One of my most favorite things to do is wash laundry.
Ok, not really... But it's something I do every single day. Somehow between the 4 of us (Owen's laundry is done separate) we manage to dirty up an entire large load of clothes in a single day. And Kade's only here part time.
As often as I do laundry, I'm still not very good at it. I pretty much suck at folding clothes... I still have trouble telling the difference between Steve's and Aaron's jeans... I forget to throw a fabric softener sheet in the dryer at least twice a week... I've caught myself hanging Steve's clothes in MY closet (don't ask?) I've ran the water and detergent only to realize I never put the clothes in... I have had to wash the same load twice because I couldn't remember if I added the detergent or not... and I don't check pockets.
Checking pockets really is a must. I am constantly washing things that should not be washed in the washing machine, with clothes. I've washed mechanical pencils and ink pens (I've got stains to prove that), lighters, chap stick, dollar bills, and oodles of change... But the most surprising yet?
A pack of cigarettes.
The other night, Steve was getting ready to leave for work, and was frantically looking for his brand new pack of cigarettes. He ran out of time looking, so he gave up and bought more before work. I of course told him that he could save himself the trouble and just quit smoking... but he didn't like that idea.
The next day I was doing laundry (of course) and when I went to switch the load over to the dryer - I found his missing pack of cigarettes... In the bottom of the washing machine...
How in the heck I put a pair of jeans in the wash with a full pack in the pocket without realizing it is beyond me... I'm going to blame it on the lack of sleep.
Their plastic seal was still completely unbroken. I opened them up, and they were still dry... They also still stunk just like cigarettes. I assumed they were okay, so I put them on the nightstand for him to find when he woke up later in the afternoon.
I was secretly hoping that they would taste like laundry detergent and the taste would be disgusting enough to make him quit cold turkey, but apparently they were fine... He smoked them, no complaints.
Of course, knowing me, this was probably one of those times I forgot to put the laundry detergent to begin with... Go figure!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Birthing Owen
Owen Wayne Watson Nov. 9th, 2009 11:03 am. 6 lb. 14 oz. 20 in.
"Every pregnancy is different." I'd heard this phrase many times throughout my pregnancy with Owen. All I had for comparison was my pregnancy with Kaden over 3 years ago. The similarities between the two seemed to end as soon as the morning sickness was over. I had a normal, relaxed pregnancy with Kaden, and Owen was causing concern from the very first ultrasound.
After getting a mere 4 hours of sleep Sunday night (on the couch, 11pm-3am, waking every hour) we went in at 6am to have Owen's labor induced. I had woken up with an upset stomach that triggered contractions off and on through the night... This wasn't unusual - I had contractions off and on throughout most of my pregnancy with Owen, and it was a big factor in my taking off work early.
We got to labor & delivery just before 6am. I put on the oh-so-flattering hospital gown, and crawled into the uncomfortable bed. The nurse checked to see if I had dilated at all on my own (again, triggering a contraction) and lo and behold - I was already at 3 cm before any of the induction process was started.
They started the pitocin drip at around 6:30 and broke my water about a half hour later. The contractions were tolerable, until about 10:00. They were coming closer together and Steve suggested I ask about the epidural. I didn't think I needed it yet - because I was in nowhere near the amount of pain I was in with Kade.... But I asked anyways, and the nurse told me that the doctor was giving an epidural to the other gal that came in to be induced at the same time I did... (which made me feel MUCH better about going ahead and getting it) and as soon as she was finished she would send her in to do mine. The nurse checked me and said I was about 4-5 cm. That was 1-2 cm in 3 hours. At this rate, this was going to take all day!
The anesthesiologist was in about 10 minutes (3 hard contractions) later. Getting the epidural sucked! I had about 3 or 4 more nasty contractions while she was threading it through my back, and I just felt like different. I told the nurse as they got me situated on my back again, that I was feeling a lot of pressure. It felt like someone was sitting on my belly. She said she'd check me again to make sure I hadn't "done anything surprising."
Well I had. In the amount of time it took for them to get the epidural - twenty, maybe thirty minutes max - I had gone from 4-5 cm to being completely dilated and ready to push. And my doctor was not at the hospital.
The epidural kicked in and all I felt was relief. I was practically in a state of euphoria, cracking jokes and making fun of myself the whole time they were telling me not to push because the doctor wasn't back yet. Steve thought it was the meds making me loopy... but I remember it all, very well... I was just very happy. I was relieved because I'd survived. I was dreading labor after a miserable 14 hour labor with Kade, and this one had been cake. I was happy I stayed awake and would remember it. I was glad it was almost over after barely 4 1/2 hours.
I wasn't too concerned that my doctor was not at the hospital and there were nurses telling me NOT to push. I asked them "How the HELL do I not push?" And they told me to breathe - just like in the movies. Short ridiculous breaths.. So there I was, looking at Steve, panting like a dog, feeling like a fool... but absolutely elated, and in an incredibly good mood.
The doctor finally got there and in two pushes, Owen was born. I could FEEL him sliding out of my body... I got to hold him in my arms while we were still physically connected. I had no cuts or tears, and Owen (with Apgar scores of 9 and 9) was absolutely perfect.
At our first ultrasound, they discovered that Owen was missing a vessel in his umbilical cord. He only had two, where there were supposed to be three. They said it happens in 1 percent of pregnancies, they didn't know why. We were warned about the possibility of heart & kidney defects, Down Syndrome, low birthweight, and even the risk of stillbirth.... None of which are things we wanted to hear. We had multiple ultrasounds to watch his growth, and went in for other monitoring the last 4 or 5 weeks. The ultrasounds showed no problems with his heart or his kidneys, which was a relief. We turned down the chromosome testing they offered us to check for Down Syndrome.
We were told he would likely be a "petite" baby. At our last ultrasound at 36 weeks, they estimated he weighed 5 pounds. At my 38 week appointment, my uterus was measuring 6 weeks small. Steve and I were expecting a 5-6 pound baby boy...
As it was, Owen's birthweight was the exact same as Kaden's was... And Owen was a half inch longer.
It was, overall, one of the most incredible, unforgettable experiences that I've ever had... and I couldn't be more blessed to have this little man.
"Every pregnancy is different." I'd heard this phrase many times throughout my pregnancy with Owen. All I had for comparison was my pregnancy with Kaden over 3 years ago. The similarities between the two seemed to end as soon as the morning sickness was over. I had a normal, relaxed pregnancy with Kaden, and Owen was causing concern from the very first ultrasound.
After getting a mere 4 hours of sleep Sunday night (on the couch, 11pm-3am, waking every hour) we went in at 6am to have Owen's labor induced. I had woken up with an upset stomach that triggered contractions off and on through the night... This wasn't unusual - I had contractions off and on throughout most of my pregnancy with Owen, and it was a big factor in my taking off work early.
We got to labor & delivery just before 6am. I put on the oh-so-flattering hospital gown, and crawled into the uncomfortable bed. The nurse checked to see if I had dilated at all on my own (again, triggering a contraction) and lo and behold - I was already at 3 cm before any of the induction process was started.
They started the pitocin drip at around 6:30 and broke my water about a half hour later. The contractions were tolerable, until about 10:00. They were coming closer together and Steve suggested I ask about the epidural. I didn't think I needed it yet - because I was in nowhere near the amount of pain I was in with Kade.... But I asked anyways, and the nurse told me that the doctor was giving an epidural to the other gal that came in to be induced at the same time I did... (which made me feel MUCH better about going ahead and getting it) and as soon as she was finished she would send her in to do mine. The nurse checked me and said I was about 4-5 cm. That was 1-2 cm in 3 hours. At this rate, this was going to take all day!
The anesthesiologist was in about 10 minutes (3 hard contractions) later. Getting the epidural sucked! I had about 3 or 4 more nasty contractions while she was threading it through my back, and I just felt like different. I told the nurse as they got me situated on my back again, that I was feeling a lot of pressure. It felt like someone was sitting on my belly. She said she'd check me again to make sure I hadn't "done anything surprising."
Well I had. In the amount of time it took for them to get the epidural - twenty, maybe thirty minutes max - I had gone from 4-5 cm to being completely dilated and ready to push. And my doctor was not at the hospital.
The epidural kicked in and all I felt was relief. I was practically in a state of euphoria, cracking jokes and making fun of myself the whole time they were telling me not to push because the doctor wasn't back yet. Steve thought it was the meds making me loopy... but I remember it all, very well... I was just very happy. I was relieved because I'd survived. I was dreading labor after a miserable 14 hour labor with Kade, and this one had been cake. I was happy I stayed awake and would remember it. I was glad it was almost over after barely 4 1/2 hours.
I wasn't too concerned that my doctor was not at the hospital and there were nurses telling me NOT to push. I asked them "How the HELL do I not push?" And they told me to breathe - just like in the movies. Short ridiculous breaths.. So there I was, looking at Steve, panting like a dog, feeling like a fool... but absolutely elated, and in an incredibly good mood.
The doctor finally got there and in two pushes, Owen was born. I could FEEL him sliding out of my body... I got to hold him in my arms while we were still physically connected. I had no cuts or tears, and Owen (with Apgar scores of 9 and 9) was absolutely perfect.
At our first ultrasound, they discovered that Owen was missing a vessel in his umbilical cord. He only had two, where there were supposed to be three. They said it happens in 1 percent of pregnancies, they didn't know why. We were warned about the possibility of heart & kidney defects, Down Syndrome, low birthweight, and even the risk of stillbirth.... None of which are things we wanted to hear. We had multiple ultrasounds to watch his growth, and went in for other monitoring the last 4 or 5 weeks. The ultrasounds showed no problems with his heart or his kidneys, which was a relief. We turned down the chromosome testing they offered us to check for Down Syndrome.
We were told he would likely be a "petite" baby. At our last ultrasound at 36 weeks, they estimated he weighed 5 pounds. At my 38 week appointment, my uterus was measuring 6 weeks small. Steve and I were expecting a 5-6 pound baby boy...
