I just haven't felt like I had much to say to anybody. Things at work are crazy and emotional. Lots of people are stopping by to express incredulity at my leaving and sometimes congratulations. I'm gearing up to start training my replacement who starts on Tuesday. And my pregnant self has been feeling kind of ick lately.
At my last appointment, my doctor finally broke down and prescribed vicodin for me to take at work when I start having severe back pain, pelvic pain and contractions. Since the dears in HR would rather I limit my intermittent FMLA to four hours or so a week, I'm stuck here at work when I should be home in bed... that is unless I want to go to battle with HR. And I don't. I'll be gone soon, but Chester has to stay here. Better to leave on good terms.
Working while stoned out of my gourd on vicodin is interesting. My proofing ability decreases by about fifteen percent, but I can still focus. It doesn't even take away all the pain, but I'm so chilled out I don't care about the discomfort. It makes life a little more interesting, and I avoid talking to people while I'm riding the waves. It's very easy for me to make a fool out of myself, and I would prefer to be discreet about narcotic usage in the workplace.
Disclaimer: Vicodin is not the best drug to take while pregnant, but the major risk to the baby occurs when taken near full term. If I were to stay on vicodin until I go into labor, the baby would be at risk for dependency and withdrawal. I'm only taking it until I stop working at the end of next week, and I don't take it every day.
Anyway. Ben has been a joy and a blessing this week. He's not nearly as crabby and difficult as he was when I posted last. We've adjusted our diaper changing techniques, and that's been helping with the levels of frustration in the house. We've also been sitting down to eat together in the evenings without the TV on, so we get some quality time with Ben. It makes a huge difference. We've also reverted back to a morning cuddle time upstairs with him before he comes down for the day. We found that if we just go up there and unlock the gate while he's still in bed, and we don't stay up there to cuddle with him, he has a meltdown and a very rough start to the day.
We don't have very dramatic plans for the weekend. We both get off of work at noon today, and we'll be picking up Ben and then going home for a nap. Tomorrow, we're scheduled for an informal cookout at my best friend Mary's apartment. And for the actual Labor Day, we're driving to Green Bay to see my brother and his family... and deliver some "Congratulations on Getting Knocked Up Again" presents and supplies. We haven't been to their house in over a year, so it'll be nice to cross that off our list of things to do before the baby comes.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
The Remarkable Changing Boy
I remember dragging my little family to a reunion (Dad's side) up north a year ago. It was a simple one, held at state park beach I had swam at lots in my childhood. After I had introduced eight-month-old Ben to all my old relatives, the general consensus was, "Cheryl, what a good-natured boy you have!"
I know now that what of the reasons that label was provided for my son was because of another baby, born a year earlier, who was never as "good-natured" and was really kind of difficult at times (read spoiled).
But for the most part, it's been true. Ben is a sweetheart. He's not afraid of new situations, new people. He's never had stranger anxiety except for that one time when the creepy guy at Wendy's talked to us too much. Ben is usually content to just sit back and watch everyone around him with a slightly amused expression on his face (rather like mommy).
So where the hell did this kid come from? Not the nice boy, but this creature he's become. My mantra for the past two weeks has been, "It's just a phase." "Things will be different when I'm home with him all the time." But really, toddlerhood is wonderful and delightful, but some parts of it can really suck. Hard.
Ben is exercising his new-found ability to throw temper tantrums and meltdowns when he doesn't get his way. Under no circumstances do we give in, but it hasn't dampened his seeming enthusiasm with the process. So the world comes to an end almost every single time we have to take a toy away from him for one reason or another, no matter how lovely and wonderful the replacement toy is.
Another characteristic of this phase is his unhappiness with pretty much anything that happens. We leave to go to the store, meltdown. He has to hold our hand to walk from the car, tantrum. I don't let him kick or hit me while I push the cart, panic attack. AND... and this is the part that leaves me in tears, too, he freaks out when we leave him at daycare.
I'm a reasonably intelligent young lady, and I know that his issues are control and power issues. I also know that our lives are transitioning toward many changes (SAHM-hood, new baby). And though his life hasn't really altered much yet, he can sense that things are in upheaval. So he's acting out, trying to exert some control over the situation that is his life.
My husband and I keep reminding each other that we know we're not raising a spoiled child. That was one of our main determinations when we first talked about parenthood. Ben doesn't get what he wants all the time. We offer compromises. We never walk down the toy aisle at a store. We teach a message of gentleness and kindness. And yet...
I know it's just a phase. Really. I know it. I just hope he snaps out of it before my mom comes down to spend a few days with us this fall before the baby comes. She's be horrified that I'm not spanking (sorry, "correcting") him already. And frankly, I don't have the strength to try to explain to her why we're avoiding spanking.
I know now that what of the reasons that label was provided for my son was because of another baby, born a year earlier, who was never as "good-natured" and was really kind of difficult at times (read spoiled).
But for the most part, it's been true. Ben is a sweetheart. He's not afraid of new situations, new people. He's never had stranger anxiety except for that one time when the creepy guy at Wendy's talked to us too much. Ben is usually content to just sit back and watch everyone around him with a slightly amused expression on his face (rather like mommy).
So where the hell did this kid come from? Not the nice boy, but this creature he's become. My mantra for the past two weeks has been, "It's just a phase." "Things will be different when I'm home with him all the time." But really, toddlerhood is wonderful and delightful, but some parts of it can really suck. Hard.
Ben is exercising his new-found ability to throw temper tantrums and meltdowns when he doesn't get his way. Under no circumstances do we give in, but it hasn't dampened his seeming enthusiasm with the process. So the world comes to an end almost every single time we have to take a toy away from him for one reason or another, no matter how lovely and wonderful the replacement toy is.
Another characteristic of this phase is his unhappiness with pretty much anything that happens. We leave to go to the store, meltdown. He has to hold our hand to walk from the car, tantrum. I don't let him kick or hit me while I push the cart, panic attack. AND... and this is the part that leaves me in tears, too, he freaks out when we leave him at daycare.
I'm a reasonably intelligent young lady, and I know that his issues are control and power issues. I also know that our lives are transitioning toward many changes (SAHM-hood, new baby). And though his life hasn't really altered much yet, he can sense that things are in upheaval. So he's acting out, trying to exert some control over the situation that is his life.
My husband and I keep reminding each other that we know we're not raising a spoiled child. That was one of our main determinations when we first talked about parenthood. Ben doesn't get what he wants all the time. We offer compromises. We never walk down the toy aisle at a store. We teach a message of gentleness and kindness. And yet...
I know it's just a phase. Really. I know it. I just hope he snaps out of it before my mom comes down to spend a few days with us this fall before the baby comes. She's be horrified that I'm not spanking (sorry, "correcting") him already. And frankly, I don't have the strength to try to explain to her why we're avoiding spanking.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Bookish Thursday: The Lay of the Land
I used to call these Bookish Thursdays, so here it goes again. It helps that I finished a book this morning before work.
As I've mentioned previously, I'd been reading Richard Ford's The Lay of the Land. It's on my list of about twenty books that are out of my comfort range, are about topics that I'm not familiar with, and have won some sort of award.
Anyway. I really enjoyed this book. It's the kind of book that has paragraphs and sentences that fly out at you and smash your face in with brilliance. Stuff I had to read out loud to my husband and bring into work to show my boss the next day.
Like other reviewers, I was driven through the book not because of the plot, but because it's a gigantic practice in self-help and self-actualization. It's very difficult to read the book without contemplating the state of your own internal affairs, where your life is right now or what you really want out of life. Sure, you get to know the texture and scope of the main character's soul, but surprisingly, you learn a lot about yourself as well.
Frank Bascombe is called an "everyman." And he is. Although I've never known someone just like him, he reminds me a lot of many different older men I've known throughout my life. His experience with cancer makes me wonder how my dad dealt with his. His realty business and ambition reminds me of the smooth-talking guy who sold us our house. Little bits of his humor remind me of an old boss. But mostly, he's like none other I've ever known. And I'm glad to have met him. Being a young lady in my twenties who has ensconced herself in rural America, I'm not likely to venture out and meet people like him. Older gents don't usually take the time to sit down and divulge their life stories to someone like me, though now I wish I'd open myself up more to people and make myself available for experiences like that.
I'm not going to do a thorough review of the book. I don't have the patience because I'm cranky and have been having a bad morning. But I would recommend this book to anybody. It's dense and slow-moving, but incredibly satisfying. None of the characters are really cookie cutter. It's like Ford made a point to make each one more unusual than the last. And while the book is slow moving, the plot itself is a crazy ride that only takes place over a couple of days. I wasn't ever really bored, because I found Frank's introspections and explanations to be fascinating. It's not often you get to see so clearly inside someone else's messed-up head.
I identified a lot with Frank as he explained why he made bad decisions throughout the years. Like me, his decisions were not reflections of his permanent, developing morality, but rash, not-thinking-clearly, just-going-with-the-moment choices that you have to regret later, in my case, when I was sober. I think growing up and maturing involves not making so many bad decisions like that... and letting your permanent morality and ethics guide your way more and more.
As I've mentioned previously, I'd been reading Richard Ford's The Lay of the Land. It's on my list of about twenty books that are out of my comfort range, are about topics that I'm not familiar with, and have won some sort of award.
Anyway. I really enjoyed this book. It's the kind of book that has paragraphs and sentences that fly out at you and smash your face in with brilliance. Stuff I had to read out loud to my husband and bring into work to show my boss the next day.
Like other reviewers, I was driven through the book not because of the plot, but because it's a gigantic practice in self-help and self-actualization. It's very difficult to read the book without contemplating the state of your own internal affairs, where your life is right now or what you really want out of life. Sure, you get to know the texture and scope of the main character's soul, but surprisingly, you learn a lot about yourself as well.
Frank Bascombe is called an "everyman." And he is. Although I've never known someone just like him, he reminds me a lot of many different older men I've known throughout my life. His experience with cancer makes me wonder how my dad dealt with his. His realty business and ambition reminds me of the smooth-talking guy who sold us our house. Little bits of his humor remind me of an old boss. But mostly, he's like none other I've ever known. And I'm glad to have met him. Being a young lady in my twenties who has ensconced herself in rural America, I'm not likely to venture out and meet people like him. Older gents don't usually take the time to sit down and divulge their life stories to someone like me, though now I wish I'd open myself up more to people and make myself available for experiences like that.
I'm not going to do a thorough review of the book. I don't have the patience because I'm cranky and have been having a bad morning. But I would recommend this book to anybody. It's dense and slow-moving, but incredibly satisfying. None of the characters are really cookie cutter. It's like Ford made a point to make each one more unusual than the last. And while the book is slow moving, the plot itself is a crazy ride that only takes place over a couple of days. I wasn't ever really bored, because I found Frank's introspections and explanations to be fascinating. It's not often you get to see so clearly inside someone else's messed-up head.
I identified a lot with Frank as he explained why he made bad decisions throughout the years. Like me, his decisions were not reflections of his permanent, developing morality, but rash, not-thinking-clearly, just-going-with-the-moment choices that you have to regret later, in my case, when I was sober. I think growing up and maturing involves not making so many bad decisions like that... and letting your permanent morality and ethics guide your way more and more.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A Lesson Learned About Having A Kid With Asthma
I'm up early this morning because Ben is. And instead of fussing and crying and clinging to me, he's actually wanting to play, so this is good news. You see, yesterday, it wasn't like this at all.
Sunday night, Ben started coughing in his sleep. He seemed okay in the morning, and we sent him off to daycare with a request to Amber to keep track of his cough and his breathing. He had the sniffles, but was still anxious to play with his friends.
I called periodically during the day on Monday, and she let me know his status. He was okay. He had a cold, but he wasn't miserable. When we picked him up after work, he had just started on his downward spiral. His very quick downward spiral.
By the time we got home, his eyes were glassy, he was running a fever of 101, and he was gasping. Not good at all. He refused dinner, and he started crying non-stop, which only made his breathing worse. So we started his breathing treatments.
