I watched the footage, until my four year old started asking why there were people laying on the ground, covered by ketchup.
So I switched to my phone, reloading Twitter, the CNN app, and facebook, to get all of the news I was craving. News about who did it, why they did it, what was happening to everyone, and how I could help.
I can donate money. I can buy items that go to the Boston One Fund. I can donate to various funds set up for various victims.
I can do all that. Except I can't. Because we're broke.
I can give $5, $10, $15 here and there. It's something. It helps a little.
But I can also run.
I started running the Couch to 5K last summer, in an attempt to lose baby weight, get healthier, and eventually run a 5K. I achieved all three.
I took breaks here and there. I would be up to running 2 or 3 miles without stopping, then family would come to town, or I would get sick (seriously, I've been sick SO MANY TIMES this past year) and I would stop for a week. And in that one measly week, my ability to run longer and faster would disappear. And I'd have to start over again. But I did.
Then I started my internship. And the time that I had to go to the gym every day started dwindling. So I would maybe go twice a week, maybe hitting the free weights, or the elliptical, or a yoga class. Once or twice I ran at the library after dropping the kids off at daycare and before going in to work. Or I would go after work, and before class. But usually I was too tired, or had too much to do.
But I've started back. I've started trying to go at least 5 times a week. I feel better, and healthier, when I get my workouts in. Yoga, free weights.
And running.
I started back running again. Before the bombing, yes. But especially after. Because I can do that.
And it may not mean much, if anything. But it means something to me.
And yesterday I ran a full 3 miles without stopping. It's been awhile, but I did it.
I run for Boston. And for myself.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
A somewhat schmaltzy post
Today is Maddy's first birthday! As of today, I will never (EVER EVER) again have a "baby." Even though she's not walking yet, I personally use the term "toddler" to describe any kid from the age of 12 months-3 years. So now I have a toddler (well, two, since Lily isn't three yet).
I love me some babies. So if I ever cuddle your newborn and sniff them Claire-on-Modern-Family style, forgive me.
To celebrate Maddy's birth, I figured "why not write her birth story?" Because I know everyone is simply dying to hear it (some for the 2nd, 3rd, 4th time). Indulge me.
******************************************************************************
On March 6th, I finished my last class of the spring 1 quarter. My due date was March 8th. As I finished my presentation for my Career Counseling class, we all joked that NOW the baby can arrive, as I had been really stressed about delivering before the term ended.
I should know by now- I make super full term babies. Lily was born at 40 weeks and 2 days. If I hadn't induced, I'm sure Ty would have done the same.
The next day, March 7th, I hung out at home with the kids. I wasn't expecting anything. I had an appointment scheduled for my due date, and they were going to do a non-stress test. I was kind of looking forward to it. We were playing outside, and I was pushing Lily on the swings when I started feeling some contractions. I thought nothing of it, because I had been having them off and on for a couple of weeks (even going so far as to have my babysitters on standby a couple of times). A friend from school called, and she asked if I had been feeling anything. I didn't want to jinx it, so I told her no. (Don't worry, I told her the truth when I saw her a couple of weeks later!)
I started timing the contraction around 5:00. I texted a couple of friends who were game for watching the kids, and told them I would keep them posted. One responded that she was available for the night, and to bring them over whenever. I started making dinner, still thinking that they would probably stop. But when the contractions were still going at 6, and were getting to the point that I had to stop moving and kind of concentrate through them, I packed the kids' bags and Steve took them to my friend's.
I called my midwife and told her what was going on. She gave me her cell and told me to keep timing them, and if they were still pretty consistent at 10:00 to let her know and head in. I ate some pasta and started folding clothes on the couch while watching Big Bang. Obviously I wasn't too concerned.
I still timed the contractions on the handy dandy Contraction Master website. They were at the 5:1:1 mark (5 minutes apart, lasting for at least 1 minute each, and continuing for over an hour...that was drilled into my head as a parenting instructor), so I called my midwife at 10 to tell her we were heading in. Steve asked if it was too soon, since I didn't seem to be in pain. An understandable question- with Lily, I was doubled over in pain, crying "I can't do this, I need drugs!" before we even got to the car. I was also 9 centimeters dilated by the time we got to the hospital, and thought I was going to birth the kid in the parking garage. This time around, I was cracking jokes, moving around the house, and acting totally normal. I didn't want to take any chances.