As it was, Owen's birthweight was the exact same as Kaden's was... And Owen was a half inch longer.
It was, overall, one of the most incredible, unforgettable experiences that I've ever had... and I couldn't be more blessed to have this little man.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Thanksgiving
I'm finding it very hard to believe that it's this time of year already, but Thanksgiving is less than a week away, and Christmas is just a month after that. Walk into any store, and there are already endless aisles of decorations on display, turkeys are on sale, Christmas carols over the intercom and both the parking lot and checkout lanes are packed full. 'Tis the season!
As a kid, this was the time of year that I would sit down and make a massive list of all the toys that I didn't have, and just couldn't live without. Now, as an adult, I'm making a massive list of all the things I am thankful that I do have, and couldn't live without... and it isn't a list of "things...." It's basically a list of people, or to sum it up... Family.
I am so unbelievably blessed that it's not even fair to the rest of the world.
I am thankful to be so surrounded by people that love me. Some people rarely hear "I love you," but I don't go a single day without hearing it and seeing it. My mom makes it a point to tell me she loves me every time she gets off the phone with me (and you can ask Steve, we talk often). Kade tells me every day he's here. I hear it from Steve all the time. Aaron even has his own way of showing it (poking my leftover baby belly and jiggling my arm fat is teenager for "I love you" right)? And baby Owen, I can't even explain... And I can't possibly list every way I am shown... But I have the best parents in the world, and Steve is an absolutely amazing human being.
I am thankful for my new extended family - Steve and Aaron, his parents, his brothers and sisters and their families, his older kids.... They've all welcomed Kaden and I in to their family with such big open arms, that we feel like we've been family all along. I truly am blessed.
Of course I am thankful for my extended family, too... I could sit and make a list of each family member and the things they've done for me... but it would be massive, and I don't want to leave anyone out... plus, I'm not allowed to mention Aunt Cindy in any of my blogs (My dad is right, I don't hold anything back)... But I am certainly blessed with my family, they have all been there for me in their own ways.
Maybe it's leftover pregnancy/postpartum hormones, but I sit here teary eyed at how lucky I am to have such wonderful people in my life.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. =)
As a kid, this was the time of year that I would sit down and make a massive list of all the toys that I didn't have, and just couldn't live without. Now, as an adult, I'm making a massive list of all the things I am thankful that I do have, and couldn't live without... and it isn't a list of "things...." It's basically a list of people, or to sum it up... Family.
I am so unbelievably blessed that it's not even fair to the rest of the world.
I am thankful to be so surrounded by people that love me. Some people rarely hear "I love you," but I don't go a single day without hearing it and seeing it. My mom makes it a point to tell me she loves me every time she gets off the phone with me (and you can ask Steve, we talk often). Kade tells me every day he's here. I hear it from Steve all the time. Aaron even has his own way of showing it (poking my leftover baby belly and jiggling my arm fat is teenager for "I love you" right)? And baby Owen, I can't even explain... And I can't possibly list every way I am shown... But I have the best parents in the world, and Steve is an absolutely amazing human being.
I am thankful for my new extended family - Steve and Aaron, his parents, his brothers and sisters and their families, his older kids.... They've all welcomed Kaden and I in to their family with such big open arms, that we feel like we've been family all along. I truly am blessed.
Of course I am thankful for my extended family, too... I could sit and make a list of each family member and the things they've done for me... but it would be massive, and I don't want to leave anyone out... plus, I'm not allowed to mention Aunt Cindy in any of my blogs (My dad is right, I don't hold anything back)... But I am certainly blessed with my family, they have all been there for me in their own ways.
Maybe it's leftover pregnancy/postpartum hormones, but I sit here teary eyed at how lucky I am to have such wonderful people in my life.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. =)
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Dinah, won't you blow your horn?
'Tis the season for colds and runny noses.
Though Kade is only 3 years old, he can pretty much tell you when he needs a kleenex... which is pretty much constantly. He is a snotty kid, and that's all there is to it. Granted, he does pick his boogers... and sometimes I catch him with snot strung all across his face, but when he sneezes, he knows his nose needs wiped. He's a good little nose blower, too, even when his little sniffer is sore and red from blowing it so much.
So, if my three year old can blow his nose, why is it that the 16 year old sitting behind me can't blow his? No, I'm actually not talking about Aaron, this time it's one of his buddies... The one that I've fondly come to refer to as the "family dog." He eats the leftovers, drinks out of bowls (no joke) and is most often the culprit if you're missing a shoe or your underwear.... And now the constant sniffing... ugh.
I would think that it would be less work to get up and get a kleenex than it would be to continually suck your snot back up, swallow it (he's obviously not getting up to spit it out) and restart the whole process every freaking 30 seconds.
That's just gross... but it's exactly what he's doing. Sniffing the snot back into his nose, instead of blowing it out... sucking it into his throat... and then swallowing it!
GROSS!
Maybe if I wave a ball in front of his face (here boy!) and toss it across the room into a box of tissues (go get it!), he'll fetch it (Good boy!!) and actually get the friggen point?
Probably not....
Sure, you can teach an old dog new tricks... but you can't teach a teenager anything.
Though Kade is only 3 years old, he can pretty much tell you when he needs a kleenex... which is pretty much constantly. He is a snotty kid, and that's all there is to it. Granted, he does pick his boogers... and sometimes I catch him with snot strung all across his face, but when he sneezes, he knows his nose needs wiped. He's a good little nose blower, too, even when his little sniffer is sore and red from blowing it so much.
So, if my three year old can blow his nose, why is it that the 16 year old sitting behind me can't blow his? No, I'm actually not talking about Aaron, this time it's one of his buddies... The one that I've fondly come to refer to as the "family dog." He eats the leftovers, drinks out of bowls (no joke) and is most often the culprit if you're missing a shoe or your underwear.... And now the constant sniffing... ugh.
I would think that it would be less work to get up and get a kleenex than it would be to continually suck your snot back up, swallow it (he's obviously not getting up to spit it out) and restart the whole process every freaking 30 seconds.
That's just gross... but it's exactly what he's doing. Sniffing the snot back into his nose, instead of blowing it out... sucking it into his throat... and then swallowing it!
GROSS!
Maybe if I wave a ball in front of his face (here boy!) and toss it across the room into a box of tissues (go get it!), he'll fetch it (Good boy!!) and actually get the friggen point?
Probably not....
Sure, you can teach an old dog new tricks... but you can't teach a teenager anything.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Making a splash
Early in the year, my parents and I "upgraded" our cell phones. My dad signed another contract with AT&T, and the three of us drooled over the displays of fancy gidgets, gadgets, and widgets that we didn't have any idea how to use.
My mom specifically wanted a camera phone. She ended up picking out a basic flip phone in a pretty pink color. Dad chose the same model in a more masculine hue.
I had been waiting on the upgrade for quite some time, and after doing some research (not very extensive research) I had decided on the new LG Vu.
It didn't take long for my parents to get bored with their basic models, and they both exchanged their new cells for the Vu as well.
Since then, we've had nothing but trouble with them. All three of our phones have been sent in to be replaced at least once. From not being able to access the mobile web, problems receiving texts, to battery issues and a seriously annoying lack of signal, we've fondly come to refer to our phones as "pieces of crap."
I was expecting my mom to show up at the house at any time this morning, when I received a phone call from her on her home phone. I was confused, as she had just sent me a text that said she was on her way.
Mom is a heavy coffee drinker... and heavy coffee drinkers pee just about as often as pregnant women. Before coming over to see her grandsons this morning, she decided to empty her bladder at home one more time (I can't blame her, she's read what I've blogged about our potty issues here).
Apparently her "piece of crap" cell phone was in her back pocket. When she pulled down her jeans, the LG Vu fell out of her back pocket, and directly into the toilet.
Nice.
I'm sure she'll murder me for blogging about it, but I just can't help it.
I've had many close calls myself, and dropping the phone in the stool has been one of my fears for a long time now.
We're hoping she'll be able to get a new phone out of the insurance - We know that it doesn't cover water damage... but the contract doesn't mention urine damage.
My mom specifically wanted a camera phone. She ended up picking out a basic flip phone in a pretty pink color. Dad chose the same model in a more masculine hue.
I had been waiting on the upgrade for quite some time, and after doing some research (not very extensive research) I had decided on the new LG Vu.
It didn't take long for my parents to get bored with their basic models, and they both exchanged their new cells for the Vu as well.
Since then, we've had nothing but trouble with them. All three of our phones have been sent in to be replaced at least once. From not being able to access the mobile web, problems receiving texts, to battery issues and a seriously annoying lack of signal, we've fondly come to refer to our phones as "pieces of crap."
I was expecting my mom to show up at the house at any time this morning, when I received a phone call from her on her home phone. I was confused, as she had just sent me a text that said she was on her way.
Mom is a heavy coffee drinker... and heavy coffee drinkers pee just about as often as pregnant women. Before coming over to see her grandsons this morning, she decided to empty her bladder at home one more time (I can't blame her, she's read what I've blogged about our potty issues here).
Apparently her "piece of crap" cell phone was in her back pocket. When she pulled down her jeans, the LG Vu fell out of her back pocket, and directly into the toilet.
Nice.
I'm sure she'll murder me for blogging about it, but I just can't help it.
I've had many close calls myself, and dropping the phone in the stool has been one of my fears for a long time now.
We're hoping she'll be able to get a new phone out of the insurance - We know that it doesn't cover water damage... but the contract doesn't mention urine damage.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The mind of my 3 year old
With just ten hours to go before I'm due at the hospital to have my second, I thought it would be fitting to write about my first born son.
He is, without a doubt, a complete nut... and I love him to pieces. Kaden's at an age right now where I really wish I could preserve every fragment of his imagination, write down every word he says, and capture everything he does on video.
I've probably said this at every stage he's gone through... but he is really developing quite a little personality.