It was a long Monday night. Ben woke up in many cold sweats because he had stopped breathing. It was scary. Chester stayed home with him yesterday to continue the breathing treatments and to monitor him. Finally, when I came home for lunch, Ben consented to lunch. By dinner time, he still had a strong wheeze, but he was more interested in playing. And he ate some dinner. Yay! Off to bed, and he stayed asleep until four this morning.
We were all set to split the shift today. I'd stay home in the morning, Chester in the afternoon. But now, with Ben so perky, I'm not sure it's necessary to keep him home. As you can imagine, I'll be watching him very closely over the next hour. He still has a small wheeze, but otherwise, he seems normal. Amber's perfectly willing to do the nebulizer thing, too, so he'll keep getting his Albuterol.
Yesterday I felt so intensely guilty about not giving Ben the nebulizer treatment right away on Monday morning when he woke up with the sniffles and a cough. The medical plan that our doctor gave us indicates that, but I wanted to wait and see how he did throughout the day. Dammit. Having such an easy summer with his asthma made me complacent. At least I've learned my lesson. When your kid has asthma, you have to freak out when he gets the sniffles.
In other news, the new girl at work doesn't suck. She seems bright and intelligent and seems to be a quick learner. At least I hope so. My boss is already transferring a lot of duties over to her.
My sister is coming to town this weekend with her family to drop off the latest load of rummage sale finds. These include a mini basketball hoop, a motorcycle-looking tricycle thing, several tonka trucks, and two more bags of clothes for Anna. She really loves going to rummage sales, and we don't mind reaping the benefits. Goodness knows I don't have the energy to be traipsing about, yard to yard.
Sunday night, Ben started coughing in his sleep. He seemed okay in the morning, and we sent him off to daycare with a request to Amber to keep track of his cough and his breathing. He had the sniffles, but was still anxious to play with his friends.
I called periodically during the day on Monday, and she let me know his status. He was okay. He had a cold, but he wasn't miserable. When we picked him up after work, he had just started on his downward spiral. His very quick downward spiral.
By the time we got home, his eyes were glassy, he was running a fever of 101, and he was gasping. Not good at all. He refused dinner, and he started crying non-stop, which only made his breathing worse. So we started his breathing treatments.
It was a long Monday night. Ben woke up in many cold sweats because he had stopped breathing. It was scary. Chester stayed home with him yesterday to continue the breathing treatments and to monitor him. Finally, when I came home for lunch, Ben consented to lunch. By dinner time, he still had a strong wheeze, but he was more interested in playing. And he ate some dinner. Yay! Off to bed, and he stayed asleep until four this morning.
We were all set to split the shift today. I'd stay home in the morning, Chester in the afternoon. But now, with Ben so perky, I'm not sure it's necessary to keep him home. As you can imagine, I'll be watching him very closely over the next hour. He still has a small wheeze, but otherwise, he seems normal. Amber's perfectly willing to do the nebulizer thing, too, so he'll keep getting his Albuterol.
Yesterday I felt so intensely guilty about not giving Ben the nebulizer treatment right away on Monday morning when he woke up with the sniffles and a cough. The medical plan that our doctor gave us indicates that, but I wanted to wait and see how he did throughout the day. Dammit. Having such an easy summer with his asthma made me complacent. At least I've learned my lesson. When your kid has asthma, you have to freak out when he gets the sniffles.
In other news, the new girl at work doesn't suck. She seems bright and intelligent and seems to be a quick learner. At least I hope so. My boss is already transferring a lot of duties over to her.
My sister is coming to town this weekend with her family to drop off the latest load of rummage sale finds. These include a mini basketball hoop, a motorcycle-looking tricycle thing, several tonka trucks, and two more bags of clothes for Anna. She really loves going to rummage sales, and we don't mind reaping the benefits. Goodness knows I don't have the energy to be traipsing about, yard to yard.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
What I Learned This Weekend
I desperately need to say that I had a productive weekend, though I really didn't. That really awesome idea to finally paint our dining room so we'd have a venue to finish listening to the audiobook we started last weekend. Yeah. That idea kind of fell flat.
Saturday dawned hot and humid. The nighttime had been hot and kind of rainy (which is nice because we need the rain), but instead of cleansing us from the dust and awful the-heat-is-never-going-to-go-away stuff, it kind of made the heat a little more moist and icky.
Dear husband had been up until two in the morning working because, as he put it, "the box that I was rebooting died and I fixed it, but then it died again and it took me a while to figure out how to fix it." Yeah. I don't have a clue either. The point of the whole fiasco is that right after lunch, he insisted on going back to bed for a nap. So even though he had only cleared out half of the living room and I had masked only a few vital areas, I sent him off to bed.
True, in a perfect world, I would have been able to be industrious and keep working on the project without him. But truthfully, I didn't want to. He didn't want me up on the ladder without him around, and I have a hard time crawling around on the floor. So I sat down and read.
Sunday morning. I woke up and read. After Ben got up, I did a sinkful of dishes and got started on baking a fabulous Finnish pancake. (It was terrific, by the way.) Following breakfast was a little play-with-Ben time which ended with it's-mommy's-nap-time time. When I woke up, we all had lunch, and then Chester and I got going on the dining room again.
While I was stirring the paint, his work phone rang. Yeah. That's never good news on a Sunday afternoon. Apparently some people at work were quite upset that they couldn't print anymore, and it wasn't an easy fix. I guess the server that hosts the printers is on its last leg, and it's dying. That required a lot of really boring phone calls to a lot of different workaholic types who didn't want to push off the problem until tomorrow but instead wanted my husband to get started on the fix immediately, even though he was supposed to be painting the dining room.
I painted a bunch of the trim areas (the deal is I work the brush while husband works the roller). Chester was in the living room staring at his laptop while he talked to various people on his annoying blue tooth thing. Eventually, he was able to put down the laptop and paint... but while he was on the phone the whole time.
The painting thing was a bust. Our dining room is now half pepto-abysmal pink. It's a terrible color. It's just the mid-tone primer that goes on over the original white and under the beautiful deep red to come. I've always wanted a red dining room. Maybe I'll eventually get one.
Once upon a time, I loved painting projects. Even when I was six or seven months pregnant with Ben, I was quite agile and able to dance around clumsily, painting his bedroom a lovely blue. This time around? Yeah. It's not happening. I hurt. Breathing in this heat with just a box fan to blow more hot air on me... not fun. My feet are swollen, I have two inexplicably bruised ribs, and my house is a disaster area because it hurts to bend down and pick up Ben's toys and videos that are strewn all over the place. But hey. It could be worse. I could be moving like Allie at http://curvatude.blogspot.com.
What I learned this weekend is that sometimes it's best to just focus on the productive aspects of life and ignore those crazy, pie-in-the-hazy-sky plans.
When it was raining Friday evening, and Ben was looking so cute, staring outside at the rain, I went out with him and we got drenched while exploring the perimeter of the house and experiencing the water dripping off the eaves. We were barefoot, and Ben was spotlessly clean after his bath. It was joyous. We got muddy. It was very productive.
I made pork chops for the first time in years, and they turned out well.
We watched a Little Bear video about eight times.
Chester is nearing the end of the last Harry Potter book.
I am greatly enjoying the book I'm reading. The Lay of the Land by Richard Ford.
All are minor accomplishments, but hell. They're all I got.
I meet my boss's new employee tomorrow. On Friday, Lady Smogo asked me surreptiously to try to find the new girl's myspace page... which was no easy task since she doesn't use her real name or a specific location. But hell. I found it. And while she has my favorite singer on her favorite bands list (Damien Rice), I'm still not sure we'll "click." Oh well. Only four weeks of awkward getting to know you crap and then I'm out of there.
In other news, my boss plans on making an offer to my future replacement. She let me help her in the decision on who to hire, and I'm hopeful that this new guy will work out well. Being a proofreader requires a great deal of ... well... balls and nerve. He'll be one of two people in the company who will be proudly waving the banner of accuracy and consistency in the faces of people who were happy with the slap-dash-crap way that they did their work the first time. It takes a bunch of courage and even more ego.
And, because the universe is usually kind to me, just months too late, the person I dislike most at work is putting in his or her notice this week. This person's last day will be about a week and a half before I leave. I did a happy dance, but I wish it would have happened a year ago. No. I wish the company actually cared about performance and quality and fired this individual a year ago when it became oh so clear that it was the right thing to do.
Saturday dawned hot and humid. The nighttime had been hot and kind of rainy (which is nice because we need the rain), but instead of cleansing us from the dust and awful the-heat-is-never-going-to-go-away stuff, it kind of made the heat a little more moist and icky.
Dear husband had been up until two in the morning working because, as he put it, "the box that I was rebooting died and I fixed it, but then it died again and it took me a while to figure out how to fix it." Yeah. I don't have a clue either. The point of the whole fiasco is that right after lunch, he insisted on going back to bed for a nap. So even though he had only cleared out half of the living room and I had masked only a few vital areas, I sent him off to bed.
True, in a perfect world, I would have been able to be industrious and keep working on the project without him. But truthfully, I didn't want to. He didn't want me up on the ladder without him around, and I have a hard time crawling around on the floor. So I sat down and read.
Sunday morning. I woke up and read. After Ben got up, I did a sinkful of dishes and got started on baking a fabulous Finnish pancake. (It was terrific, by the way.) Following breakfast was a little play-with-Ben time which ended with it's-mommy's-nap-time time. When I woke up, we all had lunch, and then Chester and I got going on the dining room again.
While I was stirring the paint, his work phone rang. Yeah. That's never good news on a Sunday afternoon. Apparently some people at work were quite upset that they couldn't print anymore, and it wasn't an easy fix. I guess the server that hosts the printers is on its last leg, and it's dying. That required a lot of really boring phone calls to a lot of different workaholic types who didn't want to push off the problem until tomorrow but instead wanted my husband to get started on the fix immediately, even though he was supposed to be painting the dining room.
I painted a bunch of the trim areas (the deal is I work the brush while husband works the roller). Chester was in the living room staring at his laptop while he talked to various people on his annoying blue tooth thing. Eventually, he was able to put down the laptop and paint... but while he was on the phone the whole time.
The painting thing was a bust. Our dining room is now half pepto-abysmal pink. It's a terrible color. It's just the mid-tone primer that goes on over the original white and under the beautiful deep red to come. I've always wanted a red dining room. Maybe I'll eventually get one.
Once upon a time, I loved painting projects. Even when I was six or seven months pregnant with Ben, I was quite agile and able to dance around clumsily, painting his bedroom a lovely blue. This time around? Yeah. It's not happening. I hurt. Breathing in this heat with just a box fan to blow more hot air on me... not fun. My feet are swollen, I have two inexplicably bruised ribs, and my house is a disaster area because it hurts to bend down and pick up Ben's toys and videos that are strewn all over the place. But hey. It could be worse. I could be moving like Allie at http://curvatude.blogspot.com.
What I learned this weekend is that sometimes it's best to just focus on the productive aspects of life and ignore those crazy, pie-in-the-hazy-sky plans.
When it was raining Friday evening, and Ben was looking so cute, staring outside at the rain, I went out with him and we got drenched while exploring the perimeter of the house and experiencing the water dripping off the eaves. We were barefoot, and Ben was spotlessly clean after his bath. It was joyous. We got muddy. It was very productive.
I made pork chops for the first time in years, and they turned out well.
We watched a Little Bear video about eight times.
Chester is nearing the end of the last Harry Potter book.
I am greatly enjoying the book I'm reading. The Lay of the Land by Richard Ford.
All are minor accomplishments, but hell. They're all I got.
I meet my boss's new employee tomorrow. On Friday, Lady Smogo asked me surreptiously to try to find the new girl's myspace page... which was no easy task since she doesn't use her real name or a specific location. But hell. I found it. And while she has my favorite singer on her favorite bands list (Damien Rice), I'm still not sure we'll "click." Oh well. Only four weeks of awkward getting to know you crap and then I'm out of there.