I had a couple of intense contractions on the way, but nothing I couldn't handle. We checked in around 10:30 and got settled in triage. The contractions were getting to the point where I had to stop and breathe through them, but again, nothing too bad. My midwife, Lauren, came in and checked me.
3 centimeters.
Are you kidding me?
I wanted another med-free birth. I did it with Lily, and I LOVED it. I mean, I obviously didn't love the pain. But the recovery from it was so much easier than when I was induced and drugged up with Ty. And it was so quick! 6 hours, from the first contraction to the last push. I prefer to labor at home as much as possible, so I can avoid the temptation of that sweet sweet epidural. Again, with Lily, I labored until transition (8-9 centimeters) before even heading to the hospital. And she was born an hour and a half after we got there. So I didn't really have time to wish I had some drugs in me. This time around, being only 3 centimeters, I thought we would have hours to go.
We decided to go ahead and get a delivery room, so we wouldn't have to drive home and back. I had an IV port put in, in case I needed some hydration, but it wasn't hooked up to anything. Lauren had another woman in labor, so she was going to be bouncing back and forth. She also had a midwife in training with her who would check on me periodically. After they left, Steve and I flipped on the tv. I figured I could watch some Daily Show or Colbert while I labored. But there was no Comedy Central! The nerve! So we settled on Sports Center.
That was the day that Peyton Manning announced he would be playing with the Broncos. So that was all over ESPN. Considering how often I heard his name, I seriously considered naming the kid Peyton.
The nurse brought out a birthing ball for me to bounce on. For the uninformed, a birthing ball is a big, bouncy medicine/exercise ball that you can sit on and proceed to bounce or roll around to encourage dilation of the cervix. Sorry if that squeams you out. I sat on it, rolled, and bounced. I walked around the room. When a contraction hit, I would hold on to Steve or he would rub my lower back. They were getting stronger and more painful, and I really had to breathe to get through them. A few more minutes passed, and the contractions were even more painful. The midwife in training came in, and I asked if I could get in the shower. The hot water hitting the back is used to help with pain. It didn't work. The pain was too strong, and the contractions were too close. I was crying and holding on to the woman while Steve continued to rub my back. When a contraction hit, I would clench up and rise up on my toes. I don't know why. The training midwife checked me and said she wasn't sure how dilated I was, so she was going to get Lauren. I got my lovely hospital gown back on and climbed in the bed. Lauren came in to check me.
Lo and behold, I was 10 glorious centimeters!
It was midnight. I had checked into the room at 11 pm.
I went from 3 cm to 10 cm in an hour.
IT CAN HAPPEN! I never believed it, but I am proof!
Turns out the training midwife knew I was at a 10, but didn't want to get me excited until she got a second opinion.
Lauren broke my water (3 births under my belt, and that sucker has never broken on it's own). After that, it was pushin' time.
I'm going to skip this part. Let's just say it was gory, it was painful, it involved some position changing, and I almost broke Steve's wrist.
One thing that I remember was how quiet it was (aside from Peyton Manning). I just concentrated on breathing, listening to my body (I know, how hippie of me), and pushing when I needed to. The nurses and midwives chatted, got things ready, and helped me along. When I talked, it was at a whisper. It was calm and peaceful. Apparently that is pretty rare, because the nurses kept telling me it was one of the best births they had ever seen, and Lauren was bragging to the other midwives the next day.
At 1:30 am, I pushed for the last time and out popped our little surprise! Not only was her conception a surprise, so was her sex- a little girl. We didn't find out the sex at the 20 week ultrasound, and we were both convinced that I was pregnant with a boy. We were also fooled with Ty- we could have sworn he was going to be a girl.
We got to the recovery room around 4 am, and Steve headed home to get a little sleep. I dozed as much as I could, but had so much adrenaline that I was pretty awake. My mom called around 5:30, and I talked with her for awhile. During all this time, Maddy was kicking ass in her bassinet, sleeping away.
Man oh man, my hospital stay was magnificent! It was like a vacation!
The kids were with my friends, Steve slept at home and visited the hospital a little, and Maddy and I ate, slept, watched TV and played on the computer. I knew I couldn't breastfeed (fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice...), so I fed formula from the get go. There was no stress over breast feeding like I had with the other two, which made the experience so much better.