Oh, the things he does... Yesterday morning he was eating dry apple jacks cereal for breakfast. Of course, he didn't eat them all and they ended up scattered on my parent's living room floor. I told him to pick them up once, and surprisingly, he listened very well.... but it didn't take long at all before he had a few strung out again. For the last time before we headed back home, I told him to pick the cereal up off the floor... Again, he listened... though he didn't do it as I had intended for him to... =/
No, leave it to Kade to get on his hands and knees and pick up his trail of apple jacks one by one with his mouth like a dog following a kibble trail directly into a cage.
On his wild imagination.. Earlier this afternoon, I dressed him in the Spiderman (or "SPYMAN" as Kade calls him) Halloween costume that his Papaw Ed sewed together out of two pairs of blue sweatpants and a red turtleneck. I snapped a couple picks of him on my phone before he climbed into my lap and licked my forehead.
"What in the world are you doing?" I asked him, perplexed. He started panting like a dog. "I'm Bolt!" He proclaimed proudly, as I dodged a second lapping.
His daddy took him trick or treating as Bolt, so I knew he was making a connection with wearing costumes... I love that imagination, and I appreciate the gesture, but I prefer real kisses, not dog-like lick kisses!
As for the things he says?
Shortly before the Spiderman/Bolt identity crisis and after having 2 hot dogs, some Doritos and a Nutripals chocolate shake for lunch (that makes up for the Doritos and mystery meat, right?) Kaden had a nasty thick, smelly, poopy diaper. Fantastic. He's usually just a once-a-day pooper, so I wasn't expecting him to go anymore, but I told him to tell me the next time he had to go. He went through a list of other trusted adults.
"Or tell Steve?" He asked.
"Yep, or tell Steve!" I replied.
"Or Aaron? Or Grandma Debby? Or Papaw Ed? Or Grandma Elsie?" On and on down his list he went.
"Yes, Kade, just tell someone you have to go!"
"Okay" He said happily, as if he actually was going to listen this time. We've been through this a million times, and he always tells us when it's too late.
"Or better yet," I said teasingly, "If you have to poop again, wait until you're at Grandma Debby's!" Yes, I'm an awful mother.
"Okay!" He said again, and he wandered upstairs to play.
A few hours later, and about ten minutes before my parents arrived to pick him up (they're keeping him tonight, since we'll be leaving for the hospital between 4:30 and 5am) Kade came running downstairs in a hurry.
"Mommy! Mommy! I pooped! I pooped!" he said, backing his butt up to me for proof, "We gotta go to Grandma Debby's!"
All I could do was laugh, giggle, snicker and call my mom to tell her all about the bullet she'd just dodged. Did he make the connection that I wanted him to be at Grandma's when he pooped? Or did he poop again because he thought he would get to see Grandma Debby?
The latter honestly scares me. This kid loves my mom...
If Kaden starts pooping every time he wants to see Grandma Debby, I'll literally be in deep shit..
He is, without a doubt, a complete nut... and I love him to pieces. Kaden's at an age right now where I really wish I could preserve every fragment of his imagination, write down every word he says, and capture everything he does on video.
I've probably said this at every stage he's gone through... but he is really developing quite a little personality.
Oh, the things he does... Yesterday morning he was eating dry apple jacks cereal for breakfast. Of course, he didn't eat them all and they ended up scattered on my parent's living room floor. I told him to pick them up once, and surprisingly, he listened very well.... but it didn't take long at all before he had a few strung out again. For the last time before we headed back home, I told him to pick the cereal up off the floor... Again, he listened... though he didn't do it as I had intended for him to... =/
No, leave it to Kade to get on his hands and knees and pick up his trail of apple jacks one by one with his mouth like a dog following a kibble trail directly into a cage.
On his wild imagination.. Earlier this afternoon, I dressed him in the Spiderman (or "SPYMAN" as Kade calls him) Halloween costume that his Papaw Ed sewed together out of two pairs of blue sweatpants and a red turtleneck. I snapped a couple picks of him on my phone before he climbed into my lap and licked my forehead.
"What in the world are you doing?" I asked him, perplexed. He started panting like a dog. "I'm Bolt!" He proclaimed proudly, as I dodged a second lapping.
His daddy took him trick or treating as Bolt, so I knew he was making a connection with wearing costumes... I love that imagination, and I appreciate the gesture, but I prefer real kisses, not dog-like lick kisses!
As for the things he says?
Shortly before the Spiderman/Bolt identity crisis and after having 2 hot dogs, some Doritos and a Nutripals chocolate shake for lunch (that makes up for the Doritos and mystery meat, right?) Kaden had a nasty thick, smelly, poopy diaper. Fantastic. He's usually just a once-a-day pooper, so I wasn't expecting him to go anymore, but I told him to tell me the next time he had to go. He went through a list of other trusted adults.
"Or tell Steve?" He asked.
"Yep, or tell Steve!" I replied.
"Or Aaron? Or Grandma Debby? Or Papaw Ed? Or Grandma Elsie?" On and on down his list he went.
"Yes, Kade, just tell someone you have to go!"
"Okay" He said happily, as if he actually was going to listen this time. We've been through this a million times, and he always tells us when it's too late.
"Or better yet," I said teasingly, "If you have to poop again, wait until you're at Grandma Debby's!" Yes, I'm an awful mother.
"Okay!" He said again, and he wandered upstairs to play.
A few hours later, and about ten minutes before my parents arrived to pick him up (they're keeping him tonight, since we'll be leaving for the hospital between 4:30 and 5am) Kade came running downstairs in a hurry.
"Mommy! Mommy! I pooped! I pooped!" he said, backing his butt up to me for proof, "We gotta go to Grandma Debby's!"
All I could do was laugh, giggle, snicker and call my mom to tell her all about the bullet she'd just dodged. Did he make the connection that I wanted him to be at Grandma's when he pooped? Or did he poop again because he thought he would get to see Grandma Debby?
The latter honestly scares me. This kid loves my mom...
If Kaden starts pooping every time he wants to see Grandma Debby, I'll literally be in deep shit..
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
What's for dinner?
One of the most pondered questions in this household has got to be "What's for dinner?"
We keep an updated list of the meals we have the "fixin's" for on the fridge every week, so it's not that there's nothing in the house to cook, it's more a matter of "What do I feel like cooking for dinner?"
It has been an especially tough question lately, with Steve and I both having toothaches, and me being big, fat and pregnant, feeling less and less like cooking every day.
Steve fired up the grill tonight and fixed pork chops, baked potatoes and mac & cheese.
Kade actually laid himself down for a rare nap and slept through supper, and was in quite a mood when he woke up. I reheated him a plate and attempted to get him to eat. He doesn't usually do porkchops very well, but I wanted to get some protein in him.
"Do you want a peanut butter sandwich?" I asked him, getting the bread out of the cabinet. He doesn't usually turn down a peanut butter sandwich, but as I said, he was just in one of those moods when he woke up.
"No, just bread!" He answered. I caved. He ate a good lunch, anyways.
After a few bites of mac and cheese and a bite of his bread, my little chef got a brilliant idea.
"I want macaroni and cheese on my bread!" He told me. He has seen me put spaghetti on garlic bread before, I figured that's where he got the idea.... but eww. That doesn't sound good at all.
"You want macaroni on your bread?" I asked him, unsure about it.
"Yeah! I want a macaroni and cheese sandwich!" He replied confidently.
Reluctantly, I spooned his macaroni onto his bread and folded it in half... And he ate it. A macaroni and cheese sandwich.
Though I love my son to pieces, and applaud his creative thinking, I don't think we'll be serving Macaroni and Cheese Sandwiches in "Cafe World" any time in the near future.
We keep an updated list of the meals we have the "fixin's" for on the fridge every week, so it's not that there's nothing in the house to cook, it's more a matter of "What do I feel like cooking for dinner?"
It has been an especially tough question lately, with Steve and I both having toothaches, and me being big, fat and pregnant, feeling less and less like cooking every day.
Steve fired up the grill tonight and fixed pork chops, baked potatoes and mac & cheese.
Kade actually laid himself down for a rare nap and slept through supper, and was in quite a mood when he woke up. I reheated him a plate and attempted to get him to eat. He doesn't usually do porkchops very well, but I wanted to get some protein in him.
"Do you want a peanut butter sandwich?" I asked him, getting the bread out of the cabinet. He doesn't usually turn down a peanut butter sandwich, but as I said, he was just in one of those moods when he woke up.
"No, just bread!" He answered. I caved. He ate a good lunch, anyways.
After a few bites of mac and cheese and a bite of his bread, my little chef got a brilliant idea.
"I want macaroni and cheese on my bread!" He told me. He has seen me put spaghetti on garlic bread before, I figured that's where he got the idea.... but eww. That doesn't sound good at all.
"You want macaroni on your bread?" I asked him, unsure about it.
"Yeah! I want a macaroni and cheese sandwich!" He replied confidently.
Reluctantly, I spooned his macaroni onto his bread and folded it in half... And he ate it. A macaroni and cheese sandwich.
Though I love my son to pieces, and applaud his creative thinking, I don't think we'll be serving Macaroni and Cheese Sandwiches in "Cafe World" any time in the near future.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Two Pounds
According to this website (and multiple other sources) a woman gains two pounds of boob while pregnant.
I will admit that I most certainly have gained some poundage in the chest... though I can't really tell you how much. Honestly, I'm unsure of how anyone would be able to tell you how much boob they gained or did not gain during pregnancy. I certainly didn't weigh my knockers before getting knocked up... And I haven't weighed them after, either.
I have a really bad image in my head of OB/GYN's weighing their patient's breasts on the same type of scale my mother used to use to weigh her food when she was on Weight Watchers. That just can't be accurate.
Now, I was pretty well endowed before I got pregnant, but my mommy mammaries are really on the ridiculous side. If I were to paint each one blue, they would remind me of "Bob" from the movie Monsters VS Aliens.
Bob basically swallows or engulfs anything he comes to contact with. In the movie, he gives another character a hug and nearly suffocates the guy.