In other news, my boss plans on making an offer to my future replacement. She let me help her in the decision on who to hire, and I'm hopeful that this new guy will work out well. Being a proofreader requires a great deal of ... well... balls and nerve. He'll be one of two people in the company who will be proudly waving the banner of accuracy and consistency in the faces of people who were happy with the slap-dash-crap way that they did their work the first time. It takes a bunch of courage and even more ego.
And, because the universe is usually kind to me, just months too late, the person I dislike most at work is putting in his or her notice this week. This person's last day will be about a week and a half before I leave. I did a happy dance, but I wish it would have happened a year ago. No. I wish the company actually cared about performance and quality and fired this individual a year ago when it became oh so clear that it was the right thing to do.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
My Goofy Boy
I just love the new facial expressions that Ben uses. He likes acting like a goofball as much as mommy and daddy do. Here are a few pictures from our weekend... including the rare pictures with my beautiful husband.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
A weekend of travels with sunburn included
Finally a weekend happens with lots of bloggable material. I might expound on certain events later in the week, but I figured I'd write the outline down before I forget about it all.
We left work early on Friday to get the hell out of Dodge. We were at my mother's house in Minocqua before dinnertime. Ben absolutely loves playing at Nana's house because, without fail, he always forgets all the new interesting toys she has at her house... and he hasn't even discovered the basement yet.
After dinner, my mother, Chester, Ben and I drove down to the Lac du Flambeau Indian Reservation for a concert. We left my mother there after an hour because Ben was getting a little antsy and quite tired. It was way past his bedtime after all. But we had a nice time.
Saturday morning, we woke before dawn to get ready for the activities we had planned for the day, namely getting the hell out of dodge again. Driving in separate vehicles, my mom and dad drove to Eagle River while we followed. We had a nice breakfast at a diner owned by the same family that owns one of our favorite diners in Wausau. It was kind of funny to see the same menu, just with higher prices because of it being a tourist area.
After that, we drove. And we drove. And we drove. Sure it was only for two and a half hours, but it felt more like six. We headed to Upper Michigan to stop at my grandmother's farm in Baraga before we headed further north to Houghton. There we met with about thirty or forty of my relatives on my dad's side, and we got on a cruise boat and eventually traveled down the canal to the open waters of Lake Superior.
It was a fun family reunion, though after eating, I felt very seasick and nauseated. Seeing all of my relatives was interesting, especially seeing the little kids that I used to babysit. One kid is sixteen now, but I distinctly remember having changed his diaper before. Very weird. Most of that group isn't from the area anymore, though. They are scattered from sea to shining sea. From Florida to California to Toronto to New Jersey. It's a good family. Everybody is reasonably well educated and kind and unpretentious. Having originated from a place like the UP of Michigan tends to take a bunch of potential snobbiness out of your personality. I think it's directly related to the number of times you've used an outhouse or had a sauna naked with your grandparents.
After the boat, we drove back towards my grandma's farm (which isn't really a farm anymore since there aren't any animals). We stopped at the nursing home where she lives now. She's not really "there" either, but she likes getting visitors, even if she can't communicate well anymore and doesn't remember anybody except my mom. I sat with her and told her about my life, then kissed her and said goodbye. When she does die, I won't be reminiscing about this stage of her life. I'll be remembering the stooped old lady who made watery beef stew and always let me play with the ancient toys she kept in the closet.
Then we drove that ridiculously long and boring trek back down to my parents' house. We didn't get there until around 8 at night, but we ordered pizza from a local dive and watched TV for a while, mainly to wear out Ben some more. That silly little guy barely napped all day long. Maybe fifteen minutes here, fifteen minutes there.
Sunday morning, we amused ourselves with breakfast and cartoons, and Ben found a few more special toys he hadn't seen before. Then the boy and I took a nice long nap, after which we packed up all of our stuff and headed back down to Wausau. It's weird being at the house without my parents there, but they stayed in the UP for the night to be around the visiting Tepsa and Martilla family members.
When we got back to Wausau in the afternoon, there was a message waiting on our answering machine telling me to call my sister-in-law Jennifer in Green Bay. I called her, bewildered, since I only talk to her every couple of months. She tried making small talk, but I made her get to the point because I was dying of curiosity. I knew something was up because she had left a few messages on the answering machine at Nana's house as well. Turns out she's pregnant again, due in April. Ha!
Ha! I say. Over and over again. I'm thrilled, don't get me wrong, but this is not an expected turn of events. She has two sons, ages 13 and 8. For the last few years, she and my brother had been toying with the idea of having another baby, but she wasn't really into the idea, so they dropped it. Ha!
It's all very exciting. I'm due in November. She's due in April, and my sister Jolene and her husband are planning for another baby to be born in June or July. Ha! We're going to have to rent a freaking banquet hall for holidays now. So many grandbabies! There are already six, not counting the ones in utero. Ha!
So that was my weekend. We've got to clean house and get organized for the week to come, but we're so lethargic and exhausted, just relishing the comfort of being in our own house again.
We left work early on Friday to get the hell out of Dodge. We were at my mother's house in Minocqua before dinnertime. Ben absolutely loves playing at Nana's house because, without fail, he always forgets all the new interesting toys she has at her house... and he hasn't even discovered the basement yet.
After dinner, my mother, Chester, Ben and I drove down to the Lac du Flambeau Indian Reservation for a concert. We left my mother there after an hour because Ben was getting a little antsy and quite tired. It was way past his bedtime after all. But we had a nice time.
Saturday morning, we woke before dawn to get ready for the activities we had planned for the day, namely getting the hell out of dodge again. Driving in separate vehicles, my mom and dad drove to Eagle River while we followed. We had a nice breakfast at a diner owned by the same family that owns one of our favorite diners in Wausau. It was kind of funny to see the same menu, just with higher prices because of it being a tourist area.
After that, we drove. And we drove. And we drove. Sure it was only for two and a half hours, but it felt more like six. We headed to Upper Michigan to stop at my grandmother's farm in Baraga before we headed further north to Houghton. There we met with about thirty or forty of my relatives on my dad's side, and we got on a cruise boat and eventually traveled down the canal to the open waters of Lake Superior.
It was a fun family reunion, though after eating, I felt very seasick and nauseated. Seeing all of my relatives was interesting, especially seeing the little kids that I used to babysit. One kid is sixteen now, but I distinctly remember having changed his diaper before. Very weird. Most of that group isn't from the area anymore, though. They are scattered from sea to shining sea. From Florida to California to Toronto to New Jersey. It's a good family. Everybody is reasonably well educated and kind and unpretentious. Having originated from a place like the UP of Michigan tends to take a bunch of potential snobbiness out of your personality. I think it's directly related to the number of times you've used an outhouse or had a sauna naked with your grandparents.
After the boat, we drove back towards my grandma's farm (which isn't really a farm anymore since there aren't any animals). We stopped at the nursing home where she lives now. She's not really "there" either, but she likes getting visitors, even if she can't communicate well anymore and doesn't remember anybody except my mom. I sat with her and told her about my life, then kissed her and said goodbye. When she does die, I won't be reminiscing about this stage of her life. I'll be remembering the stooped old lady who made watery beef stew and always let me play with the ancient toys she kept in the closet.
Then we drove that ridiculously long and boring trek back down to my parents' house. We didn't get there until around 8 at night, but we ordered pizza from a local dive and watched TV for a while, mainly to wear out Ben some more. That silly little guy barely napped all day long. Maybe fifteen minutes here, fifteen minutes there.
Sunday morning, we amused ourselves with breakfast and cartoons, and Ben found a few more special toys he hadn't seen before. Then the boy and I took a nice long nap, after which we packed up all of our stuff and headed back down to Wausau. It's weird being at the house without my parents there, but they stayed in the UP for the night to be around the visiting Tepsa and Martilla family members.
When we got back to Wausau in the afternoon, there was a message waiting on our answering machine telling me to call my sister-in-law Jennifer in Green Bay. I called her, bewildered, since I only talk to her every couple of months. She tried making small talk, but I made her get to the point because I was dying of curiosity. I knew something was up because she had left a few messages on the answering machine at Nana's house as well. Turns out she's pregnant again, due in April. Ha!
Ha! I say. Over and over again. I'm thrilled, don't get me wrong, but this is not an expected turn of events. She has two sons, ages 13 and 8. For the last few years, she and my brother had been toying with the idea of having another baby, but she wasn't really into the idea, so they dropped it. Ha!
It's all very exciting. I'm due in November. She's due in April, and my sister Jolene and her husband are planning for another baby to be born in June or July. Ha! We're going to have to rent a freaking banquet hall for holidays now. So many grandbabies! There are already six, not counting the ones in utero. Ha!
So that was my weekend. We've got to clean house and get organized for the week to come, but we're so lethargic and exhausted, just relishing the comfort of being in our own house again.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Damp Cardboard Is Icky
I was considering posting an official blogging hiatus for the next couple months... but I decided to keep trying, despite my total lack of energy.
So here it goes. My weekend, by Cheryl.
While so many of you are partying hardy at the BlogHer conference, I stayed home to be productive. This means taking a three-hour nap every day and reading no less than three paperback novels. The Cat Who Could Read Backwards and The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern by Lilian Jackson Braun and By The Light Of The Moon by Dean Koontz. Very different writing styles, of course, but I'm in a changeable mood. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to dig into a dense Ken Follett, a freaky Koontz, a summertime-reading Rosamunde Pilcher or as-light-as-they-come Braun. Can you tell that I finally unpacked my book boxes? It was an exciting time to unpack all of my old friends... only to find out that we really need more bookshelves. My paperbacks are actually double stacked in double depths right now, but at least they aren't in boxes.
Can I now tell you how much I hate cardboard boxes? Holy cow, I hate them. They are a really bad idea for anybody who lives in a climate susceptible to flooding, humidity and damp basements. A seriously bad idea.
When we bought our house in January, we marveled at how dry and free from water damage the basement was. We even had a receipt from a local dry-basement company to prove that our basement had once passed its rigorous tests. As spring came and the snow melted and the rain happened, we re-evaluated our opinion. Our basement floods. Not deeply, just a half-inch of ground water that seeps in from at least two sides. And though we had put all of our boxes in the center of the basement, they still got wet. And you wouldn't believe how quickly damp cardboard grows mildew and other colorful types of mold. It's really amazing. For the record, we should have noticed that the dry-basement receipt was from seven years ago, and our basement hadn't been serviced since then.
We dedicated two hours each day this weekend to going through boxes. There were about thirty tv-sized boxes down there. Some were ruined, all were dank and damp. And most contained clothes, blankets and pillows. A large majority of the clothes went straight into the wash piles, some were totally ruined and just tossed. We did manage to fill three large duffle bags full of clothes that were clean and didn't totally reek and could safely be donated to our local shelter. It'll be a week-long process, though, as the rest of the items go through the wash and get sorted into winter bins or donation boxes.
Wow, we have lots of junk. We did a cursory sort-through of stuff before we moved, but really, most of the stuff went straight into big boxes to be sorted later. I don't really regret that, but I do regret the use of cardboard boxes... and putting those boxes into the basement instead of our huge totally dry attics. (Plural because it's one-and-a-half stories. The upstairs living area is only the center of the house, twelve feet wide, to avoid having really steep ceilings on the side. The rest of the space is all attic, not insulated, but dry and relatively clean. Two separate areas.)
Going through boxes was interesting. Found lots of thrilling items.
- Tupperware that we still can't figure out the purpose of.
- A ziploc bag with a Darth Vader t-shirt in it ("We can't get rid of that. It's never been worn. It's Darth Vader. It's a collectible. It'll be worth like five bucks someday.")
- My exercise/birthing ball, deflated.
- Various pieces of computer/technological hardware. Odd random items like the face plate to a VCR, pieces of motherboard, etc. Can you tell I married a tech packrat?