Steve came back the next morning, and we got ready to go home. Maddy was a little jaundiced (as were the other two), so I was given the option of either staying another night or just bringing her back the next morning to check her bilirubin levels. I was ready to get home, so I opted to leave.
Biggest mistake ever.
The kids didn't nap, so they were wide awake and annoying. My adrenaline was wearing off, and my baby blues were kicking in. Lily was in full blown 17 month old middle child territory (no explanation needed). Needless to say, it was a rough day. I ended up locking myself in the bathroom and crying.
Of course, things got better. I mean, we survived the year.
To sum it up:
-Med-free births kick ass (for me. If you want drugs, I do NOT judge!)
-You CAN dilate 7+ centimeters in an hour.
-If you think you're having a boy, you're probably having a girl. And vice versa.
-If you weren't able to feed your first two kids, odds are you have no milk and can't breastfeed a third. Don't stress, and if anyone gives you attitude about it, FUCK THEM (no one did, but I was ready for a fight).
-Take an extra day in the hospital if it's offered, especially if you have kids at home. It's expensive, but it's worth it.
Happy birthday, Maddy Mae!
Picture Fest 2013
I love me some babies. So if I ever cuddle your newborn and sniff them Claire-on-Modern-Family style, forgive me.
To celebrate Maddy's birth, I figured "why not write her birth story?" Because I know everyone is simply dying to hear it (some for the 2nd, 3rd, 4th time). Indulge me.
******************************************************************************
On March 6th, I finished my last class of the spring 1 quarter. My due date was March 8th. As I finished my presentation for my Career Counseling class, we all joked that NOW the baby can arrive, as I had been really stressed about delivering before the term ended.
I should know by now- I make super full term babies. Lily was born at 40 weeks and 2 days. If I hadn't induced, I'm sure Ty would have done the same.
The next day, March 7th, I hung out at home with the kids. I wasn't expecting anything. I had an appointment scheduled for my due date, and they were going to do a non-stress test. I was kind of looking forward to it. We were playing outside, and I was pushing Lily on the swings when I started feeling some contractions. I thought nothing of it, because I had been having them off and on for a couple of weeks (even going so far as to have my babysitters on standby a couple of times). A friend from school called, and she asked if I had been feeling anything. I didn't want to jinx it, so I told her no. (Don't worry, I told her the truth when I saw her a couple of weeks later!)
I started timing the contraction around 5:00. I texted a couple of friends who were game for watching the kids, and told them I would keep them posted. One responded that she was available for the night, and to bring them over whenever. I started making dinner, still thinking that they would probably stop. But when the contractions were still going at 6, and were getting to the point that I had to stop moving and kind of concentrate through them, I packed the kids' bags and Steve took them to my friend's.
I called my midwife and told her what was going on. She gave me her cell and told me to keep timing them, and if they were still pretty consistent at 10:00 to let her know and head in. I ate some pasta and started folding clothes on the couch while watching Big Bang. Obviously I wasn't too concerned.
I still timed the contractions on the handy dandy Contraction Master website. They were at the 5:1:1 mark (5 minutes apart, lasting for at least 1 minute each, and continuing for over an hour...that was drilled into my head as a parenting instructor), so I called my midwife at 10 to tell her we were heading in. Steve asked if it was too soon, since I didn't seem to be in pain. An understandable question- with Lily, I was doubled over in pain, crying "I can't do this, I need drugs!" before we even got to the car. I was also 9 centimeters dilated by the time we got to the hospital, and thought I was going to birth the kid in the parking garage. This time around, I was cracking jokes, moving around the house, and acting totally normal. I didn't want to take any chances.
I had a couple of intense contractions on the way, but nothing I couldn't handle. We checked in around 10:30 and got settled in triage. The contractions were getting to the point where I had to stop and breathe through them, but again, nothing too bad. My midwife, Lauren, came in and checked me.
3 centimeters.
Are you kidding me?