Yes, that definitely sounds familiar.
In this tide commercial a pregnant lady is shown eating ice cream, dropping some on her belly multiple times. I don't have this problem. My shirts are all stained on the chest, not the belly.
Actually, the shirts aren't even stained, because my boobs have gotten so big, they stick out the top of all of my shirts. I could wear a button down blouse completely buttoned up, with the collar popped up, and they'd still stick out. I've got cleavage up to my chin.
These girls catch everything. I feel like I am constantly brushing crumbs off my chest We should probably have a garbage disposal installed in our shower, because at the end of the day, I swear I'm washing a 3 course meal out from between and underneath my boobs and right down the drain. Heck, that could be why I haven't gained much weight with this pregnancy - I'm only eating half of my meals - the other half gets lost in my cleavage.
OK, So I'm sure I'm exaggerating just a bit here... but they're definitely massive, and I am constantly brushing crumbs off of them. They are uncomfortable, they get in the way, and are just plain annoying.
I don't even know what "tat" is, but at this point, exchanging my two extra pounds of tit for tat sounds like a pretty good deal.
I will admit that I most certainly have gained some poundage in the chest... though I can't really tell you how much. Honestly, I'm unsure of how anyone would be able to tell you how much boob they gained or did not gain during pregnancy. I certainly didn't weigh my knockers before getting knocked up... And I haven't weighed them after, either.
I have a really bad image in my head of OB/GYN's weighing their patient's breasts on the same type of scale my mother used to use to weigh her food when she was on Weight Watchers. That just can't be accurate.
Now, I was pretty well endowed before I got pregnant, but my mommy mammaries are really on the ridiculous side. If I were to paint each one blue, they would remind me of "Bob" from the movie Monsters VS Aliens.
Bob basically swallows or engulfs anything he comes to contact with. In the movie, he gives another character a hug and nearly suffocates the guy.
Yes, that definitely sounds familiar.
In this tide commercial a pregnant lady is shown eating ice cream, dropping some on her belly multiple times. I don't have this problem. My shirts are all stained on the chest, not the belly.
Actually, the shirts aren't even stained, because my boobs have gotten so big, they stick out the top of all of my shirts. I could wear a button down blouse completely buttoned up, with the collar popped up, and they'd still stick out. I've got cleavage up to my chin.
These girls catch everything. I feel like I am constantly brushing crumbs off my chest We should probably have a garbage disposal installed in our shower, because at the end of the day, I swear I'm washing a 3 course meal out from between and underneath my boobs and right down the drain. Heck, that could be why I haven't gained much weight with this pregnancy - I'm only eating half of my meals - the other half gets lost in my cleavage.
OK, So I'm sure I'm exaggerating just a bit here... but they're definitely massive, and I am constantly brushing crumbs off of them. They are uncomfortable, they get in the way, and are just plain annoying.
I don't even know what "tat" is, but at this point, exchanging my two extra pounds of tit for tat sounds like a pretty good deal.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Shit or get off the pot
One of the joys of this pregnancy has been waking up sick to my stomach in the middle of the night. I've had this problem through the whole 9 months, but it's gotten increasingly worse the farther along I get. Right now, I am waking up sick a couple of times a week.
Last night was just one of those nights.
I woke up with heartburn, nausea and a gurgling stomach. Crawling out of bed and waddling to the bathroom started contractions. I was absolutely miserable.
Sitting on the floor, contracting, there was one question I had on my mind... and no, it wasn't "Should I go to the hospital?"
The question was "Do I shit or get off the pot (so I can throw up in it)?" I knew I was going to be sick, I just didn't know which end it was coming from first. I'm sure this sounds strange, but in all my misery, that well-known phrase made the wheels start turning in my head... And now that I'm feeling better, I feel compelled to write about it.
For the record, I ended up grabbing the empty mop bucket. I decided there was no way I was going to put my face close enough to the toilet to not miss.
So, shit or get off the pot. My question for today - WHY do boys take so long to poop? I'm pretty sure we've come to the conclusion that bathrooms, or toilets specifically, are disgusting.. So why is it that guys dawdle around in there? If it takes you 30 minutes to poop, maybe you just didn't have to go yet.
My dad takes a really long time to poop. If you see him headed towards the bathroom with an Ayn Rand book in hand, you'd be wise to not drink anything for at least an hour.
It's actually amazing, because if you do happen to be unfortunate enough to need to use the bathroom while he's in there, if you just knock on the door and politely explain your situation, suddenly, he's done. If you knock on the door, he can poop in 5 minutes.. but when left alone, he could be in there all afternoon.
Why in the world would anyone want to stay in there that long?
Maybe he just gets into the book, I don't know... But there's no crime in reading outside of the bathroom, Dad. Shit or get off the pot!
Aaron tends to take a long time in the bathroom as well. I've learned to take a quick potty break just before 3pm during the week because he's an "after-school-pooper." If he gets in there first, it's going to be a good 20 minutes until he's out of there, and then you have to wait for it to air out. He doesn't take a book to the bathroom... But I imagine he spends his length of time in there texting and smoking... and No, just so you know, the smell of a 16 year old boy's poop does not mask the smell of a cigarette... Nor does the smell of a cigarette mask the smell of a 16 year old boy's poop.
I just personally can't imagine why you'd want to spend so much time doing something so disgusting. My philosophy - get in and get out before anyone else figures out what you're doing!
And that's where the myth that "Girls don't poop" came from.
We do.
We just don't dilly dally when it comes to dropping a dollop.
Last night was just one of those nights.
I woke up with heartburn, nausea and a gurgling stomach. Crawling out of bed and waddling to the bathroom started contractions. I was absolutely miserable.
Sitting on the floor, contracting, there was one question I had on my mind... and no, it wasn't "Should I go to the hospital?"
The question was "Do I shit or get off the pot (so I can throw up in it)?" I knew I was going to be sick, I just didn't know which end it was coming from first. I'm sure this sounds strange, but in all my misery, that well-known phrase made the wheels start turning in my head... And now that I'm feeling better, I feel compelled to write about it.
For the record, I ended up grabbing the empty mop bucket. I decided there was no way I was going to put my face close enough to the toilet to not miss.
So, shit or get off the pot. My question for today - WHY do boys take so long to poop? I'm pretty sure we've come to the conclusion that bathrooms, or toilets specifically, are disgusting.. So why is it that guys dawdle around in there? If it takes you 30 minutes to poop, maybe you just didn't have to go yet.
My dad takes a really long time to poop. If you see him headed towards the bathroom with an Ayn Rand book in hand, you'd be wise to not drink anything for at least an hour.
It's actually amazing, because if you do happen to be unfortunate enough to need to use the bathroom while he's in there, if you just knock on the door and politely explain your situation, suddenly, he's done. If you knock on the door, he can poop in 5 minutes.. but when left alone, he could be in there all afternoon.
Why in the world would anyone want to stay in there that long?
Maybe he just gets into the book, I don't know... But there's no crime in reading outside of the bathroom, Dad. Shit or get off the pot!
Aaron tends to take a long time in the bathroom as well. I've learned to take a quick potty break just before 3pm during the week because he's an "after-school-pooper." If he gets in there first, it's going to be a good 20 minutes until he's out of there, and then you have to wait for it to air out. He doesn't take a book to the bathroom... But I imagine he spends his length of time in there texting and smoking... and No, just so you know, the smell of a 16 year old boy's poop does not mask the smell of a cigarette... Nor does the smell of a cigarette mask the smell of a 16 year old boy's poop.
I just personally can't imagine why you'd want to spend so much time doing something so disgusting. My philosophy - get in and get out before anyone else figures out what you're doing!
And that's where the myth that "Girls don't poop" came from.
We do.
We just don't dilly dally when it comes to dropping a dollop.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
4 days.
I had my 38 week appointment this morning.
It started out as they usually do - I peed in a cup and weighed myself, then the nurse took my blood pressure. I reported the results of my weigh-in (I'm up to about ten pounds total gained, now) and she recorded my pee test results in my chart (Yes, it's still positive). She went on about how close I'm getting, and my little belly.
Then she did something not so routine...
She warned me that my doctor is going to be out of town next week.
Oh God. Are you kidding me? My doctor is skipping town |thisclose| to my due date? Is that even legal? You've already given me a due date of Friday the 13th... I don't need any more bad luck! My doctor cannot leave town!
Well, it's not like I won't have a doctor there to deliver the baby if I do happen to go into labor while my doctor is out of town... The office is shared by two doctors - If one is busy or gone, the other doctor will fill in.
Now, I haven't met the other doctor yet, but she delivered my friend Michelle's youngest daughter.
Oh yeah, this other doctor also dated the father of the baby she could potentially be delivering. Granted, it was before I was even born... but wow... can you say awkward?
On with the appointment...
The nurse took me back to see the doctor, who did the typical normal stuff there... we listened to the baby's heartbeat and she measured my belly (which came in about 6 weeks smaller than it should be). She asked about my sleep (still not getting any), my heartburn (still constant), my bladder (yep, it's overworked) and my poop (not giving you details on that one).
Then she explained she would be out of town next week.
Yep. Got that. Which means that my appointment next week will be with the other doctor - Steve's old high school girlfriend. Fun times.
Then she did something really out of the ordinary.
She mentioned the "I" word... "induction." If I don't go into labor during the week that she is gone, my doctor wants to induce labor the day she comes back... Which is 4 days before my due date.
4 days.
Which means I went from having 15 days left, to only having 11. On the bright side, I won't be having a baby on Friday the 13th.... Instead, I will be getting my butt to the hospital at 6am on Monday, November 9th.
For some reason, this makes me incredibly nervous. As if the big belly and all the feet in my ribs wasn't enough of a reminder, it's like....
This is it...
It's scheduled...
No turning back now...
I'm having a baby.
