days when you can see the foreign seldom seen yellow orb in the sky that people in other parts of the country know as the sun. On these days when the sun is out and it streams its bright, glorious light into your house or car you can feel the warmth and life it is giving. But these days are so rare. So very, very rare.
We usually get a couple of nice days thrown at us at random in the Spring when the sun is out, the clouds are few and fluffy and it gets just warm enough to roll down the windows in the car. I bet the homicide rates on these days drops drastically. Who wants to be all angry and go on a killing spree when the sun is out?
But then the clouds come back and we plunge back into darkness. We go on living. Living in the rain. Living in the cold. Living in the damp, the wet, the rainy, the mildewy weather. We go on living because we know, we know that once late July is here we will see the sun. All of that rain we put up with will keep everything around us, save the grass, green while we enjoy the heat of our incredibly short summer. We live for summer. Summer in the Northwest is like a glimpse into heaven. It gets just hot enough on some days that we are reminded that we do have it good, because even on the really, really hot days you still can't fry an egg on the sidewalk.
There are many a soul who have moved to Seattle after their torrid love affair with the summer. They see the beautiful, sleek Seattle with perky people everywhere. Our summer perk is a natural one; its when the clouds slither back that we turn to our dark, rich, coffee elixir to get us through the days that start dark and end dark.
Word to the wise: if you want to move to Seattle after visiting late July, August or September - DON'T. Come back in November when our basements are flooding and our glorious trees sway in the heavy winds and threaten to topple and take down our houses. Come back in the winter (or fall or spring) and I DARE you to wear light colored pants; you will after all only be walking from your car to the office (or store or mall), what harm could possibly come from that?
Bwa-ha-ha-ha.
It's days like these, usually preceded by a week of rain and gloom, that make Eastern Washington or Arizona look appealing. Until you learn that they have days that get well above 100 degrees. No thanks. I'll just complain about the bad days when they come in our incomprehensibly short summer and pray the sun returns for at least a few days before Autumn arrives.
I usually love the arrival of Autumn. The first rains feel like a great shower, cleaning off all of the grime that has accumulated over the dry summer, the pavement is all shiny and sleek, the grass returns to its green color. The air is fresher. But how can I possibly enjoy the onset of Autumn when its starting in FREAKIN' August? It just not right!
I should go make some cocoa and toast and put on a robe and slippers and admit defeat. The sun will return again next year and I will be right here, water logged and waiting for its glorious rays to fill me to sustain me for another year.
Summer in the Northwest is not merely a time for fun in the sun. It is a time that we NEED. When else are we going to get Vitamin D?! When, I ask! We need the sun to sustain us through the long, gray, wet year. October - May and often into June and July SUCK in the Northwest. Sure we will get teasers, a couple of dry days coupled with blue skies in the winter are cold days for sure but they are BLUE days when you can see the foreign seldom seen yellow orb in the sky that people in other parts of the country know as the sun. On these days when the sun is out and it streams its bright, glorious light into your house or car you can feel the warmth and life it is giving. But these days are so rare. So very, very rare.
We usually get a couple of nice days thrown at us at random in the Spring when the sun is out, the clouds are few and fluffy and it gets just warm enough to roll down the windows in the car. I bet the homicide rates on these days drops drastically. Who wants to be all angry and go on a killing spree when the sun is out?
But then the clouds come back and we plunge back into darkness. We go on living. Living in the rain. Living in the cold. Living in the damp, the wet, the rainy, the mildewy weather. We go on living because we know, we know that once late July is here we will see the sun. All of that rain we put up with will keep everything around us, save the grass, green while we enjoy the heat of our incredibly short summer. We live for summer. Summer in the Northwest is like a glimpse into heaven. It gets just hot enough on some days that we are reminded that we do have it good, because even on the really, really hot days you still can't fry an egg on the sidewalk.
There are many a soul who have moved to Seattle after their torrid love affair with the summer. They see the beautiful, sleek Seattle with perky people everywhere. Our summer perk is a natural one; its when the clouds slither back that we turn to our dark, rich, coffee elixir to get us through the days that start dark and end dark.
Word to the wise: if you want to move to Seattle after visiting late July, August or September - DON'T. Come back in November when our basements are flooding and our glorious trees sway in the heavy winds and threaten to topple and take down our houses. Come back in the winter (or fall or spring) and I DARE you to wear light colored pants; you will after all only be walking from your car to the office (or store or mall), what harm could possibly come from that?
Bwa-ha-ha-ha.
It's days like these, usually preceded by a week of rain and gloom, that make Eastern Washington or Arizona look appealing. Until you learn that they have days that get well above 100 degrees. No thanks. I'll just complain about the bad days when they come in our incomprehensibly short summer and pray the sun returns for at least a few days before Autumn arrives.
I usually love the arrival of Autumn. The first rains feel like a great shower, cleaning off all of the grime that has accumulated over the dry summer, the pavement is all shiny and sleek, the grass returns to its green color. The air is fresher. But how can I possibly enjoy the onset of Autumn when its starting in FREAKIN' August? It just not right!
I should go make some cocoa and toast and put on a robe and slippers and admit defeat. The sun will return again next year and I will be right here, water logged and waiting for its glorious rays to fill me to sustain me for another year.
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