I wanted another med-free birth. I did it with Lily, and I LOVED it. I mean, I obviously didn't love the pain. But the recovery from it was so much easier than when I was induced and drugged up with Ty. And it was so quick! 6 hours, from the first contraction to the last push. I prefer to labor at home as much as possible, so I can avoid the temptation of that sweet sweet epidural. Again, with Lily, I labored until transition (8-9 centimeters) before even heading to the hospital. And she was born an hour and a half after we got there. So I didn't really have time to wish I had some drugs in me. This time around, being only 3 centimeters, I thought we would have hours to go.
We decided to go ahead and get a delivery room, so we wouldn't have to drive home and back. I had an IV port put in, in case I needed some hydration, but it wasn't hooked up to anything. Lauren had another woman in labor, so she was going to be bouncing back and forth. She also had a midwife in training with her who would check on me periodically. After they left, Steve and I flipped on the tv. I figured I could watch some Daily Show or Colbert while I labored. But there was no Comedy Central! The nerve! So we settled on Sports Center.
That was the day that Peyton Manning announced he would be playing with the Broncos. So that was all over ESPN. Considering how often I heard his name, I seriously considered naming the kid Peyton.
The nurse brought out a birthing ball for me to bounce on. For the uninformed, a birthing ball is a big, bouncy medicine/exercise ball that you can sit on and proceed to bounce or roll around to encourage dilation of the cervix. Sorry if that squeams you out. I sat on it, rolled, and bounced. I walked around the room. When a contraction hit, I would hold on to Steve or he would rub my lower back. They were getting stronger and more painful, and I really had to breathe to get through them. A few more minutes passed, and the contractions were even more painful. The midwife in training came in, and I asked if I could get in the shower. The hot water hitting the back is used to help with pain. It didn't work. The pain was too strong, and the contractions were too close. I was crying and holding on to the woman while Steve continued to rub my back. When a contraction hit, I would clench up and rise up on my toes. I don't know why. The training midwife checked me and said she wasn't sure how dilated I was, so she was going to get Lauren. I got my lovely hospital gown back on and climbed in the bed. Lauren came in to check me.
Lo and behold, I was 10 glorious centimeters!
It was midnight. I had checked into the room at 11 pm.
I went from 3 cm to 10 cm in an hour.
IT CAN HAPPEN! I never believed it, but I am proof!
Turns out the training midwife knew I was at a 10, but didn't want to get me excited until she got a second opinion.
Lauren broke my water (3 births under my belt, and that sucker has never broken on it's own). After that, it was pushin' time.
I'm going to skip this part. Let's just say it was gory, it was painful, it involved some position changing, and I almost broke Steve's wrist.
One thing that I remember was how quiet it was (aside from Peyton Manning). I just concentrated on breathing, listening to my body (I know, how hippie of me), and pushing when I needed to. The nurses and midwives chatted, got things ready, and helped me along. When I talked, it was at a whisper. It was calm and peaceful. Apparently that is pretty rare, because the nurses kept telling me it was one of the best births they had ever seen, and Lauren was bragging to the other midwives the next day.
At 1:30 am, I pushed for the last time and out popped our little surprise! Not only was her conception a surprise, so was her sex- a little girl. We didn't find out the sex at the 20 week ultrasound, and we were both convinced that I was pregnant with a boy. We were also fooled with Ty- we could have sworn he was going to be a girl.
We got to the recovery room around 4 am, and Steve headed home to get a little sleep. I dozed as much as I could, but had so much adrenaline that I was pretty awake. My mom called around 5:30, and I talked with her for awhile. During all this time, Maddy was kicking ass in her bassinet, sleeping away.
Man oh man, my hospital stay was magnificent! It was like a vacation!
The kids were with my friends, Steve slept at home and visited the hospital a little, and Maddy and I ate, slept, watched TV and played on the computer. I knew I couldn't breastfeed (fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice...), so I fed formula from the get go. There was no stress over breast feeding like I had with the other two, which made the experience so much better.
Steve came back the next morning, and we got ready to go home. Maddy was a little jaundiced (as were the other two), so I was given the option of either staying another night or just bringing her back the next morning to check her bilirubin levels. I was ready to get home, so I opted to leave.
Biggest mistake ever.
The kids didn't nap, so they were wide awake and annoying. My adrenaline was wearing off, and my baby blues were kicking in. Lily was in full blown 17 month old middle child territory (no explanation needed). Needless to say, it was a rough day. I ended up locking myself in the bathroom and crying.
Of course, things got better. I mean, we survived the year.