It started out as they usually do - I peed in a cup and weighed myself, then the nurse took my blood pressure. I reported the results of my weigh-in (I'm up to about ten pounds total gained, now) and she recorded my pee test results in my chart (Yes, it's still positive). She went on about how close I'm getting, and my little belly.
Then she did something not so routine...
She warned me that my doctor is going to be out of town next week.
Oh God. Are you kidding me? My doctor is skipping town |thisclose| to my due date? Is that even legal? You've already given me a due date of Friday the 13th... I don't need any more bad luck! My doctor cannot leave town!
Well, it's not like I won't have a doctor there to deliver the baby if I do happen to go into labor while my doctor is out of town... The office is shared by two doctors - If one is busy or gone, the other doctor will fill in.
Now, I haven't met the other doctor yet, but she delivered my friend Michelle's youngest daughter.
Oh yeah, this other doctor also dated the father of the baby she could potentially be delivering. Granted, it was before I was even born... but wow... can you say awkward?
On with the appointment...
The nurse took me back to see the doctor, who did the typical normal stuff there... we listened to the baby's heartbeat and she measured my belly (which came in about 6 weeks smaller than it should be). She asked about my sleep (still not getting any), my heartburn (still constant), my bladder (yep, it's overworked) and my poop (not giving you details on that one).
Then she explained she would be out of town next week.
Yep. Got that. Which means that my appointment next week will be with the other doctor - Steve's old high school girlfriend. Fun times.
Then she did something really out of the ordinary.
She mentioned the "I" word... "induction." If I don't go into labor during the week that she is gone, my doctor wants to induce labor the day she comes back... Which is 4 days before my due date.
4 days.
Which means I went from having 15 days left, to only having 11. On the bright side, I won't be having a baby on Friday the 13th.... Instead, I will be getting my butt to the hospital at 6am on Monday, November 9th.
For some reason, this makes me incredibly nervous. As if the big belly and all the feet in my ribs wasn't enough of a reminder, it's like....
This is it...
It's scheduled...
No turning back now...
I'm having a baby.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I guess I'm a commitment-phobe.
I have a really bad habit of not keeping hobbies.
I like to think of myself as a fairly creative person - the main hobbies I tend to cycle through are writing, playing guitar, and scrapbooking (or another craft). Right now, obviously, I've been on a writing kick (which is a good thing).
But how long will it last? How long will I keep my blog up before I cycle off to another hobby? I have been eyeballing the acoustic sitting alone in the corner of the bedroom. I can remember a time when I picked that thing up every time I had a free minute to myself.
I have hundreds of dollars (at least) worth of scrapbooking paper, tools and other supplies just sitting collecting dust. And I've got an unfinished baby blanket that I started to crochet just a few weeks ago, that will probably never be finished before the baby gets here. A few years ago, I was going to start sewing. I actually made (and finished) a dress that I wore while I was pregnant with Kade. I spent money on material and thread. I have a nice sewing machine that sits in the box... I haven't done anything with it since I got it.
It's not just creative hobbies that I can't keep. I can't even make a full commitment to a silly facebook application. I play a game for a few weeks, then get tired of it and move on to another game.
Yeah, this "hobby cycling" is a pretty expensive habit... But I guess there are worse things I could be cycling through... and I know I'm not the only one with this issue...
Dad I am calling you out to share some of your "hobby cycling" in hopes of getting some more interaction going on here! Don't let me down!
I like to think of myself as a fairly creative person - the main hobbies I tend to cycle through are writing, playing guitar, and scrapbooking (or another craft). Right now, obviously, I've been on a writing kick (which is a good thing).
But how long will it last? How long will I keep my blog up before I cycle off to another hobby? I have been eyeballing the acoustic sitting alone in the corner of the bedroom. I can remember a time when I picked that thing up every time I had a free minute to myself.
I have hundreds of dollars (at least) worth of scrapbooking paper, tools and other supplies just sitting collecting dust. And I've got an unfinished baby blanket that I started to crochet just a few weeks ago, that will probably never be finished before the baby gets here. A few years ago, I was going to start sewing. I actually made (and finished) a dress that I wore while I was pregnant with Kade. I spent money on material and thread. I have a nice sewing machine that sits in the box... I haven't done anything with it since I got it.
It's not just creative hobbies that I can't keep. I can't even make a full commitment to a silly facebook application. I play a game for a few weeks, then get tired of it and move on to another game.
Yeah, this "hobby cycling" is a pretty expensive habit... But I guess there are worse things I could be cycling through... and I know I'm not the only one with this issue...
Dad I am calling you out to share some of your "hobby cycling" in hopes of getting some more interaction going on here! Don't let me down!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Just call me Big Bird.
I have undoubtedly entered the severe "nesting" phase of my pregnancy.
No, I'm not in the yard gathering twigs and leaves to make a bed for the baby... though I have been picking twigs and leaves up off the floor that have gotten tracked in.
I have been cleaning everything and trying to get things ready for the baby.
And it's about damned time.
With just 17 days left until my due date, there is still so much left to get ready. We've got both the crib and bassinet put together and made up, and the little guy has clean clothes put away in his dresser.
But I still have to install the car seat... wash and sterilize the breast pumps and bottles... pack our bags for the hospital, get batteries for the camera... The only diapers in the house are the size of a newborn onesie. I've been racking my memory trying to remember how to take care of a brand new tiny little baby.
Oh yeah, and he still needs a name.
That's probably the biggie. What do babies need? Love - Check. Clothes - Check. A place to sleep - Check. Diapers - Well the hospital will send us home with some, so Check. Food - As long as he'll latch and nurse (Kade would not), then Check. And a name... I think we're close, but there's been no official decision. We'll get there, eventually. It's just a very permanent thing, and that makes it difficult to finalize.
So what have I been doing with my free time instead of packing bags and washing bottles if I am supposedly "nesting?"
Standing on a kitchen chair scrubbing ceiling fans with a toothbrush.
Don't ask me why... Yes, they needed it (most ceiling fans do) but what business do I have, as pregnant as I am, doing it, right? I did the same thing with Kade, except then I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the hardwood floor with the toothbrush.
I guess I really don't have an answer for why I suddenly feel it needs done, but my next project is going to be the lamp in this living room... and if Aaron would let me, I'd use a bulk package of toothbrushes on his entire bedroom... but I don't see him letting me do that! lol
No, I'm not in the yard gathering twigs and leaves to make a bed for the baby... though I have been picking twigs and leaves up off the floor that have gotten tracked in.
I have been cleaning everything and trying to get things ready for the baby.
And it's about damned time.
With just 17 days left until my due date, there is still so much left to get ready. We've got both the crib and bassinet put together and made up, and the little guy has clean clothes put away in his dresser.
But I still have to install the car seat... wash and sterilize the breast pumps and bottles... pack our bags for the hospital, get batteries for the camera... The only diapers in the house are the size of a newborn onesie. I've been racking my memory trying to remember how to take care of a brand new tiny little baby.
Oh yeah, and he still needs a name.
That's probably the biggie. What do babies need? Love - Check. Clothes - Check. A place to sleep - Check. Diapers - Well the hospital will send us home with some, so Check. Food - As long as he'll latch and nurse (Kade would not), then Check. And a name... I think we're close, but there's been no official decision. We'll get there, eventually. It's just a very permanent thing, and that makes it difficult to finalize.
So what have I been doing with my free time instead of packing bags and washing bottles if I am supposedly "nesting?"
Standing on a kitchen chair scrubbing ceiling fans with a toothbrush.
Don't ask me why... Yes, they needed it (most ceiling fans do) but what business do I have, as pregnant as I am, doing it, right? I did the same thing with Kade, except then I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the hardwood floor with the toothbrush.
I guess I really don't have an answer for why I suddenly feel it needs done, but my next project is going to be the lamp in this living room... and if Aaron would let me, I'd use a bulk package of toothbrushes on his entire bedroom... but I don't see him letting me do that! lol
Monday, October 26, 2009
I'd rather be pissed off than pissed on.
Toilets are disgusting things - I think most people would agree with me.
It doesn't matter if you keep your porcelain throne sparkling clean, it's still going to be disgusting. That can hardly be disputed with what goes into them every day.
I can use a public restroom (I really have no choice anymore) although I am pretty picky about it. What I cannot do, is pee in an unflushed stool. Being the only girl in the house, and especially with all the traffic of 16 year old boys in and out, I have serious issues with our toilet. You probably would too, if you were around to hear how often Aaron announces "Man, I gotta take a major poop."
Fortunately, it seems the boys were pre-trained to make sure the seat gets put back down. Unfortunately, it seems that somewhere between relieving themselves and lowering the seat, they forget to flush.
And I can't pee on someone else's pee. I can't even pee on my own pee.
The thought of sitting down to relieve myself with the possibility that whatever is in the toilet to begin with might splash back up on me completely and totally disgusts me.
I know, it's probably a very far fetched thought, and besides that, I know my own pee could very well splash back up mid-stream... But I feel much better knowing that the toilet's been flushed before I use it, so if it looks like there might be pee in it, I've gotta flush it first.
I've heard before that there are actually more germs behind your fingernails than the toilet, but seeing as how I don't stick my fingers up my butt, I refuse to believe it.
It doesn't matter if you keep your porcelain throne sparkling clean, it's still going to be disgusting. That can hardly be disputed with what goes into them every day.
I can use a public restroom (I really have no choice anymore) although I am pretty picky about it. What I cannot do, is pee in an unflushed stool. Being the only girl in the house, and especially with all the traffic of 16 year old boys in and out, I have serious issues with our toilet. You probably would too, if you were around to hear how often Aaron announces "Man, I gotta take a major poop."
Fortunately, it seems the boys were pre-trained to make sure the seat gets put back down. Unfortunately, it seems that somewhere between relieving themselves and lowering the seat, they forget to flush.
And I can't pee on someone else's pee. I can't even pee on my own pee.
The thought of sitting down to relieve myself with the possibility that whatever is in the toilet to begin with might splash back up on me completely and totally disgusts me.