- At least a dozen items that could be labeled as protective gear. Shin/elbow guards for Tae Kwon Do, knee braces, jock straps. Who needs three jock straps?
- Lots of embroidery thread. I used to be an avid cross-stitcher. So was my husband. When we married, we combined our treasure trove and promptly gave up the hobby.
- About a hundred pages of "how to write a novel" information I printed from the internet. That all went into the recycling bin.
It was a fun weekend. Lots of bending over to dig in boxes for me, so I had to rest for hours after our sessions, but it was worth it.
In other news, we priced out dehumidifiers for our basement, and totally got sticker shock. Oh my god, those babies are expensive. Especially after we realized that our tires are totally bald and need to be replaced before the snow flies. It's all very depressing to contemplate when we realize that I'll only be working for another five weeks.
My dear HR department made me cry last week. Although I was easily approved for my intermittent family medical leave so I could lie down more and rest when I have contractions, after two weeks, I found out that they weren't really expecting me to use it. In nine days, I used 9 hours of leave, and was given a strict warning. If I keep using the leave as often as I had (about two partial afternoons a week), I'd have to start getting re-certified by my doctor with each "event." 15 dollar co-pay to see my doctor and I'd still be taking the time unpaid. It was very depressing, and I was very upset. I don't really know what I'll do if I keep feeling so awful. I should be going home to rest, but instead, I try holding out here at work and keep downing Tylenol to dampen the pain (but it doesn't help). My husband is mad, and I'm tempted to re-adjust my termination date to something a lot sooner. Oh well. That's life. Only five weeks left.
So here it goes. My weekend, by Cheryl.
While so many of you are partying hardy at the BlogHer conference, I stayed home to be productive. This means taking a three-hour nap every day and reading no less than three paperback novels. The Cat Who Could Read Backwards and The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern by Lilian Jackson Braun and By The Light Of The Moon by Dean Koontz. Very different writing styles, of course, but I'm in a changeable mood. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to dig into a dense Ken Follett, a freaky Koontz, a summertime-reading Rosamunde Pilcher or as-light-as-they-come Braun. Can you tell that I finally unpacked my book boxes? It was an exciting time to unpack all of my old friends... only to find out that we really need more bookshelves. My paperbacks are actually double stacked in double depths right now, but at least they aren't in boxes.
Can I now tell you how much I hate cardboard boxes? Holy cow, I hate them. They are a really bad idea for anybody who lives in a climate susceptible to flooding, humidity and damp basements. A seriously bad idea.
When we bought our house in January, we marveled at how dry and free from water damage the basement was. We even had a receipt from a local dry-basement company to prove that our basement had once passed its rigorous tests. As spring came and the snow melted and the rain happened, we re-evaluated our opinion. Our basement floods. Not deeply, just a half-inch of ground water that seeps in from at least two sides. And though we had put all of our boxes in the center of the basement, they still got wet. And you wouldn't believe how quickly damp cardboard grows mildew and other colorful types of mold. It's really amazing. For the record, we should have noticed that the dry-basement receipt was from seven years ago, and our basement hadn't been serviced since then.
We dedicated two hours each day this weekend to going through boxes. There were about thirty tv-sized boxes down there. Some were ruined, all were dank and damp. And most contained clothes, blankets and pillows. A large majority of the clothes went straight into the wash piles, some were totally ruined and just tossed. We did manage to fill three large duffle bags full of clothes that were clean and didn't totally reek and could safely be donated to our local shelter. It'll be a week-long process, though, as the rest of the items go through the wash and get sorted into winter bins or donation boxes.
Wow, we have lots of junk. We did a cursory sort-through of stuff before we moved, but really, most of the stuff went straight into big boxes to be sorted later. I don't really regret that, but I do regret the use of cardboard boxes... and putting those boxes into the basement instead of our huge totally dry attics. (Plural because it's one-and-a-half stories. The upstairs living area is only the center of the house, twelve feet wide, to avoid having really steep ceilings on the side. The rest of the space is all attic, not insulated, but dry and relatively clean. Two separate areas.)
Going through boxes was interesting. Found lots of thrilling items.
- Tupperware that we still can't figure out the purpose of.
- A ziploc bag with a Darth Vader t-shirt in it ("We can't get rid of that. It's never been worn. It's Darth Vader. It's a collectible. It'll be worth like five bucks someday.")
- My exercise/birthing ball, deflated.
- Various pieces of computer/technological hardware. Odd random items like the face plate to a VCR, pieces of motherboard, etc. Can you tell I married a tech packrat?
- At least a dozen items that could be labeled as protective gear. Shin/elbow guards for Tae Kwon Do, knee braces, jock straps. Who needs three jock straps?
- Lots of embroidery thread. I used to be an avid cross-stitcher. So was my husband. When we married, we combined our treasure trove and promptly gave up the hobby.
- About a hundred pages of "how to write a novel" information I printed from the internet. That all went into the recycling bin.
It was a fun weekend. Lots of bending over to dig in boxes for me, so I had to rest for hours after our sessions, but it was worth it.
In other news, we priced out dehumidifiers for our basement, and totally got sticker shock. Oh my god, those babies are expensive. Especially after we realized that our tires are totally bald and need to be replaced before the snow flies. It's all very depressing to contemplate when we realize that I'll only be working for another five weeks.
My dear HR department made me cry last week. Although I was easily approved for my intermittent family medical leave so I could lie down more and rest when I have contractions, after two weeks, I found out that they weren't really expecting me to use it. In nine days, I used 9 hours of leave, and was given a strict warning. If I keep using the leave as often as I had (about two partial afternoons a week), I'd have to start getting re-certified by my doctor with each "event." 15 dollar co-pay to see my doctor and I'd still be taking the time unpaid. It was very depressing, and I was very upset. I don't really know what I'll do if I keep feeling so awful. I should be going home to rest, but instead, I try holding out here at work and keep downing Tylenol to dampen the pain (but it doesn't help). My husband is mad, and I'm tempted to re-adjust my termination date to something a lot sooner. Oh well. That's life. Only five weeks left.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Newsy Post with Giant Nephew, Boy Wizard and Shaking Belly Syndrome
I participated in an important civic duty this morning. Yup, folks. I didn't try to get a medical exemption from jury duty. I showed up. The fine people in our county clerk of courts office summoned 68 people for a jury trial... and by random luck, I was number 68 of 68. I knew for most of the morning that there was almost no chance in hell I'd get chosen to be on the jury. And of course I wasn't. Shortly before lunch, prospective jurors 27 and above were dismissed.
To tell you the truth, I was mostly annoyed at listening to my fellow citizens bitch and moan about being summoned and how inconvenient it was. Hell yeah, it's inconvenient. And I hope that more employers are like mine and fully compensate employees for time spent on juries. But I was proud to be randomly selected to serve, and I would have been proud to serve the whole 12 days even if it meant that I'd be uncomfortable sitting for so long without breaks and water. I'm done preaching now.
My Anna belly is really active now. She's kicking and punching and squirming a lot. It's even gotten to the point that I can see the movement. My dear husband has only felt a few nudges and some moving from side to side, but even those brief encounters have made him much more interested in my belly. He'll come over by me and start petting my belly to say "hi" to the baby. It's quite sweet, really.
Ben is... well. He's a toddler. What can I say? He's a toddler who is cutting four molars at one time. Just one tip from each molar has cut through so far, and I'm sure his gums are very sensitive and swollen. Not one to complain, he expresses his frustration and bitterness by being naughty and easily annoyed. Last week, he had a meltdown when we came to pick him up from daycare. He wanted to stay there and play with his friends some more. Yesterday, he had a playdate with my boss's son, and he had a total meltdown when we came to pick him up and take him home. This morning, he refused to hug us goodbye at daycare, instead running to hide behind the legs of dear Amber, his caregiver.
Really. We're not getting worried about that. Nope. Not at all. Sure, it seems like he prefers pretty much anyone else over his mommy and daddy, and I've rarely heard of toddlers who do that... but we're not taking it personally. Really. Do you believe me? Or am I not laying the sarcasm on thick enough?
I know it's just a phase and he still loves us. When we finally do get home, he shows us affection. It's just that given the choice right now, he'd rather be elsewhere. Oh well.
Our weekend was fine. My sister and her son came over Saturday afternoon. My dear nephew Gage is 8 months old and 24 pounds. He's already cruising on furniture and is wearing the same size clothes as Ben. He's huge. And Ben loves him dearly. He kept going over to give him hugs, and while Gage was in his walker, Ben enjoyed pushing him around the house. Later, we all went to the public pool to let the kids play... and I actually scored a tan line.
The purpose of my sister's visit was to bring over all of the baby stuff she had at her house. Lots of it was stuff I had given her before Gage's birth. Some was stuff she had acquired at her baby shower. And totes and totes full of baby clothes and opened packs of diapers. A couple of the totes were full of items she's picked up at rummage sales this summer. Lots of stuff for Anna and stuff for Ben this winter. It's nice to have a sister like that.
Chester accused me of glowing and beaming while I went through the stuff for Anna. I couldn't help myself. I'm really excited to have a daughter.
Yesterday we left Ben at my boss's house while we went and saw Harry Potter at the movie theatre. I ate a huge bucket of popcorn and had to get up and pee no less than six times. Despite the constant up and down, I enjoyed myself, and Chester enjoyed having me to himself for the "date." We aren't able to be intimate like we would normally be as a young married couple, if you know what I mean, and while our relationship remains strong, it's easy to forget that we're man and wife when we're not partaking in the pleasures of the flesh. Whoa. TMI. Time for me to stop typing.
To tell you the truth, I was mostly annoyed at listening to my fellow citizens bitch and moan about being summoned and how inconvenient it was. Hell yeah, it's inconvenient. And I hope that more employers are like mine and fully compensate employees for time spent on juries. But I was proud to be randomly selected to serve, and I would have been proud to serve the whole 12 days even if it meant that I'd be uncomfortable sitting for so long without breaks and water. I'm done preaching now.
My Anna belly is really active now. She's kicking and punching and squirming a lot. It's even gotten to the point that I can see the movement. My dear husband has only felt a few nudges and some moving from side to side, but even those brief encounters have made him much more interested in my belly. He'll come over by me and start petting my belly to say "hi" to the baby. It's quite sweet, really.
Ben is... well. He's a toddler. What can I say? He's a toddler who is cutting four molars at one time. Just one tip from each molar has cut through so far, and I'm sure his gums are very sensitive and swollen. Not one to complain, he expresses his frustration and bitterness by being naughty and easily annoyed. Last week, he had a meltdown when we came to pick him up from daycare. He wanted to stay there and play with his friends some more. Yesterday, he had a playdate with my boss's son, and he had a total meltdown when we came to pick him up and take him home. This morning, he refused to hug us goodbye at daycare, instead running to hide behind the legs of dear Amber, his caregiver.
Really. We're not getting worried about that. Nope. Not at all. Sure, it seems like he prefers pretty much anyone else over his mommy and daddy, and I've rarely heard of toddlers who do that... but we're not taking it personally. Really. Do you believe me? Or am I not laying the sarcasm on thick enough?
I know it's just a phase and he still loves us. When we finally do get home, he shows us affection. It's just that given the choice right now, he'd rather be elsewhere. Oh well.
Our weekend was fine. My sister and her son came over Saturday afternoon. My dear nephew Gage is 8 months old and 24 pounds. He's already cruising on furniture and is wearing the same size clothes as Ben. He's huge. And Ben loves him dearly. He kept going over to give him hugs, and while Gage was in his walker, Ben enjoyed pushing him around the house. Later, we all went to the public pool to let the kids play... and I actually scored a tan line.
The purpose of my sister's visit was to bring over all of the baby stuff she had at her house. Lots of it was stuff I had given her before Gage's birth. Some was stuff she had acquired at her baby shower. And totes and totes full of baby clothes and opened packs of diapers. A couple of the totes were full of items she's picked up at rummage sales this summer. Lots of stuff for Anna and stuff for Ben this winter. It's nice to have a sister like that.