To sum it up:
-Med-free births kick ass (for me. If you want drugs, I do NOT judge!)
-You CAN dilate 7+ centimeters in an hour.
-If you think you're having a boy, you're probably having a girl. And vice versa.
-If you weren't able to feed your first two kids, odds are you have no milk and can't breastfeed a third. Don't stress, and if anyone gives you attitude about it, FUCK THEM (no one did, but I was ready for a fight).
-Take an extra day in the hospital if it's offered, especially if you have kids at home. It's expensive, but it's worth it.
Happy birthday, Maddy Mae!
Picture Fest 2013
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Triumphant return, or just drunk enough to post again?
To say I've been slacking on this whole blog thing is an understatement. I haven't posted since last September...and before that the last post was in July. I started a post in early February, but never finished. My family blog isn't much better. My poor family- if they aren't on facebook or instagram, it's iffy as to whether or not they see any current pictures of my kids.
I'm taking a break from researching a paper for my Techniques of Substance Abuse class because I'm getting too tipsy to continue working on it. The kids are all in bed (and I think asleep!) so I'm now on my second glass of wine. And because I'm a lightweight, two glasses is enough to get me nice and giggly.
Ironically, the paper I'm working on is about effective modalities for treating binge drinking among college students. But since binge drinking is defined as four or more drinks on one occasion for females (and I've only had two), I'm good to go!
So what has been going on since my last September post?
Well, the vegetarian, pescatarian thing didn't work out so well. I caved. It was too hard making so many different meals. I don't mind eating vegetarian, but the husband likes his meat*. I decided to start again after the holidays, and even made a public (read: facebook) announcement about my resolution. Mistake #1: announcing it on facebook. Mistake #2: calling it a resolution. Yeah, failed again. BUT, I think I was being too hard on myself. Going from an omnivore diet to a vegetarian diet cold turkey (hehe, pun intended) isn't really a great idea. So I'm trying to balance it out. The majority of my diet is vegetarian, with some meaty dishes thrown in, primarily on the weekends and the occasional lunch (like when my friend goes to Burger King on our lunch break, and the thought of a Whopper cancels out the healthy salad I packed). Moderation is key, people.
School: I'm officially in my graduation year! Unfortunately, I still have 10 months to go. :( I will finish in December of this year. I'm currently 7 weeks into my year-long free labor stint. In other words, I'm an intern. I'm working alongside a few other classmates at a local counseling center. It's tough. On the plus side, I love the work. I love working with people, and trying to help them. I love when my supervisor asks me to take the lead, and I get to ask probing questions and think of ways to get through to them. On the downside, holy crap it's hard. Balancing internship/school/kids/etc is exhausting. It came to a head a few weeks ago, and I had a major ugly-cry breakdown. Since then I've worked out a new schedule with the husband, so he is helping a lot more with the kids while I work more hours (I have to meet a minimum amount of hours each term). It helps that I'm not taking any crazy hard classes right now, and that I don't have an outside-the-house job. But still, hard as hell. I don't recommend it. 10 more months...
The kids: holy shit, Maddy is almost one. ONE. I will never have a baby again. :( (No, NEVER. Not going to happen.) She is crawling everywhere, getting into everything, and pulling up all the time. Not walking yet, but she's getting close. She can speed-crawl to wherever she wants to go, so she has no need to walk. She is seriously one of the most laid-back, easiest babies ever. (Please don't hurt me, parents of children who still wake up at night/have colic/have teething pains/etc. Something will inevitably bite me in my ass when she gets a little older.)
Ty is four, and everything that goes with it. Super verbal, super smart, super pain in my ass. 70% of the time he is awesome, hilarious, and the best son/brother ever. But that other 30%? Whew, it's hard. I mean, it's nice that he can talk and tell me what he needs, but sometimes I think "Is it really necessary to teach them words?" Because then they use those words to talk back. He is really helpful though, and is a great big brother...mostly to Maddy, because Lily just pisses him off. He has started to have a really hard time when I leave the house to go to work or school. Usually he just says bye, but now he is crying and holding on to me when I leave. Of course, he's fine two minutes later, but it's still heart-breaking.