I know, it's probably a very far fetched thought, and besides that, I know my own pee could very well splash back up mid-stream... But I feel much better knowing that the toilet's been flushed before I use it, so if it looks like there might be pee in it, I've gotta flush it first.
I've heard before that there are actually more germs behind your fingernails than the toilet, but seeing as how I don't stick my fingers up my butt, I refuse to believe it.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
One size fits some
This afternoon I started going through Kade's clothes as I moved them out of the dresser downstairs and into the dresser upstairs in his room. I am fairly certain we're done with the shorts and tank tops for this season!
As I sorted pants into piles of 2T and 3T, all I could think was that whoever came up with sizing for these clothes obviously has no children of their own.
The 2T's are too small for Kade, while the 3T's are still a bit too big. He turned 3 a month ago. Why are there no in between sizes? And why do they go by years? On this note, what is the difference between clothing sized 24 months, and 2T?
When it comes to size, not all kids are created equal.
It's not just the 2, 3, 4 and 5T sizes either. Baby clothes are sized by months - and I really don't understand that. The 0-3 month size drives me especially nuts.
How do they expect a newborn baby to fit in the same size onesie that a 3 month old baby would wear? Babies grow so fast... And It's become pretty common knowledge that babies outgrow 0-3 month sized clothes long before they turn 3 months old. So why haven't the sizes been updated to go by weight instead of months?
I'm just glad they don't size bra's by age - I would have been wearing a size 20 when I was 12... and God knows I don't want to know how old my boobs would be right now!
As I sorted pants into piles of 2T and 3T, all I could think was that whoever came up with sizing for these clothes obviously has no children of their own.
The 2T's are too small for Kade, while the 3T's are still a bit too big. He turned 3 a month ago. Why are there no in between sizes? And why do they go by years? On this note, what is the difference between clothing sized 24 months, and 2T?
When it comes to size, not all kids are created equal.
It's not just the 2, 3, 4 and 5T sizes either. Baby clothes are sized by months - and I really don't understand that. The 0-3 month size drives me especially nuts.
How do they expect a newborn baby to fit in the same size onesie that a 3 month old baby would wear? Babies grow so fast... And It's become pretty common knowledge that babies outgrow 0-3 month sized clothes long before they turn 3 months old. So why haven't the sizes been updated to go by weight instead of months?
I'm just glad they don't size bra's by age - I would have been wearing a size 20 when I was 12... and God knows I don't want to know how old my boobs would be right now!
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Battle of the sexes
Being a woman completely and totally sucks.
It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the hormones. Quite understandably, mine have been completely out of control lately... and I keep thinking thank God I only have a few weeks left of this... but in reality - it never ends.
When I finally have this baby and finish dealing with all of these crazy pregnancy hormones, I'm going to have to deal with postpartum hormones, And God only knows how long that will last.
When that's all over with, there are the "that time of the month" hormones. Fantastic.
And it doesn't even end there. Later, we women get to experience the magic of menopausal hormones... These are the hormones that cause women to sweat more (and grow more facial hair) than a teenage boy.
There is no end in sight. The hormones will always be there, just at different times and in different qualities.
Some may argue that men are worse off than women, because a woman's issues come once a month, while men tend to have erections multiple times a day...
But I think it would be a lot easier for a man to hide a rise in his pants than for a woman to hide a hormonal meltdown, complete with make-up streaked cheeks, puffy eyes and the sniffles.
More proof to my point -
There are multiple advertisements on TV for pills that can help cause or enhance an erection, but none to cure it... Where as there are multiple advertisements for pills that cure the symptoms that ail women on a monthly basis... and there's just no market for a little blue pill that causes a woman to turn into a sappy, crabby, cranky, moody, bitch....
If there was, I could make a fortune bottling and selling my own hormones right now. =/
It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the hormones. Quite understandably, mine have been completely out of control lately... and I keep thinking thank God I only have a few weeks left of this... but in reality - it never ends.
When I finally have this baby and finish dealing with all of these crazy pregnancy hormones, I'm going to have to deal with postpartum hormones, And God only knows how long that will last.
When that's all over with, there are the "that time of the month" hormones. Fantastic.
And it doesn't even end there. Later, we women get to experience the magic of menopausal hormones... These are the hormones that cause women to sweat more (and grow more facial hair) than a teenage boy.
There is no end in sight. The hormones will always be there, just at different times and in different qualities.
Some may argue that men are worse off than women, because a woman's issues come once a month, while men tend to have erections multiple times a day...
But I think it would be a lot easier for a man to hide a rise in his pants than for a woman to hide a hormonal meltdown, complete with make-up streaked cheeks, puffy eyes and the sniffles.
More proof to my point -
There are multiple advertisements on TV for pills that can help cause or enhance an erection, but none to cure it... Where as there are multiple advertisements for pills that cure the symptoms that ail women on a monthly basis... and there's just no market for a little blue pill that causes a woman to turn into a sappy, crabby, cranky, moody, bitch....
If there was, I could make a fortune bottling and selling my own hormones right now. =/
Friday, October 23, 2009
Swine flu... Not a happy blog.
Earlier in the week I had thought about blogging jokingly that I'm not afraid of the swine flu because our house has already been thoroughly exposed to the complete pigs that are Aaron's friends, and we've all survived. But now, it has hit way too close to home (literally in it) to kid around about.
Last night I got a text from Kade's dad that he had a temperature of 102. This morning he was throwing up.
I picked him up at about 11:30, and he seemed to be feeling better. I took him to the doctor this afternoon just to be on the safe side.
The doctor is treating Kade for the H1N1 flu virus.
Lovely.
Luckily, he got on the meds early and the virus shouldn't hit him as severely.
But they didn't actually confirm anything with a test... the Doctor just said that Kaden has all of the symptoms, and that this H1N1 is all they have seen.
On one hand, I am glad that he is being proactive and treating Kade for the worst... But at the same time, I wish they would do the test, because I could be worrying for nothing.
I am a complete wreck over this.
I explained the situation to my OB, who recommended that I "isolate myself" from Kaden until he is well (his doctor said it would last about a week). She also called me in a prescription for Tamiflu, which is the same medicine that Kade is taking.
I am at a complete loss for what to do.
I feel guilty for being afraid of my son... But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I got sick and something happened to the baby.
I can't stand the thought of just abandoning my 3 year old for a week when he's sick and needs me the most... But I can't stand the thought that by just being around Kade, I am knowingly putting my unborn child at risk. How do I tell my sweet, innocent, sick little boy no when he wants to cuddle with Mommy? But how do I openly let this virus so close to the baby?
I feel like I am being forced to play favorites. How do you choose one child over the other? All I have done since we got back from the doctor is cry and worry over this... and I know the stress isn't good for the baby... I just don't know what to do. How do you make the decision of what child to put first?
I really don't expect anyone to have the answer. It's a question no one should ever be faced with.
Last night I got a text from Kade's dad that he had a temperature of 102. This morning he was throwing up.
I picked him up at about 11:30, and he seemed to be feeling better. I took him to the doctor this afternoon just to be on the safe side.
The doctor is treating Kade for the H1N1 flu virus.
Lovely.
Luckily, he got on the meds early and the virus shouldn't hit him as severely.
But they didn't actually confirm anything with a test... the Doctor just said that Kaden has all of the symptoms, and that this H1N1 is all they have seen.
On one hand, I am glad that he is being proactive and treating Kade for the worst... But at the same time, I wish they would do the test, because I could be worrying for nothing.
I am a complete wreck over this.
I explained the situation to my OB, who recommended that I "isolate myself" from Kaden until he is well (his doctor said it would last about a week). She also called me in a prescription for Tamiflu, which is the same medicine that Kade is taking.
I am at a complete loss for what to do.
I feel guilty for being afraid of my son... But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I got sick and something happened to the baby.
I can't stand the thought of just abandoning my 3 year old for a week when he's sick and needs me the most... But I can't stand the thought that by just being around Kade, I am knowingly putting my unborn child at risk. How do I tell my sweet, innocent, sick little boy no when he wants to cuddle with Mommy? But how do I openly let this virus so close to the baby?
I feel like I am being forced to play favorites. How do you choose one child over the other? All I have done since we got back from the doctor is cry and worry over this... and I know the stress isn't good for the baby... I just don't know what to do. How do you make the decision of what child to put first?
I really don't expect anyone to have the answer. It's a question no one should ever be faced with.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
King "Tootin'Comment"
Right now, there are two major things that you really do not want to do in the presence of my son.
Those two things, in no particular order, are swear and pass gas. Obviously, this is not something I learned from experience, because I never ever do either of those things..
Yeah, ok. I'm not a very good liar.
On the swearing....
Anyone that has been my passenger can tell you, I tend to get road rage.
You would think hearing my three year old ask "What *bleepity-bleep* car, Mommy?" as I'm yelling at the driver in front of me, would cure me of that road rage, but nope, it hasn't yet.
"Oh Kade, don't say that! Mommy is just mad at the car in front of us." I've told him a hundred times.
I don't worry as much about him repeating my expletives as much as I want him to know and understand that I'm not yelling at him. He obviously doesn't think I'm yelling at him, and is more worried about the expletives.
"Only Mommy say it?" He'll ask me.
Oh, the power of conviction in a child's voice....
And on the passing gas...
I really think I need to take the kid for a hearing test... Because somehow, he can't hear the word "no," when spoken directly to him, but he can certainly hear the faintest sound of a flatus vibrating between two butt cheeks on a different level of the house with multiple tv's on.
Being three and a boy, he thinks farts are funny, and I inevitably make a comment every time I hear him do it. Recently, we were watching TV and he passed gas while sitting in my lap. "I farted on Mommy!" He giggled. I wasn't quite as amused, but at least it was just gas and nothing serious.
Just a couple days ago, Steve was downstairs sleeping, and Aaron was out using up the last of the fuel fumes in the car.