Chester accused me of glowing and beaming while I went through the stuff for Anna. I couldn't help myself. I'm really excited to have a daughter.
Yesterday we left Ben at my boss's house while we went and saw Harry Potter at the movie theatre. I ate a huge bucket of popcorn and had to get up and pee no less than six times. Despite the constant up and down, I enjoyed myself, and Chester enjoyed having me to himself for the "date." We aren't able to be intimate like we would normally be as a young married couple, if you know what I mean, and while our relationship remains strong, it's easy to forget that we're man and wife when we're not partaking in the pleasures of the flesh. Whoa. TMI. Time for me to stop typing.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Pity Post
A short post today because I feel guilty for neglecting my blog and it's better than nothing.
Nothing very exciting has happened... unless you count our trip to the library last night after an absence of almost eight months. It resulted in me borrowing audio books to listen to at work while I proof. Conveniently, proofing uses a different part of my brain than needed to follow along a narrative. It also resulted in a rather long chase of Benjamin as he delighted in how quickly he could lose Mommy and Daddy in the maze of books.
Ben's black eye was bit hard by a precious little girl at daycare on Saturday. It makes him look horrible, but he doesn't seem to mind.
There's lots of details to think about when it comes to quitting your job with no intention of finding alternative employment. Like what to do with my 401K. My CPA brother has solved that for me, but it was kind of exciting to have problems like that for a few minutes.
In other news, I'm on intermittent family medical leave now which basically means that I can leave work and go home at any time I need to lay down from the tortuous effects of carrying this precious baby inside of me. Sure, it's unpaid, but at least I won't lose my job on those terms. We can consider it partial bed rest.
Ah well. That's life.
Nothing very exciting has happened... unless you count our trip to the library last night after an absence of almost eight months. It resulted in me borrowing audio books to listen to at work while I proof. Conveniently, proofing uses a different part of my brain than needed to follow along a narrative. It also resulted in a rather long chase of Benjamin as he delighted in how quickly he could lose Mommy and Daddy in the maze of books.
Ben's black eye was bit hard by a precious little girl at daycare on Saturday. It makes him look horrible, but he doesn't seem to mind.
There's lots of details to think about when it comes to quitting your job with no intention of finding alternative employment. Like what to do with my 401K. My CPA brother has solved that for me, but it was kind of exciting to have problems like that for a few minutes.
In other news, I'm on intermittent family medical leave now which basically means that I can leave work and go home at any time I need to lay down from the tortuous effects of carrying this precious baby inside of me. Sure, it's unpaid, but at least I won't lose my job on those terms. We can consider it partial bed rest.
Ah well. That's life.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The End Date
Well, I kind of did it. I gave my boss a tentative end date. September 7th. I'll give her an official letter of resignation in a couple of weeks, but she's my friend, and I wanted to let her know what I was thinking. I cried.
Anyway. Chester still says I don't have to quit, that we could work something out... but. Well. I have more reasons to leave than I have to stay. My brain is telling me to stay, but my gut and my heart is telling me to leave. So I'll leave. And I'll move on to the next phase of my life where I get to dedicate my life to raising my babies.
If it doesn't work out, I can always come back in another position or find a brand new company to work for. But I don't see that happening.
In other news, Ben got his second black eye last night. He climbed onto his bed and ran, not crawled, up to the head of the bed. And he tripped over his pillow and slammed his face down on his headboard. It was not a happy experience for this small boy.
He learned how to give raspberries (or zerberts, as we call them). He spent about five minutes this morning soaking my bare knee is saliva. I was laughing uproariously. It escalated his excitement so much, though, that he started squealing and biting. So the whole experience ended in a time out and a big old "OWIE" from me.
We had a nice weekend, by the way. We went up north to my parents' house in Minocqua to avoid the heat. Saturday night, we went swimming at a local beach I know of that a lot of other people don't know about, so we were one of three families. Ben got dunked several times. He loved playing in my parents' yard as well.
The work week has been dragging for me. I'm just not feeling "right" emotionally; it's probably just hormones. So yesterday morning I made the decision to take the afternoon off to nap. And I did. And it felt good. But now I have to get back into the whole swing of "work." And knowing that I only have a couple of months left... well. It just feels weird and rather frustrating.
We finally were able to hire someone into the other position in our area... but it wasn't the guy who was a shoo-in to replace me. I'm thrilled that someone will be in the position to take a load off of my boss, since she's been doing 80% of the extra work, but I still wish we had gotten our first choice. He wanted a starting rate of more than what I make, and that's against company policy since I'm above him, so we had to go with our second choice. She's great for the department as a whole, but she doesn't have any background in proofreading.
What makes a good proofreader? An insanely devoted attention to detail and a disgustingly thorough proofing method. I didn't make a lot of friends as a proofreader, since I basically point out everything they do wrong, but at least I made a difference for the company for every "catch" I made.
Anyway. Chester still says I don't have to quit, that we could work something out... but. Well. I have more reasons to leave than I have to stay. My brain is telling me to stay, but my gut and my heart is telling me to leave. So I'll leave. And I'll move on to the next phase of my life where I get to dedicate my life to raising my babies.
If it doesn't work out, I can always come back in another position or find a brand new company to work for. But I don't see that happening.
In other news, Ben got his second black eye last night. He climbed onto his bed and ran, not crawled, up to the head of the bed. And he tripped over his pillow and slammed his face down on his headboard. It was not a happy experience for this small boy.
He learned how to give raspberries (or zerberts, as we call them). He spent about five minutes this morning soaking my bare knee is saliva. I was laughing uproariously. It escalated his excitement so much, though, that he started squealing and biting. So the whole experience ended in a time out and a big old "OWIE" from me.
We had a nice weekend, by the way. We went up north to my parents' house in Minocqua to avoid the heat. Saturday night, we went swimming at a local beach I know of that a lot of other people don't know about, so we were one of three families. Ben got dunked several times. He loved playing in my parents' yard as well.
The work week has been dragging for me. I'm just not feeling "right" emotionally; it's probably just hormones. So yesterday morning I made the decision to take the afternoon off to nap. And I did. And it felt good. But now I have to get back into the whole swing of "work." And knowing that I only have a couple of months left... well. It just feels weird and rather frustrating.
We finally were able to hire someone into the other position in our area... but it wasn't the guy who was a shoo-in to replace me. I'm thrilled that someone will be in the position to take a load off of my boss, since she's been doing 80% of the extra work, but I still wish we had gotten our first choice. He wanted a starting rate of more than what I make, and that's against company policy since I'm above him, so we had to go with our second choice. She's great for the department as a whole, but she doesn't have any background in proofreading.
What makes a good proofreader? An insanely devoted attention to detail and a disgustingly thorough proofing method. I didn't make a lot of friends as a proofreader, since I basically point out everything they do wrong, but at least I made a difference for the company for every "catch" I made.
Friday, July 06, 2007
An Evening At The Park With Ben
I took the afternoon off yesterday. And I napped hard. We also had the pleasure of my mother's company in the evening. My niece Alisha has been spending the week with her. We were going to go to the park to have a picnic, but of course it rained around the time we wanted to leave. So we picnicked in the living room and went to the park later after things had a chance to dry.
And Chester got a new phone from work yesterday. A blackberry pearl that takes decent pictures. So I figured now was a good time for a Benji Photo Essay.
This is a close approximation of Ben's classic "oh" face. Yeah. I know. He's adorable. He was getting very excited about getting to climb up and go down the slides.
Can you taste the excitement and determination?
Oh yeah. That's what I call fun.
Again? Please? More Mamma? Swings?
Here's some more of Ben's joy if you can handle it.
We had a terrific time. This is definitely my favorite age so far.
And Chester got a new phone from work yesterday. A blackberry pearl that takes decent pictures. So I figured now was a good time for a Benji Photo Essay.
This is a close approximation of Ben's classic "oh" face. Yeah. I know. He's adorable. He was getting very excited about getting to climb up and go down the slides.
Can you taste the excitement and determination?
Oh yeah. That's what I call fun.
Again? Please? More Mamma? Swings?
Here's some more of Ben's joy if you can handle it.
We had a terrific time. This is definitely my favorite age so far.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Facing the Fourth
I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to me to be part of a community. My first instinct was to feel guilty because I don't volunteer or participate like I did when I was in college.
Then, because I don't like guilt, I redirected my focus towards not what my ideals are but what my reality is.
I live in the town I was born in. I haven't stayed here my whole life, but I chose to come back and raise my family here. For the most part, the people are friendly and stable. There's a thriving art community and lots of local bands. Plenty of factories and plenty of corporations means that there's a nice cross section of people, both blue collar and white collar.
We're also a community who welcomed Hmong refugees from Laos in the eighties and nineties. Now the Hmong make up ten percent of our population, something I'm proud of. Not many small Midwestern communities would do what we did. And while a lot of the white folks complain about them, I sympathize with the refugees and their families. And I wish I knew their language so I could do more than smile warmly when I see them.
But on a more personal level, I'm looking forward to going to the festivities at the big park in town tomorrow. It'll be fun to show Ben the animals I've been imitating for months. The cow says "moo" and the duck says "quack." The chicken says "cluck/bawk" and the rooster says "cock-a-doodle-doo." The pig says "snort/oink" and the sheep says "baaa-baaa." I never told him how smelly the animals are, so he might actually enjoy them. Goodness knows he likes dirt and stink, being a boy. If ever there was a town-raised young'un who would love some time on a farm, it's my boy.
I don't like crowds and loud noises, but I'm taking Ben to the carnival. On purpose. Without getting drunk. I might shove him on a couple rides with Daddy. I might let him taste the crunchy-gooey heaven that is cotton candy, fresh from the spinner. There might even be a funnel cake in his future.
I want him to see the tradition that we Americans have of gathering together on ridiculously hot days to spend stupid amounts of money on chaotic rides and junk food. I want him to see the mess of people of all kinds and how they interact with each other in the sticky craziness of fairs. I want him to see how proud the 4H kids are of their animals and their produce and their crafts.
I don't expect to enjoy myself, but I do expect to enjoy the look of amazement and curiosity on my son's face. It'll be years before he feels the urge to become housebound hermits like his Mom and Dad.
And to be honest... I really like fair food.
Then, because I don't like guilt, I redirected my focus towards not what my ideals are but what my reality is.
I live in the town I was born in. I haven't stayed here my whole life, but I chose to come back and raise my family here. For the most part, the people are friendly and stable. There's a thriving art community and lots of local bands. Plenty of factories and plenty of corporations means that there's a nice cross section of people, both blue collar and white collar.
We're also a community who welcomed Hmong refugees from Laos in the eighties and nineties. Now the Hmong make up ten percent of our population, something I'm proud of. Not many small Midwestern communities would do what we did. And while a lot of the white folks complain about them, I sympathize with the refugees and their families. And I wish I knew their language so I could do more than smile warmly when I see them.
But on a more personal level, I'm looking forward to going to the festivities at the big park in town tomorrow. It'll be fun to show Ben the animals I've been imitating for months. The cow says "moo" and the duck says "quack." The chicken says "cluck/bawk" and the rooster says "cock-a-doodle-doo." The pig says "snort/oink" and the sheep says "baaa-baaa." I never told him how smelly the animals are, so he might actually enjoy them. Goodness knows he likes dirt and stink, being a boy. If ever there was a town-raised young'un who would love some time on a farm, it's my boy.
I don't like crowds and loud noises, but I'm taking Ben to the carnival. On purpose. Without getting drunk. I might shove him on a couple rides with Daddy. I might let him taste the crunchy-gooey heaven that is cotton candy, fresh from the spinner. There might even be a funnel cake in his future.
I want him to see the tradition that we Americans have of gathering together on ridiculously hot days to spend stupid amounts of money on chaotic rides and junk food. I want him to see the mess of people of all kinds and how they interact with each other in the sticky craziness of fairs. I want him to see how proud the 4H kids are of their animals and their produce and their crafts.