Lily is two. Surprisingly, the whole "terrible twos" thing isn't so bad with her. If anything, the 12 months between ages 1 and 2 were the worst. She couldn't express herself with words, so she just cried and whined. A LOT. Now she can verbalize more and more, and is becoming more independent. I thought she was potty trained this past summer, and even announced it to the world on the ol' FB (will I ever learn??) Nope, she just psyched me out! Now we're just taking things nice and slow. She likes to wear her "daywear" (underwear), so she does that at home and wears what I call a "just in case" diaper when we're out and for sleep times. She is super loving, and loves to snuggle close. Her favorite show is "Diego," and she watches a minimum of 3 episodes a day. But it's educational, so it's not so bad, right? I mean hell, she now knows what a tapir is.
So that was a really long post about what I've been up to. I blame the wine. Who knows, maybe I'll be inspired to post again sometime in the next 6 months?
*Giggity.
I'm taking a break from researching a paper for my Techniques of Substance Abuse class because I'm getting too tipsy to continue working on it. The kids are all in bed (and I think asleep!) so I'm now on my second glass of wine. And because I'm a lightweight, two glasses is enough to get me nice and giggly.
Ironically, the paper I'm working on is about effective modalities for treating binge drinking among college students. But since binge drinking is defined as four or more drinks on one occasion for females (and I've only had two), I'm good to go!
So what has been going on since my last September post?
Well, the vegetarian, pescatarian thing didn't work out so well. I caved. It was too hard making so many different meals. I don't mind eating vegetarian, but the husband likes his meat*. I decided to start again after the holidays, and even made a public (read: facebook) announcement about my resolution. Mistake #1: announcing it on facebook. Mistake #2: calling it a resolution. Yeah, failed again. BUT, I think I was being too hard on myself. Going from an omnivore diet to a vegetarian diet cold turkey (hehe, pun intended) isn't really a great idea. So I'm trying to balance it out. The majority of my diet is vegetarian, with some meaty dishes thrown in, primarily on the weekends and the occasional lunch (like when my friend goes to Burger King on our lunch break, and the thought of a Whopper cancels out the healthy salad I packed). Moderation is key, people.
School: I'm officially in my graduation year! Unfortunately, I still have 10 months to go. :( I will finish in December of this year. I'm currently 7 weeks into my year-long free labor stint. In other words, I'm an intern. I'm working alongside a few other classmates at a local counseling center. It's tough. On the plus side, I love the work. I love working with people, and trying to help them. I love when my supervisor asks me to take the lead, and I get to ask probing questions and think of ways to get through to them. On the downside, holy crap it's hard. Balancing internship/school/kids/etc is exhausting. It came to a head a few weeks ago, and I had a major ugly-cry breakdown. Since then I've worked out a new schedule with the husband, so he is helping a lot more with the kids while I work more hours (I have to meet a minimum amount of hours each term). It helps that I'm not taking any crazy hard classes right now, and that I don't have an outside-the-house job. But still, hard as hell. I don't recommend it. 10 more months...
The kids: holy shit, Maddy is almost one. ONE. I will never have a baby again. :( (No, NEVER. Not going to happen.) She is crawling everywhere, getting into everything, and pulling up all the time. Not walking yet, but she's getting close. She can speed-crawl to wherever she wants to go, so she has no need to walk. She is seriously one of the most laid-back, easiest babies ever. (Please don't hurt me, parents of children who still wake up at night/have colic/have teething pains/etc. Something will inevitably bite me in my ass when she gets a little older.)
Ty is four, and everything that goes with it. Super verbal, super smart, super pain in my ass. 70% of the time he is awesome, hilarious, and the best son/brother ever. But that other 30%? Whew, it's hard. I mean, it's nice that he can talk and tell me what he needs, but sometimes I think "Is it really necessary to teach them words?" Because then they use those words to talk back. He is really helpful though, and is a great big brother...mostly to Maddy, because Lily just pisses him off. He has started to have a really hard time when I leave the house to go to work or school. Usually he just says bye, but now he is crying and holding on to me when I leave. Of course, he's fine two minutes later, but it's still heart-breaking.