I was sitting on the floor upstairs playing with cars with Kade. I'm going to blame the fact that I'm heavily pregnant, here, but yes, I leaked air when I leaned forward to grab a different car. I thought I was safe - like I said, the big boys were either sleeping or not home... But no... No gas passing eludes Kade.
"You farting?" Kaden asked me, surprised.
"Yep, Kade... but don't tell Steve!" I held my finger to my lips in a "shh" gesture.
"Okay" he whispered back to me, smiling.
That was my lesson learned.
Aaron, on the other hand, is not as private about flatulance. Last night he proudly echoed that telltale motorboat sound off of a wooden chair across the entire house. Luckily, the sound traveled farther than the smell.
Kade looked at Aaron, looked at me, and then ratted him out. Pointing at Aaron, he told me "That guy tooted!"
A proud smirk spread across Aaron's face, and all I could think was
....and we're having another boy....
Those two things, in no particular order, are swear and pass gas. Obviously, this is not something I learned from experience, because I never ever do either of those things..
Yeah, ok. I'm not a very good liar.
On the swearing....
Anyone that has been my passenger can tell you, I tend to get road rage.
You would think hearing my three year old ask "What *bleepity-bleep* car, Mommy?" as I'm yelling at the driver in front of me, would cure me of that road rage, but nope, it hasn't yet.
"Oh Kade, don't say that! Mommy is just mad at the car in front of us." I've told him a hundred times.
I don't worry as much about him repeating my expletives as much as I want him to know and understand that I'm not yelling at him. He obviously doesn't think I'm yelling at him, and is more worried about the expletives.
"Only Mommy say it?" He'll ask me.
Oh, the power of conviction in a child's voice....
And on the passing gas...
I really think I need to take the kid for a hearing test... Because somehow, he can't hear the word "no," when spoken directly to him, but he can certainly hear the faintest sound of a flatus vibrating between two butt cheeks on a different level of the house with multiple tv's on.
Being three and a boy, he thinks farts are funny, and I inevitably make a comment every time I hear him do it. Recently, we were watching TV and he passed gas while sitting in my lap. "I farted on Mommy!" He giggled. I wasn't quite as amused, but at least it was just gas and nothing serious.
Just a couple days ago, Steve was downstairs sleeping, and Aaron was out using up the last of the fuel fumes in the car.
I was sitting on the floor upstairs playing with cars with Kade. I'm going to blame the fact that I'm heavily pregnant, here, but yes, I leaked air when I leaned forward to grab a different car. I thought I was safe - like I said, the big boys were either sleeping or not home... But no... No gas passing eludes Kade.
"You farting?" Kaden asked me, surprised.
"Yep, Kade... but don't tell Steve!" I held my finger to my lips in a "shh" gesture.
"Okay" he whispered back to me, smiling.
That was my lesson learned.
Aaron, on the other hand, is not as private about flatulance. Last night he proudly echoed that telltale motorboat sound off of a wooden chair across the entire house. Luckily, the sound traveled farther than the smell.
Kade looked at Aaron, looked at me, and then ratted him out. Pointing at Aaron, he told me "That guy tooted!"
A proud smirk spread across Aaron's face, and all I could think was
....and we're having another boy....
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A bittersweet ramble
As much as I have groaned and complained about this pregnancy (especially nearing the end of it) I am honestly having some mixed feelings about only having 3 weeks left.
I've been going through all Kade's old baby clothes, getting things washed up. We (Steve) set up the crib this afternoon, and wheeled the bassinet into the living room... And I got a lot of my pre-pregnancy clothes out of storage and hung up in my closet.
Ah, yes, normal clothes. I nearly cried as I put jeans on hangers that actually don't have a stretchy waist band. I daydreamed of wearing shirts again that I haven't even seen since March.
Yes, I've been pregnant before.... I am well aware that my body won't just shrink back to it's normal size as soon as this little guy is born... but I am staying optimistic and hoping that it isn't too long before I can wear a tight chested, cleavage baring blouse and a pair of blue jeans that my butt doesn't get lost in.
Yes, it will definitely be nice to have my body and wardrobe back.
It'll be nice to do the dishes without inevitably getting my belly in the dishwater....
To eat a meal without having to worry about heartburn... To not have a pair of tiny feet semi-permanently lodged into my ribs... to not constantly have the urge to pee.
It'll even be nice to bend over and pick dirty, crusty boy socks up off the living room floor without difficulty (not that that was an easy task to begin with).
And it will undoubtedly be amazing to finally hold this little baby in my arms.
But as much of a relief as it will be to no longer be pregnant, yes, I am going to miss it.
I'll miss feeling those precious little baby kicks from the inside. I'll miss laying on the couch, watching in amazement as my unborn child causes my belly to ripple with just one hiccup. I'll miss using heartburn as an excuse to eat all the ice cream I want... And not having to worry about my figure.
I'll miss being the only one that gets to hold him, and I admit it, I'll miss the extra attention and sympathy I'm getting right now.
I'm also very nervous about having a newborn again. He is so much easier to take care of right now than he will be in 3 weeks.
I guess I really don't know where I'm going with this, just letting out these mixed emotions. I've been back and forth for a few weeks now on whether or not I'm actually ready to get this over with.
These additional hormones are definitely something I am not going to miss!
I've been going through all Kade's old baby clothes, getting things washed up. We (Steve) set up the crib this afternoon, and wheeled the bassinet into the living room... And I got a lot of my pre-pregnancy clothes out of storage and hung up in my closet.
Ah, yes, normal clothes. I nearly cried as I put jeans on hangers that actually don't have a stretchy waist band. I daydreamed of wearing shirts again that I haven't even seen since March.
Yes, I've been pregnant before.... I am well aware that my body won't just shrink back to it's normal size as soon as this little guy is born... but I am staying optimistic and hoping that it isn't too long before I can wear a tight chested, cleavage baring blouse and a pair of blue jeans that my butt doesn't get lost in.
Yes, it will definitely be nice to have my body and wardrobe back.
It'll be nice to do the dishes without inevitably getting my belly in the dishwater....
To eat a meal without having to worry about heartburn... To not have a pair of tiny feet semi-permanently lodged into my ribs... to not constantly have the urge to pee.
It'll even be nice to bend over and pick dirty, crusty boy socks up off the living room floor without difficulty (not that that was an easy task to begin with).
And it will undoubtedly be amazing to finally hold this little baby in my arms.
But as much of a relief as it will be to no longer be pregnant, yes, I am going to miss it.
I'll miss feeling those precious little baby kicks from the inside. I'll miss laying on the couch, watching in amazement as my unborn child causes my belly to ripple with just one hiccup. I'll miss using heartburn as an excuse to eat all the ice cream I want... And not having to worry about my figure.
I'll miss being the only one that gets to hold him, and I admit it, I'll miss the extra attention and sympathy I'm getting right now.
I'm also very nervous about having a newborn again. He is so much easier to take care of right now than he will be in 3 weeks.
I guess I really don't know where I'm going with this, just letting out these mixed emotions. I've been back and forth for a few weeks now on whether or not I'm actually ready to get this over with.
These additional hormones are definitely something I am not going to miss!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
My little boogie man
Fall is most certainly here full force, and the evidence of this is everywhere.
This afternoon I opened up the curtains to let in some sunshine, and immediately I noticed the window was full of those ugly, smelly, yellow lady bugs. Dried, crunched up leaves are being tracked through the house at a rate the vacuum can't keep up with. The center aisle at Wal-Mart has been turned into a big rack of chocolate chips, cupcake frosting, shortening and other baking goods, and there are scarecrows and pumpkins being displayed on front porches all over town. All of these things make it clear that Fall is here, but there is one more telltale sign that lets me know the weather is changing over.
I can't keep my three year old's finger out of his nose.
My poor little boy has a non-stop boogery nose through most of the cold weather months. It doesn't matter how many times I have him blow his nose (he's gotten quite good at it) or how often I stick a Q-tip up there (with a couple drops of little noses saline), I obviously never get it all cleared out for him, because he's constantly digging for gold. We'll blow his nose, he'll run and play for 5 minutes, and the next time I see him, he's got snot spread clear across his cheek, all over his shirt sleeve, and of course, underneath his fingernails.
The problem is not just that his nostrils are constantly plugged with his finger. He's picked up the nasty habit of eating it, too. I know, I know... what three year old doesn't pick their nose and eat it? But it's incredibly frustrating. And disgusting. And probably one of the reasons why his colds never go away.
The other day I caught him with his finger in his nose, and I quickly pulled his hand away from his face. "Don't pick your nose!" I told him for the umpteenth time. He looked at me, grinned, and stuck his snot-covered finger in his mouth.
"Kaden, that's gross!" I informed him.
"It's not gross, it's good!" He answered confidently.
I really wish someone could tell me that it does get better... but I'm quickly learning that, at least in boys, grossness increases with age. =/
This afternoon I opened up the curtains to let in some sunshine, and immediately I noticed the window was full of those ugly, smelly, yellow lady bugs. Dried, crunched up leaves are being tracked through the house at a rate the vacuum can't keep up with. The center aisle at Wal-Mart has been turned into a big rack of chocolate chips, cupcake frosting, shortening and other baking goods, and there are scarecrows and pumpkins being displayed on front porches all over town. All of these things make it clear that Fall is here, but there is one more telltale sign that lets me know the weather is changing over.
I can't keep my three year old's finger out of his nose.
My poor little boy has a non-stop boogery nose through most of the cold weather months. It doesn't matter how many times I have him blow his nose (he's gotten quite good at it) or how often I stick a Q-tip up there (with a couple drops of little noses saline), I obviously never get it all cleared out for him, because he's constantly digging for gold. We'll blow his nose, he'll run and play for 5 minutes, and the next time I see him, he's got snot spread clear across his cheek, all over his shirt sleeve, and of course, underneath his fingernails.
The problem is not just that his nostrils are constantly plugged with his finger. He's picked up the nasty habit of eating it, too. I know, I know... what three year old doesn't pick their nose and eat it? But it's incredibly frustrating. And disgusting. And probably one of the reasons why his colds never go away.