I don't expect to enjoy myself, but I do expect to enjoy the look of amazement and curiosity on my son's face. It'll be years before he feels the urge to become housebound hermits like his Mom and Dad.
And to be honest... I really like fair food.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wordy Meme, Baby Drama
AmandaD did this meme on her blog http://lifewithbriar.blogspot.com. I wanted to write a post today, but I didn't know how to start it without being pathetic. So this works. Feel free to use the meme for yourself. It's a nice exercise. The point is to only use one word answers. I cheated a couple of times by making up words or hyphenating. Forgive me.
1. Where is your cell phone? Toybox.
2. Relationship? Tender.
3. Your hair? Uninspiring.
4. Work? Bland.
5. Your sister? Stubborn.
6. Your favorite thing? Mommyhood.
7. Your dream last night? Unknown.
8. Your favorite drink? Water.
9. Your dream car? Organized.
10. The room you're in? Cubicle.
11. Your shoes? Flops.
12. Your fears? Anna-gone.
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Happy.
14. Who did you hang out with this weekend? Boys.
15. What are you not good at? Pancakes.
16. Muffin? Tops.
17. One of your wish list items? Comfort.
18. Where you grew up? Woods.
19. Last thing you did? Peed.
20. What are you wearing? Support.
21. What aren't you wearing? Style.
22. Your pet? Available.
23. Your computer? Borrowed.
24. Your life? Changing.
25. Your mood? Worried.
26. Missing? Calm.
27. What are you thinking about right now? Eleven-thirty.
28. Your car? Stinky.
29. Your kitchen? Stinkier.
30. Your summer? Watery.
31. Your favorite color? Benskin.
32. Last time you laughed? Gossip.
33. Last time you cried? Car.
34. School? Uninterested.
35. Love? Yup.
I'd like to think I'm not a whiny, drama-packed person. I'd like to be calm and stable. Everytime I get upset about something, I try to step back and make a decision about whether or not it's worth being upset. Sometimes, I'm able to stop the drama there. Other times, I'm swept away. When I get ready to journal/blog, I pick and choose what I want on there. What do I want out on the web that represents my life right now? So I share some of the drama because excluding it all wouldn't be real, wouldn't be honest. And for the most part, the drama-less times of my life are hard to blog about because there's only so many ways I can describe the magic of Ben's smile or the pure, unadulterated joy of Benji Bath Time.
From my meme, though, you can probably figure out that life isn't very happy right now. And it's not. It's full of worry and anxiety and fear and pain.
Wednesday afternoon, I started getting BH contractions more than once an hour, lasting for about ten minutes each, radiating to different parts of my torso. Being a responsible pregnant lady, I logged them all, trying to identify what I was feeling and where. By the end of the day, I had put a folded blanket on my seat to cushion my heiny because it kept going numb and was very sore.
Thursday is when the fun started. Early on in the morning, I did a few undie-checks to make sure I wasn't bleeding. I had felt some "dribbling" but I didn't think it was pee. I chalked it up to girlie moisture and went on with my day. Shortly after lunch, my pelvic region started aching and I felt lots of sharp, stabbing pains in my groin area that spread down my thighs and back again. By three, when I finally called my doctor's office, it felt EXACTLY like it had right after I gave birth. Basically like I had slammed my crotch into a brick wall at 80 mph. Walking was agony, but so was sitting.
My doctor wasn't in and couldn't be reached, though they tried since she doesn't like to pass off her OB patients to the on-call doctor. They finally assigned me someone at 4, and the nurse called me back. At first she figured it was just round ligament pain, but when I described the pain as something I felt right after birth, she and the on-call doc got worried. So I was told to go home and be on bedrest for the rest of the night and to see my doctor the next day.
I cried a lot. I was worried and anxious and scared. By bedtime, the couple hours I had spent horizontal had helped and I wasn't limping anymore. I was tender, but not nearly as pain-wrecked. By morning, I was fine. I'm stiff and awkward, but I'm not in a lot of pain. I get twinges of it every once in a while, but I'm okay. I see my doctor at eleven-thirty this morning. So I'm here at work, playing online, proofing what I can reach, and keeping my feet up and my back relaxed.
Worst case scenario? Pre-term labor which isn't even called pre-term labor until I hit 20 weeks on Monday. Losing my precious baby girl would just be called a miscarriage, which makes it feel less significant, and I hate that.
Probable scenario? SPD or the separation of my pelvic bones. Caused by relaxin. They can't do much for it besides physical therapy and pain medication, and it might make a vaginal birth difficult. I had relaxin issues with Ben. By my seventh month, my wrists had loosened so much that they kept dislocating while I slept. I had to sleep with wrist bands on to keep them in place.
What I don't want to hear? That it's normal and I'm overreacting.
So I'm waiting and monitoring. Feeling okay this morning is reassuring, but now I feel like I maybe hallucinated yesterday.
The rest of my non-baby drama? My brother and his wife are at an impasse with my sister and her husband. They had a fight a couple weeks ago, and though both parties have officially apologized, the grudges remain, and they haven't resumed their usual, day-to-day relationship. I don't really care, but it upsets my mom, and that makes me upset. I get to ignore it and only have to be involved when my mom calls to vent. We are a VERY stubborn family, and we've perfected the fine art of grudge-holding. It's a talent that is passed down through the generations. Seriously. My mom isn't speaking to her siblings either. Since the current argument was over something not incredibly important or vital, eventually the affected parties will decide to move on and exist in denial that the rift ever occurred. The relationship will be stilted for a while, but that's how we roll.
I'll post again this afternoon to give a quick update on what my doctor said at the appointment.
Update: My doctor suspects I'm producing too much relaxin, the pregnancy hormone that relaxes the ligaments to prepare the body for birth. It's causing my pelvis to separate early and more than necessary. There's nothing that can be done. Just tylenol and rest when the pain starts. Good news is that it probably won't cause pre-term labor, which is good, since Baby Anna is 6 weeks away from being a NICU candidate. So I'll be relaxing a lot this weekend and trying not to stress out my hips. Wish me luck.
1. Where is your cell phone? Toybox.
2. Relationship? Tender.
3. Your hair? Uninspiring.
4. Work? Bland.
5. Your sister? Stubborn.
6. Your favorite thing? Mommyhood.
7. Your dream last night? Unknown.
8. Your favorite drink? Water.
9. Your dream car? Organized.
10. The room you're in? Cubicle.
11. Your shoes? Flops.
12. Your fears? Anna-gone.
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Happy.
14. Who did you hang out with this weekend? Boys.
15. What are you not good at? Pancakes.
16. Muffin? Tops.
17. One of your wish list items? Comfort.
18. Where you grew up? Woods.
19. Last thing you did? Peed.
20. What are you wearing? Support.
21. What aren't you wearing? Style.
22. Your pet? Available.
23. Your computer? Borrowed.
24. Your life? Changing.
25. Your mood? Worried.
26. Missing? Calm.
27. What are you thinking about right now? Eleven-thirty.
28. Your car? Stinky.
29. Your kitchen? Stinkier.
30. Your summer? Watery.
31. Your favorite color? Benskin.
32. Last time you laughed? Gossip.
33. Last time you cried? Car.
34. School? Uninterested.
35. Love? Yup.
I'd like to think I'm not a whiny, drama-packed person. I'd like to be calm and stable. Everytime I get upset about something, I try to step back and make a decision about whether or not it's worth being upset. Sometimes, I'm able to stop the drama there. Other times, I'm swept away. When I get ready to journal/blog, I pick and choose what I want on there. What do I want out on the web that represents my life right now? So I share some of the drama because excluding it all wouldn't be real, wouldn't be honest. And for the most part, the drama-less times of my life are hard to blog about because there's only so many ways I can describe the magic of Ben's smile or the pure, unadulterated joy of Benji Bath Time.
From my meme, though, you can probably figure out that life isn't very happy right now. And it's not. It's full of worry and anxiety and fear and pain.
Wednesday afternoon, I started getting BH contractions more than once an hour, lasting for about ten minutes each, radiating to different parts of my torso. Being a responsible pregnant lady, I logged them all, trying to identify what I was feeling and where. By the end of the day, I had put a folded blanket on my seat to cushion my heiny because it kept going numb and was very sore.
Thursday is when the fun started. Early on in the morning, I did a few undie-checks to make sure I wasn't bleeding. I had felt some "dribbling" but I didn't think it was pee. I chalked it up to girlie moisture and went on with my day. Shortly after lunch, my pelvic region started aching and I felt lots of sharp, stabbing pains in my groin area that spread down my thighs and back again. By three, when I finally called my doctor's office, it felt EXACTLY like it had right after I gave birth. Basically like I had slammed my crotch into a brick wall at 80 mph. Walking was agony, but so was sitting.
My doctor wasn't in and couldn't be reached, though they tried since she doesn't like to pass off her OB patients to the on-call doctor. They finally assigned me someone at 4, and the nurse called me back. At first she figured it was just round ligament pain, but when I described the pain as something I felt right after birth, she and the on-call doc got worried. So I was told to go home and be on bedrest for the rest of the night and to see my doctor the next day.
I cried a lot. I was worried and anxious and scared. By bedtime, the couple hours I had spent horizontal had helped and I wasn't limping anymore. I was tender, but not nearly as pain-wrecked. By morning, I was fine. I'm stiff and awkward, but I'm not in a lot of pain. I get twinges of it every once in a while, but I'm okay. I see my doctor at eleven-thirty this morning. So I'm here at work, playing online, proofing what I can reach, and keeping my feet up and my back relaxed.
Worst case scenario? Pre-term labor which isn't even called pre-term labor until I hit 20 weeks on Monday. Losing my precious baby girl would just be called a miscarriage, which makes it feel less significant, and I hate that.
Probable scenario? SPD or the separation of my pelvic bones. Caused by relaxin. They can't do much for it besides physical therapy and pain medication, and it might make a vaginal birth difficult. I had relaxin issues with Ben. By my seventh month, my wrists had loosened so much that they kept dislocating while I slept. I had to sleep with wrist bands on to keep them in place.
What I don't want to hear? That it's normal and I'm overreacting.
So I'm waiting and monitoring. Feeling okay this morning is reassuring, but now I feel like I maybe hallucinated yesterday.
The rest of my non-baby drama? My brother and his wife are at an impasse with my sister and her husband. They had a fight a couple weeks ago, and though both parties have officially apologized, the grudges remain, and they haven't resumed their usual, day-to-day relationship. I don't really care, but it upsets my mom, and that makes me upset. I get to ignore it and only have to be involved when my mom calls to vent. We are a VERY stubborn family, and we've perfected the fine art of grudge-holding. It's a talent that is passed down through the generations. Seriously. My mom isn't speaking to her siblings either. Since the current argument was over something not incredibly important or vital, eventually the affected parties will decide to move on and exist in denial that the rift ever occurred. The relationship will be stilted for a while, but that's how we roll.
I'll post again this afternoon to give a quick update on what my doctor said at the appointment.
Update: My doctor suspects I'm producing too much relaxin, the pregnancy hormone that relaxes the ligaments to prepare the body for birth. It's causing my pelvis to separate early and more than necessary. There's nothing that can be done. Just tylenol and rest when the pain starts. Good news is that it probably won't cause pre-term labor, which is good, since Baby Anna is 6 weeks away from being a NICU candidate. So I'll be relaxing a lot this weekend and trying not to stress out my hips. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Introducing the Baby and a Quiet Heart
We've been stepping up our efforts to acclimate Ben to the idea of a little sister. Of a baby in the house. Of the life change that is coming.
Chester and I have been doing this by talking about babies, talking about being a big brother, etc. You get the idea. We have books about the topic, but Ben's never been very good at letting anybody read him books. He'd rather play with the pages.
On Saturday, we went on a mini shopping spree to Target to buy pink stuff. Aside from a collection of pink onesies and sleepers, I picked out a baby doll for Ben. While it was still in the box, he was hugging it and kissing it. I called it "Baby Anna." When we got home, he continued with the baby love, carrying the doll around with her head tucked under his arm.