Lily is two. Surprisingly, the whole "terrible twos" thing isn't so bad with her. If anything, the 12 months between ages 1 and 2 were the worst. She couldn't express herself with words, so she just cried and whined. A LOT. Now she can verbalize more and more, and is becoming more independent. I thought she was potty trained this past summer, and even announced it to the world on the ol' FB (will I ever learn??) Nope, she just psyched me out! Now we're just taking things nice and slow. She likes to wear her "daywear" (underwear), so she does that at home and wears what I call a "just in case" diaper when we're out and for sleep times. She is super loving, and loves to snuggle close. Her favorite show is "Diego," and she watches a minimum of 3 episodes a day. But it's educational, so it's not so bad, right? I mean hell, she now knows what a tapir is.
So that was a really long post about what I've been up to. I blame the wine. Who knows, maybe I'll be inspired to post again sometime in the next 6 months?
*Giggity.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
How rude!
I believe in the goodness of people.
A Saturday trip to Whole Foods changed all that.
First of all, the aisles are small. There is hardly enough room for one cart, let alone two trying to pass one another. Add three wrestling, joking, trash talking stockboys kicking boxes around and laughing, and it was a disaster. And I ran into them in at least three different aisles.
Then there are the sullen ones. You know who I mean. They walk around with pinched faces, avoiding eye contact. When I don't move my cart fast enough and apologize with a smile, they just stare at me and keep going. No acknowledgement, not even a dirty look.
There are the giggling teenagers, meandering slowly along without a care in the world.
And then there are the old ladies.
I promise I am not generalizing here. I am talking about two specific older ladies, perhaps in their 60s or 70s, who parked in the aisle of the natural soap section and talked while everyone gingerly pushed their carts around them. I had to bend down for some soap on the bottom shelf and almost got a cart in the eye. Twice. The woman saw me, ignored me, and kept talking.
Am I expecting too much? Am I too entrenched in my belief in southern hospitality that I am so easily shocked by rudeness?
Or is this article true? There was a recent study that found that many people who buy organic foods tend to be judgmental and rude. I know for a fact that this is not true for all people. But it was at Whole Foods this weekend.
At least one good thing came from my trip.
A Saturday trip to Whole Foods changed all that.
First of all, the aisles are small. There is hardly enough room for one cart, let alone two trying to pass one another. Add three wrestling, joking, trash talking stockboys kicking boxes around and laughing, and it was a disaster. And I ran into them in at least three different aisles.
Then there are the sullen ones. You know who I mean. They walk around with pinched faces, avoiding eye contact. When I don't move my cart fast enough and apologize with a smile, they just stare at me and keep going. No acknowledgement, not even a dirty look.
There are the giggling teenagers, meandering slowly along without a care in the world.
And then there are the old ladies.
I promise I am not generalizing here. I am talking about two specific older ladies, perhaps in their 60s or 70s, who parked in the aisle of the natural soap section and talked while everyone gingerly pushed their carts around them. I had to bend down for some soap on the bottom shelf and almost got a cart in the eye. Twice. The woman saw me, ignored me, and kept talking.
Am I expecting too much? Am I too entrenched in my belief in southern hospitality that I am so easily shocked by rudeness?
Or is this article true? There was a recent study that found that many people who buy organic foods tend to be judgmental and rude. I know for a fact that this is not true for all people. But it was at Whole Foods this weekend.
At least one good thing came from my trip.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Dirty Thirty
This past Wednesday, I turned 30.
I didn't wake up with a hunchback, extra wrinkles, or in need of an adult diaper. (But my knees and back hurt a lot...)
And although I know my 30s are going to rock, and I was excited about it, I couldn't help but feel a little mourning for my 20s.
Because my 20s? Were a hell of a decade.
20: Still attending Agnes Scott College (the best all women's college around, in my unbiased opinion). Humming along as a history/anthropology-sociology major.
21: The big year! Had my first alcohol drink (ok, first legal drink), started waiting tables at Chili's, met and started dating my future husband, and graduated from college.
22: Left Chili's and started working at My House, a facility that cares for medically fragile infants and children. Fell absolutely in love with those children, and the world of non-profits.
23: Still at My House. Still dating my boyfriend, we enjoyed doing absolutely nothing but hanging out and enjoying Atlanta cuisine (meaning, Taco Mac, Bambinelli's, and Thai food).
24: The boyfriend moved to San Antonio for a job. I followed about 6 months later. Waited tables for about a month, then started working at a non-profit for teen mothers. Bought a house.
25: Got engaged and eloped in New Orleans.