The other day I caught him with his finger in his nose, and I quickly pulled his hand away from his face. "Don't pick your nose!" I told him for the umpteenth time. He looked at me, grinned, and stuck his snot-covered finger in his mouth.
"Kaden, that's gross!" I informed him.
"It's not gross, it's good!" He answered confidently.
I really wish someone could tell me that it does get better... but I'm quickly learning that, at least in boys, grossness increases with age. =/
Monday, October 19, 2009
Pee brain
Today I am 36 weeks and 3 days pregnant. For those of you who don't know pregnancy by weeks, I have about three and a half weeks to go until my due date.
I am already miserable, and it's only going to get worse. My belly button looks like my Grandma Jordan puckering up to give me a kiss when she doesn't have her teeth in. Water gives me heartburn. There's not a thing that doesn't annoy me... If you put finger holes in my boobs, I'm fairly certain you could successfully use them to score a perfect 300 in a bowling tournament... And I pee constantly.
Steve has been getting on to Aaron about the water he's wasting during his multiple hour long showers, and I can't help but feel a little guilty about all the water I've been literally flushing down the toilet.
I swear, I must pee at least 50 times a day. Everything I do makes me have to pee. Any time I stand up, I have to pee. Walking across the room makes me have to pee. And by the time I get across the house to the bathroom, go pee, walk back and sit back down, yes, I have to pee again.
On one hand, I can't believe how quick this pregnancy has gone... and on the other, it feels like it will never end... But, I know that eventually, it will end... And I know it won't be long before this baby is off of my bladder and into my arms =)
I am already miserable, and it's only going to get worse. My belly button looks like my Grandma Jordan puckering up to give me a kiss when she doesn't have her teeth in. Water gives me heartburn. There's not a thing that doesn't annoy me... If you put finger holes in my boobs, I'm fairly certain you could successfully use them to score a perfect 300 in a bowling tournament... And I pee constantly.
Steve has been getting on to Aaron about the water he's wasting during his multiple hour long showers, and I can't help but feel a little guilty about all the water I've been literally flushing down the toilet.
I swear, I must pee at least 50 times a day. Everything I do makes me have to pee. Any time I stand up, I have to pee. Walking across the room makes me have to pee. And by the time I get across the house to the bathroom, go pee, walk back and sit back down, yes, I have to pee again.
On one hand, I can't believe how quick this pregnancy has gone... and on the other, it feels like it will never end... But, I know that eventually, it will end... And I know it won't be long before this baby is off of my bladder and into my arms =)
Sunday, October 18, 2009
I think I broke my funny bone.
When I first started this blog this time last year, I had great expectations.
I imagined a throng of fans, people all over the world just waiting at their computer for my next blog, because they were that anxious to read about the quirky new habit my son picked up, my latest weekend out, or whatever random thing crossed my mind.
In reality, the only people reading my blog were people that were already my friends on Myspace.
Ouch.
I guess on the bright side, I was getting comments and replies about how much my friends and family enjoyed reading my blogs and how funny I was, but it just wasn't enough. I got discouraged, and I was ready to give up. I couldn't think of funny things to write about anymore... things in my life just didn't seem interesting enough for me to expect people to take 7 minutes to sit down and read about them. The blogging tapered off, and eventually stopped completely. You can see from the archive on this blog, I haven't written since January.
It was about the time that my blogging became less frequent that I also met Steve.
I guess I could blame him for my not blogging, but that wouldn't be very fair! Especially considering he's asked me on multiple occasions why I don't blog anymore. He has also told me once or twice that I've lost my sense of humor - Mind you, he came to this conclusion based solely on the fact that I don't laugh at things on TV that crack him up, and I don't always get his jokes....
But what if he's right? What if I've lost my sense of humor? What if I'm not funny anymore? I have almost been afraid to start blogging again because of this. I have read through some of the things I wrote last year, and not to brag on myself, but yes... I was funny (part of the time). There are clever little quips that I've re-read multiple times simply because I can't believe those were my words. I am definitely not that funny anymore.
Hopefully I'm just a little out of practice, and after a few boring blogs (like this one) I'll find my niche again.... And hopefully, you don't give up on me before then =/
I imagined a throng of fans, people all over the world just waiting at their computer for my next blog, because they were that anxious to read about the quirky new habit my son picked up, my latest weekend out, or whatever random thing crossed my mind.
In reality, the only people reading my blog were people that were already my friends on Myspace.
Ouch.
I guess on the bright side, I was getting comments and replies about how much my friends and family enjoyed reading my blogs and how funny I was, but it just wasn't enough. I got discouraged, and I was ready to give up. I couldn't think of funny things to write about anymore... things in my life just didn't seem interesting enough for me to expect people to take 7 minutes to sit down and read about them. The blogging tapered off, and eventually stopped completely. You can see from the archive on this blog, I haven't written since January.
It was about the time that my blogging became less frequent that I also met Steve.
I guess I could blame him for my not blogging, but that wouldn't be very fair! Especially considering he's asked me on multiple occasions why I don't blog anymore. He has also told me once or twice that I've lost my sense of humor - Mind you, he came to this conclusion based solely on the fact that I don't laugh at things on TV that crack him up, and I don't always get his jokes....
But what if he's right? What if I've lost my sense of humor? What if I'm not funny anymore? I have almost been afraid to start blogging again because of this. I have read through some of the things I wrote last year, and not to brag on myself, but yes... I was funny (part of the time). There are clever little quips that I've re-read multiple times simply because I can't believe those were my words. I am definitely not that funny anymore.
Hopefully I'm just a little out of practice, and after a few boring blogs (like this one) I'll find my niche again.... And hopefully, you don't give up on me before then =/
Saturday, January 17, 2009
My first crush
The other day while avoiding getting ready for work, I started filling out bulletin surveys.
I started with a survey that asked "100 truths" of yourself. I answered a few easy questions first, and then I came to a question that asked "who was your first crush?"
I started to type in a couple of the boys from my kindergarten class and then changed my mind... that's pretty cheesy, I thought... who was my first crush anyways?
I decided I didn't like the question, so I cleared the entired bulletin and found a different survey to fill out.
After putting some deep thought into it, I am feeling compelled to answer the one stupid question that I had avoided.
Who was my first crush?
I was about 5 years old, the perfect age for a first crush. Our country was at war... so our television was set on CNN a lot of the time. My mother had her favorite news reporter, and I guess I felt I needed to have a favorite as well.
And so I chose my first crush....
Wolf Blitzer.
Yes, I was five years old. He was fourty-two....
and so began my obsession with older men...
Honestly, I really don't think I thought he was attractive. I was five years old... I am sure I chose him to be my crush because his name was Wolf. Not only is it quite possibly the coolest name ever, but it was easy for a five year old to remember.
So, now that I've spilled the beans.... share with me - who was your first crush?
I started with a survey that asked "100 truths" of yourself. I answered a few easy questions first, and then I came to a question that asked "who was your first crush?"
I started to type in a couple of the boys from my kindergarten class and then changed my mind... that's pretty cheesy, I thought... who was my first crush anyways?
I decided I didn't like the question, so I cleared the entired bulletin and found a different survey to fill out.
After putting some deep thought into it, I am feeling compelled to answer the one stupid question that I had avoided.
Who was my first crush?
I was about 5 years old, the perfect age for a first crush. Our country was at war... so our television was set on CNN a lot of the time. My mother had her favorite news reporter, and I guess I felt I needed to have a favorite as well.
And so I chose my first crush....
Wolf Blitzer.
Yes, I was five years old. He was fourty-two....
and so began my obsession with older men...
Honestly, I really don't think I thought he was attractive. I was five years old... I am sure I chose him to be my crush because his name was Wolf. Not only is it quite possibly the coolest name ever, but it was easy for a five year old to remember.
So, now that I've spilled the beans.... share with me - who was your first crush?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Indian Giver
To donate, by dictionary.com's definition, is to "present as a gift, grant, or contribution." The same source dubs a donation as "a voluntary gift."
While browsing through yahoo news, an interesting title caught my eye.
"Man who donated kidney to wife wants it back in divorce."
It baffles me that this man is being taken seriously. He is asking for the kidney to be returned or he wants restitution for it, which is an estimated 1.5 million dollars.
If I donated clothes to the salvation army and later saw someone wearing my old sweater, would I approach that person and ask that they either give my sweater back, or reimburse me for it?? Hell no, I wouldn't.
Just like I wouldn't donate at a blood drive, and then ask the American Red Cross for my blood back.
It's like giving someone a Christmas present and then saying "By the way, you owe me twenty bucks for that"
Talking about his ex wife cheating on him, he says "there's no deeper pain that you can ever express..."
How about the pain of slicing this woman's body open and removing the kidney that was a gift to her? The suffering she'll endure while waiting for a new kidney?
I am fairly certain that taking back his kidney won't make this man any less bitter about his wife's affair, and I think his request is obtuse and should be disregarded in court.
While browsing through yahoo news, an interesting title caught my eye.
"Man who donated kidney to wife wants it back in divorce."
It baffles me that this man is being taken seriously. He is asking for the kidney to be returned or he wants restitution for it, which is an estimated 1.5 million dollars.
If I donated clothes to the salvation army and later saw someone wearing my old sweater, would I approach that person and ask that they either give my sweater back, or reimburse me for it?? Hell no, I wouldn't.
Just like I wouldn't donate at a blood drive, and then ask the American Red Cross for my blood back.
It's like giving someone a Christmas present and then saying "By the way, you owe me twenty bucks for that"
Talking about his ex wife cheating on him, he says "there's no deeper pain that you can ever express..."
How about the pain of slicing this woman's body open and removing the kidney that was a gift to her? The suffering she'll endure while waiting for a new kidney?
I am fairly certain that taking back his kidney won't make this man any less bitter about his wife's affair, and I think his request is obtuse and should be disregarded in court.
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