By Sunday evening, though, Baby Anna was head first in Ben's new potty chair. We'll have to keep an eye on that kid.
As I predicted, the pregnancy feels a lot more real to me now. In many ways, it's scarier, because now I know what I'd be losing if something goes wrong. I have a log now to keep track of my contractions. They still upset me, but I'm trying to have a better attitude about them. And I'm trying to take it easy. It's tough at work, though, because I can't exactly lie down and rest in the middle of the day. All I can do is sit, which I'm doing almost constantly anyway. Oh well. One day at a time.
My best friend Mary came over for a couple of hours on Thursday evening when Chester went kayaking. It was nice, though strange for me to have someone to talk to. I have friends at work, but I don't share anything other than the day-to-day stuff with them. Mary is different. She's like therapy. I'm expected to really "share" with her. Divulge my soul. Bare my heart. I guess that's what best friends are for. But I'm not really used to that anymore. And frankly, my still waters aren't really running that deep lately. So we mostly talked about her. And that's just fine with me. I love her to pieces.
Chester always teases me about how I try to keep up fences and walls between me and the rest of the world. (My blog is ironic). When I first started working at the company where I work now, I was friendly and outgoing, but I didn't eat with my co-workers or socialize outside of work. I'm still like that. It's my thing. Anyway. Mary was drawn to me. She started coming to my cubicle to visit for an hour at a time. We talked about our families, our likes and dislikes, etc. The basics.
Eventually, we got together outside of work. Not often, but enough. She had wormed herself into my heart. And she's stayed.
But I'm still maintaining the walls between me and the rest of the crowd. I open up to my blogging friends now. It gives me an outlet to share without any real risk of betrayal or hurt or real vulnerability. I'm not lonely, but my heart is quiet and I like that calm.
Chester and I have been doing this by talking about babies, talking about being a big brother, etc. You get the idea. We have books about the topic, but Ben's never been very good at letting anybody read him books. He'd rather play with the pages.
On Saturday, we went on a mini shopping spree to Target to buy pink stuff. Aside from a collection of pink onesies and sleepers, I picked out a baby doll for Ben. While it was still in the box, he was hugging it and kissing it. I called it "Baby Anna." When we got home, he continued with the baby love, carrying the doll around with her head tucked under his arm.
By Sunday evening, though, Baby Anna was head first in Ben's new potty chair. We'll have to keep an eye on that kid.
As I predicted, the pregnancy feels a lot more real to me now. In many ways, it's scarier, because now I know what I'd be losing if something goes wrong. I have a log now to keep track of my contractions. They still upset me, but I'm trying to have a better attitude about them. And I'm trying to take it easy. It's tough at work, though, because I can't exactly lie down and rest in the middle of the day. All I can do is sit, which I'm doing almost constantly anyway. Oh well. One day at a time.
My best friend Mary came over for a couple of hours on Thursday evening when Chester went kayaking. It was nice, though strange for me to have someone to talk to. I have friends at work, but I don't share anything other than the day-to-day stuff with them. Mary is different. She's like therapy. I'm expected to really "share" with her. Divulge my soul. Bare my heart. I guess that's what best friends are for. But I'm not really used to that anymore. And frankly, my still waters aren't really running that deep lately. So we mostly talked about her. And that's just fine with me. I love her to pieces.
Chester always teases me about how I try to keep up fences and walls between me and the rest of the world. (My blog is ironic). When I first started working at the company where I work now, I was friendly and outgoing, but I didn't eat with my co-workers or socialize outside of work. I'm still like that. It's my thing. Anyway. Mary was drawn to me. She started coming to my cubicle to visit for an hour at a time. We talked about our families, our likes and dislikes, etc. The basics.
Eventually, we got together outside of work. Not often, but enough. She had wormed herself into my heart. And she's stayed.
But I'm still maintaining the walls between me and the rest of the crowd. I open up to my blogging friends now. It gives me an outlet to share without any real risk of betrayal or hurt or real vulnerability. I'm not lonely, but my heart is quiet and I like that calm.
Friday, June 22, 2007
A Girl Grows In Wisconsin
Quick post to give you all the verdict. It's a girl!
Everything looked good on the ultrasound. It was a lot of fun... and I've been giggling ever since.
Have an awesome weekend everybody!
Everything looked good on the ultrasound. It was a lot of fun... and I've been giggling ever since.
Have an awesome weekend everybody!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Keep An Eye On That
Cue the crazy pregnancy dreams. They are very insane. Amusing, sure. But I think I'm going crazy. At least I have plenty of fodder if I ever wanted to write a major motion picture script.
Tuesday night was full of nightmares and strangely lucid dreams. The first time around, I dreamed that Ben was sucked into this crazy scenario with a serial killer who ended up amassing about sixty children in a large gymnasium type room, only to burn the place down. Bad dream. The second time, I was semi-lucid, and I was able to insert myself into the scenario and try to work out a plan to save the children. Of course since I was dealing with a crafty serial killer, I was at a disadvantage, even if I knew what the intended outcome was. I managed to run from the burning building with Ben in my left arm and two smaller babies tucked under my right arm. I had managed to alert the authorities beforehand, and fire trucks were quickly on hand. I kept running with Ben, though, so I never found out what the final toll was. See. Told you it was crazy and motion-picture-ish.
In other news... we had our 18-week checkup yesterday afternoon. Finally told my OB about all the contractions I've had lately. "Keep an eye on that," she said. Okie-dokie. Will do. And, after four long agonizing minutes of her rubbing the doppler all over my belly... she finally tracked down the heartbeat. Little one apparently has stage fright. But we heard it. *SIGH OF RELIEF*
Our ultrasound appointment is Friday afternoon at two. I'm taking the afternoon off from work that day, so I won't be able to post the results until later that evening when husband gets back from work.
And I think Chester might be finally coming around to liking the boy name I have picked out. He hadn't liked it up until this morning, but he seemed to be warming up to it. Andrew John. It's my mom's favorite name and what she would have named me if I had been a boy (and my dad didn't get his way and name me "Truck"). Andy John. Anyway. That's that.
But of course I'm still hoping for a girl. If it was my choice, and it's not, that's what I'd pick. A few family members have had dreams about my fetus being a girl, so maybe that's actually what is in there. A little Anna Kathryn. We'll see.
And we'll be pleased with whatever ends up coming out of my uterus at the end of this pregnancy.
In "Ben is the cutest toddler in the world" news, I took him outside last night in the rain. He was wearing his galoshes and a diaper. I held an umbrella over us, and I had to teach him how much fun it is to jump in the puddles. He got very excited, which was kind of dangerous. We live on a busy street, and I was nervous about him running out of my grasp while we were so close to the road. We weren't out there for very long, but he laughed a lot. A meltdown ensued when I dragged him back in the house, but he was quickly mollified by the warm bath Dad had waiting for him.
Ben and I are on our own tonight as Chester kayaks up the river with some friends. I don't have much planned except for clipping his fingernails and watching television. Ben pretty much puts himself to bed, so I'm not expecting much drama. Chester informs me that Ben crawls up the stairs on his own, climbs into bed, locates his nuk, lies down and then covers himself with his blanket. All Daddy has to do is say "good night" and turn on the lullabye music. We'll see if Ben will perform that trick when it's Mommy. I kind of doubt it.
This weekend, we'd like to get to the Splash Pad at one of the local parks. It's basically a concrete area with a bunch of different waterfalls, sprinklers, etc. No standing water, so it's pretty safe for the little kids. And only fifty cents a person. We tried to go there last Sunday, but the water was turned off as we were getting Ben out of the car. I guess there was a tornado watch. Pshaw.
The only planned activity/appointment is the Editorial Department BBQ on Sunday. It's bring-your-own-meat-and-beverage-and-a-side-dish-to-share. Should be amusing. Boss lady will be bringing her son who is six months older than Ben. Hopefully they'll play nicely together. It'll be nice to meet the significant others of all the other people in the department. I'm making a slow cooker bean recipe for the side dish. And bringing KFC cole slaw.
Did I tell you I get to find out the gender of my little baby tomorrow? Did I tell you I'm kind of excited? AHHHHH. The wait is agony.
Tuesday night was full of nightmares and strangely lucid dreams. The first time around, I dreamed that Ben was sucked into this crazy scenario with a serial killer who ended up amassing about sixty children in a large gymnasium type room, only to burn the place down. Bad dream. The second time, I was semi-lucid, and I was able to insert myself into the scenario and try to work out a plan to save the children. Of course since I was dealing with a crafty serial killer, I was at a disadvantage, even if I knew what the intended outcome was. I managed to run from the burning building with Ben in my left arm and two smaller babies tucked under my right arm. I had managed to alert the authorities beforehand, and fire trucks were quickly on hand. I kept running with Ben, though, so I never found out what the final toll was. See. Told you it was crazy and motion-picture-ish.
In other news... we had our 18-week checkup yesterday afternoon. Finally told my OB about all the contractions I've had lately. "Keep an eye on that," she said. Okie-dokie. Will do. And, after four long agonizing minutes of her rubbing the doppler all over my belly... she finally tracked down the heartbeat. Little one apparently has stage fright. But we heard it. *SIGH OF RELIEF*
Our ultrasound appointment is Friday afternoon at two. I'm taking the afternoon off from work that day, so I won't be able to post the results until later that evening when husband gets back from work.
And I think Chester might be finally coming around to liking the boy name I have picked out. He hadn't liked it up until this morning, but he seemed to be warming up to it. Andrew John. It's my mom's favorite name and what she would have named me if I had been a boy (and my dad didn't get his way and name me "Truck"). Andy John. Anyway. That's that.
But of course I'm still hoping for a girl. If it was my choice, and it's not, that's what I'd pick. A few family members have had dreams about my fetus being a girl, so maybe that's actually what is in there. A little Anna Kathryn. We'll see.
And we'll be pleased with whatever ends up coming out of my uterus at the end of this pregnancy.
In "Ben is the cutest toddler in the world" news, I took him outside last night in the rain. He was wearing his galoshes and a diaper. I held an umbrella over us, and I had to teach him how much fun it is to jump in the puddles. He got very excited, which was kind of dangerous. We live on a busy street, and I was nervous about him running out of my grasp while we were so close to the road. We weren't out there for very long, but he laughed a lot. A meltdown ensued when I dragged him back in the house, but he was quickly mollified by the warm bath Dad had waiting for him.
Ben and I are on our own tonight as Chester kayaks up the river with some friends. I don't have much planned except for clipping his fingernails and watching television. Ben pretty much puts himself to bed, so I'm not expecting much drama. Chester informs me that Ben crawls up the stairs on his own, climbs into bed, locates his nuk, lies down and then covers himself with his blanket. All Daddy has to do is say "good night" and turn on the lullabye music. We'll see if Ben will perform that trick when it's Mommy. I kind of doubt it.
This weekend, we'd like to get to the Splash Pad at one of the local parks. It's basically a concrete area with a bunch of different waterfalls, sprinklers, etc. No standing water, so it's pretty safe for the little kids. And only fifty cents a person. We tried to go there last Sunday, but the water was turned off as we were getting Ben out of the car. I guess there was a tornado watch. Pshaw.
The only planned activity/appointment is the Editorial Department BBQ on Sunday. It's bring-your-own-meat-and-beverage-and-a-side-dish-to-share. Should be amusing. Boss lady will be bringing her son who is six months older than Ben. Hopefully they'll play nicely together. It'll be nice to meet the significant others of all the other people in the department. I'm making a slow cooker bean recipe for the side dish. And bringing KFC cole slaw.
Did I tell you I get to find out the gender of my little baby tomorrow? Did I tell you I'm kind of excited? AHHHHH. The wait is agony.
Monday, June 18, 2007
18 Weeks and More Fun Ben Stories
What have I been up to? Eh. Same old. Trying to stay cool. Enjoying Ben and my husband. Working. The usual.