26: Had my first baby.
27: Juggled working and motherhood.
28: Quit my job to stay home (daycare is friggin' expensive), had my second baby.
29: Started grad school, had my third (FINAL) baby.
While that may seem boring to some, for me it was the start of my independence. I lived on my own (well, with a roommate), worked for my own money, paid my own bills. I was an actual ADULT. I had jobs with benefits. Sure, I stumbled. Sure, I thought about moving back into my parents' house. But I overcame it. I maintained old friendships, even after moving 1500 miles away, and made new ones. I became a homeowner, a wife, a mother, a grad student.
Like I said, it was a hell of a decade.
RIP, Roaring Twenties.
I didn't wake up with a hunchback, extra wrinkles, or in need of an adult diaper. (But my knees and back hurt a lot...)
And although I know my 30s are going to rock, and I was excited about it, I couldn't help but feel a little mourning for my 20s.
Because my 20s? Were a hell of a decade.
20: Still attending Agnes Scott College (the best all women's college around, in my unbiased opinion). Humming along as a history/anthropology-sociology major.
21: The big year! Had my first alcohol drink (ok, first legal drink), started waiting tables at Chili's, met and started dating my future husband, and graduated from college.
22: Left Chili's and started working at My House, a facility that cares for medically fragile infants and children. Fell absolutely in love with those children, and the world of non-profits.
23: Still at My House. Still dating my boyfriend, we enjoyed doing absolutely nothing but hanging out and enjoying Atlanta cuisine (meaning, Taco Mac, Bambinelli's, and Thai food).
24: The boyfriend moved to San Antonio for a job. I followed about 6 months later. Waited tables for about a month, then started working at a non-profit for teen mothers. Bought a house.
25: Got engaged and eloped in New Orleans.
26: Had my first baby.
27: Juggled working and motherhood.
28: Quit my job to stay home (daycare is friggin' expensive), had my second baby.
29: Started grad school, had my third (FINAL) baby.
While that may seem boring to some, for me it was the start of my independence. I lived on my own (well, with a roommate), worked for my own money, paid my own bills. I was an actual ADULT. I had jobs with benefits. Sure, I stumbled. Sure, I thought about moving back into my parents' house. But I overcame it. I maintained old friendships, even after moving 1500 miles away, and made new ones. I became a homeowner, a wife, a mother, a grad student.
Like I said, it was a hell of a decade.
RIP, Roaring Twenties.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Join me, won't you?
It's official. Hell has frozen over.
I am giving up meat.
Well, not totally.
Due to some, ahem, digestive issues, and just a general feeling of gross after I eat meat, I've decided to become a weekday vegetarian/pescatarian (yeah, sorry, I ain't giving up my fish and seafood). I'm hoping this will help me start feeling better, give me more energy, and jump start my quest to live an overall healthier life. I also am joining the Y this weekend to get back into the Couch to 5k program. They also have yoga classes (seriously, who am I?!) And daycare. Yeah, that's the real reason I'm joining.
Now, I'm not going totally vege/pesca-tarian. If someone plops a medium steak in front of me, I'll eat it up like there's no tomorrow. And I'm not going to force my family to do this with me. In fact, Steve almost cried when I told him my plan. But I figure if I'm making some meaty meal for the fam, I can make a small substitution for me.
Or maybe I'm just crazy. I'll let you know how it goes.
Also, check out our new cat!
I am giving up meat.
Well, not totally.
Due to some, ahem, digestive issues, and just a general feeling of gross after I eat meat, I've decided to become a weekday vegetarian/pescatarian (yeah, sorry, I ain't giving up my fish and seafood). I'm hoping this will help me start feeling better, give me more energy, and jump start my quest to live an overall healthier life. I also am joining the Y this weekend to get back into the Couch to 5k program. They also have yoga classes (seriously, who am I?!) And daycare. Yeah, that's the real reason I'm joining.
Now, I'm not going totally vege/pesca-tarian. If someone plops a medium steak in front of me, I'll eat it up like there's no tomorrow. And I'm not going to force my family to do this with me. In fact, Steve almost cried when I told him my plan. But I figure if I'm making some meaty meal for the fam, I can make a small substitution for me.
Or maybe I'm just crazy. I'll let you know how it goes.
Also, check out our new cat!
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