This is the week that we get to make our ultrasound appointment. That's right, folks. I'm 18 weeks pregnant already. My OB should give us the go-ahead to schedule the anatomy ultrasound after our appointment on Wednesday afternoon. I'm very excited to learn the gender... but there's quite a large part of me that's very frightened.
Why? We haven't heard the heartbeat yet. When we first didn't hear the heartbeat at 10 weeks, I had a quick ultrasound a couple days later, and I saw the heart beating. But since then? Nothing. My OB can't find it yet. And I haven't really felt a lot of movement, which is kind of weird for a second baby.
My belly seems to be getting bigger. At least that's what my husband says. So how do I know that everything's okay? I don't. My biggest reassurances are that I haven't started miscarrying and I'm still having pregnancy symptoms like nausea, exhaustion and frequent urinating.
So if another OB visit goes by and we can't hear the heartbeat... I may lose it. Go ballistic. That's that. Okay. Onward.
Ben is, of course, a total delight. He's getting funnier every day. Yesterday morning he entertained us by walking into the living room with his green crocodile galoshes on, a diaper, and a sailor hat on inside-out and covering his eyes. Then he started to dance. It was like a very strange Village People performance. This morning, we gave him a rubber thomas train toy to play with in the car on our way to daycare. We've been teaching him "chugga-chugga-choo-choo" for a while, and all he has down is the "choo-choo" part. So it was "tsu-tsu" all the way to Amber's house. High-pitched and emotive.
We went to a birthday party on Saturday, and he went wild playing with all the toys. They even had a swingset/tree house/slide combo in the backyard... which he fell out of and scraped his cheek. Now he has a bruise there as a souvenir. And yesterday, he split his lip open at the hardware store with Daddy. It's tough to be Ben sometimes, but it doesn't seem to wreck his good nature.
Another new thing he's doing... we have one cabinet in our kitchen that doesn't lock on its own. The handles are the old-fashioned kind with a built-in clicky lock. The one that won't click is right under the sink. The undersink area is split by a shelf in the middle. Ben has learned, though, that he has enough head room to sit on that shelf and then use the towel bar on the door to pull it closed. He'll disappear in there for a while and start yelling and banging the door open and shut. Over and over again. It's quite amusing.
In other news, I totally ruined the beef stew I lovingly threw together to feed my family last week. First, the potatoes weren't done by dinner time because I had turned the slow cooker down to low at noon when I put them in. Then, in an effort to had some flavor since it was kind of bland and flavorless, I put in some Kitchen Bouquet beef browning stuff. But I read the directions incorrectly. I thought I read 3 TBS when it was really 1/2 tsp. That's a big difference. So I had a very dark brown, oily sauce that didn't have much flavor at all. I cried. I was really looking forward to it. After serving it for dinner the next night, I dumped the rest out in the trash. Better luck next time. In reality, I should have added some beef broth or boullion cubes or more worchestershire sauce.
My mom makes hers in the microwave in a big ceramic dutch oven. I think I may have to measure out my microwave and invest in one.
This week we're having spaghetti, and tonight I might make a meat loaf and some baked potatoes to have on hand for a couple of days.
This is the week that we get to make our ultrasound appointment. That's right, folks. I'm 18 weeks pregnant already. My OB should give us the go-ahead to schedule the anatomy ultrasound after our appointment on Wednesday afternoon. I'm very excited to learn the gender... but there's quite a large part of me that's very frightened.
Why? We haven't heard the heartbeat yet. When we first didn't hear the heartbeat at 10 weeks, I had a quick ultrasound a couple days later, and I saw the heart beating. But since then? Nothing. My OB can't find it yet. And I haven't really felt a lot of movement, which is kind of weird for a second baby.
My belly seems to be getting bigger. At least that's what my husband says. So how do I know that everything's okay? I don't. My biggest reassurances are that I haven't started miscarrying and I'm still having pregnancy symptoms like nausea, exhaustion and frequent urinating.
So if another OB visit goes by and we can't hear the heartbeat... I may lose it. Go ballistic. That's that. Okay. Onward.
Ben is, of course, a total delight. He's getting funnier every day. Yesterday morning he entertained us by walking into the living room with his green crocodile galoshes on, a diaper, and a sailor hat on inside-out and covering his eyes. Then he started to dance. It was like a very strange Village People performance. This morning, we gave him a rubber thomas train toy to play with in the car on our way to daycare. We've been teaching him "chugga-chugga-choo-choo" for a while, and all he has down is the "choo-choo" part. So it was "tsu-tsu" all the way to Amber's house. High-pitched and emotive.
We went to a birthday party on Saturday, and he went wild playing with all the toys. They even had a swingset/tree house/slide combo in the backyard... which he fell out of and scraped his cheek. Now he has a bruise there as a souvenir. And yesterday, he split his lip open at the hardware store with Daddy. It's tough to be Ben sometimes, but it doesn't seem to wreck his good nature.
Another new thing he's doing... we have one cabinet in our kitchen that doesn't lock on its own. The handles are the old-fashioned kind with a built-in clicky lock. The one that won't click is right under the sink. The undersink area is split by a shelf in the middle. Ben has learned, though, that he has enough head room to sit on that shelf and then use the towel bar on the door to pull it closed. He'll disappear in there for a while and start yelling and banging the door open and shut. Over and over again. It's quite amusing.
In other news, I totally ruined the beef stew I lovingly threw together to feed my family last week. First, the potatoes weren't done by dinner time because I had turned the slow cooker down to low at noon when I put them in. Then, in an effort to had some flavor since it was kind of bland and flavorless, I put in some Kitchen Bouquet beef browning stuff. But I read the directions incorrectly. I thought I read 3 TBS when it was really 1/2 tsp. That's a big difference. So I had a very dark brown, oily sauce that didn't have much flavor at all. I cried. I was really looking forward to it. After serving it for dinner the next night, I dumped the rest out in the trash. Better luck next time. In reality, I should have added some beef broth or boullion cubes or more worchestershire sauce.
My mom makes hers in the microwave in a big ceramic dutch oven. I think I may have to measure out my microwave and invest in one.
This week we're having spaghetti, and tonight I might make a meat loaf and some baked potatoes to have on hand for a couple of days.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
The Many Joys of Ben
My boss is lucky I've been so busy this morning. No time to write my letter of resignation. I think I've mentally shouted, "I quit," at least a dozen times (I've said it out loud to at least three people who don't matter).
Co-worker: Cheryl, can you help me...
Cheryl: Sorry. That's it. I quit.
Co-worker: OK. So I need such and such...
No. I'm not actually going to resign yet. I just had a bad morning. And I miss my boss. She was gone yesterday and won't be back until this afternoon, so I'm doing my job, her job, and the job of the open position that's in our group. I'm not fond of the situation, but the morning is almost over. I'm obviously taking a break right now to blog. They can all bite me.
I've had a couple of frustrating days with Ben, so I decided this morning I would write a post today about all of the things that he's doing now that I love. So here it goes.
I love our early morning cuddles when I drag myself up the stairs to keep him company until Daddy comes up to carry him down. We nestle together in a club chair and listen to music. When Daddy comes up, we'll all play for a little bit. This morning it was catch, though most of it was "Monkey in the Middle." Ben didn't mind. He thought it was absolutely nifty that Mommy and Daddy both love the same game that he loves.
Last night we had our first family sit-down dinner together. We had finally broken down and bought him a booster seat for the dining room table. So last night, though we were late getting home because we went grocery shopping first, and it was just Fazolis and not a home-cooked meal, we sat together and ate. And wow... did we notice a change in Ben! It was kind of funny. He had been fussy and whiny, but he instantly mellowed out and really enjoyed the meal. He kept looking back and forth between hubby and me, watching our faces, listening to us talk. I loved the contented expression on his face.
Ever since I was little, I've had a penchant for putting things on my head. Sure, sometimes it's hats and veils... but usually it's random items like pillows, pans, buckets and bowls. I find that it makes me feel more centered to balance something on my head. So I've been a goofball with Ben and will suggest that some toys and items are actually hats. "Ben, is the bucket a hat?" Ben, look at Mommy's hat (sock)!" And now he does it on his own. If he's playing somewhere else in the house, he'll come running to where I am and proudly show me what he put on his head. I find it charming.
Whenever music plays during a commercial, a tv show, on the radio, Ben starts to dance. And he doesn't have a lot of grace or groove yet. His dancing usually involves him playing air drums with his hands, raising one knee at a time and jerking his head from side to side. (I think he learned it from Chester.) Sometimes it catches me off guard. Really. Anytime there's a few bars of music, he dances. He'll do it for me even if there's no music. I say, "Dance, boy, dance!" And he does. Of course he loves it more if we get up and dance with him.
Last Friday, I had to give Ben a bath when Chester was out kayaking. Usually, bathtime is Daddy's time to focus on the boy. But that night, the joy was mine. And Ben learned a new trick. Sure, it's not the safest thing you can do in a bathtub, but it sure looked like fun, and it got Mommy very wet indeed. He'd stand up, jump a little and fall down on his butt with a huge splash. Over and over again. Like a mini cannonball. Tonight is bath night again, and Chester gets the joy of experiencing Ben's new talent.
Co-worker: Cheryl, can you help me...
Cheryl: Sorry. That's it. I quit.
Co-worker: OK. So I need such and such...
No. I'm not actually going to resign yet. I just had a bad morning. And I miss my boss. She was gone yesterday and won't be back until this afternoon, so I'm doing my job, her job, and the job of the open position that's in our group. I'm not fond of the situation, but the morning is almost over. I'm obviously taking a break right now to blog. They can all bite me.
I've had a couple of frustrating days with Ben, so I decided this morning I would write a post today about all of the things that he's doing now that I love. So here it goes.
I love our early morning cuddles when I drag myself up the stairs to keep him company until Daddy comes up to carry him down. We nestle together in a club chair and listen to music. When Daddy comes up, we'll all play for a little bit. This morning it was catch, though most of it was "Monkey in the Middle." Ben didn't mind. He thought it was absolutely nifty that Mommy and Daddy both love the same game that he loves.
Last night we had our first family sit-down dinner together. We had finally broken down and bought him a booster seat for the dining room table. So last night, though we were late getting home because we went grocery shopping first, and it was just Fazolis and not a home-cooked meal, we sat together and ate. And wow... did we notice a change in Ben! It was kind of funny. He had been fussy and whiny, but he instantly mellowed out and really enjoyed the meal. He kept looking back and forth between hubby and me, watching our faces, listening to us talk. I loved the contented expression on his face.
Ever since I was little, I've had a penchant for putting things on my head. Sure, sometimes it's hats and veils... but usually it's random items like pillows, pans, buckets and bowls. I find that it makes me feel more centered to balance something on my head. So I've been a goofball with Ben and will suggest that some toys and items are actually hats. "Ben, is the bucket a hat?" Ben, look at Mommy's hat (sock)!" And now he does it on his own. If he's playing somewhere else in the house, he'll come running to where I am and proudly show me what he put on his head. I find it charming.
Whenever music plays during a commercial, a tv show, on the radio, Ben starts to dance. And he doesn't have a lot of grace or groove yet. His dancing usually involves him playing air drums with his hands, raising one knee at a time and jerking his head from side to side. (I think he learned it from Chester.) Sometimes it catches me off guard. Really. Anytime there's a few bars of music, he dances. He'll do it for me even if there's no music. I say, "Dance, boy, dance!" And he does. Of course he loves it more if we get up and dance with him.
Last Friday, I had to give Ben a bath when Chester was out kayaking. Usually, bathtime is Daddy's time to focus on the boy. But that night, the joy was mine. And Ben learned a new trick. Sure, it's not the safest thing you can do in a bathtub, but it sure looked like fun, and it got Mommy very wet indeed. He'd stand up, jump a little and fall down on his butt with a huge splash. Over and over again. Like a mini cannonball. Tonight is bath night again, and Chester gets the joy of experiencing Ben's new talent.
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