Crafty Intentions

Happy Halloween!

2011-11-03T14:45:00.000-07:00

SO, after being slammed with a freak snowstorm I was extremely grateful that our new town decided to schedule trick or treating for the 28th. Our power was out for over 24 hours, our internet was out for over 48 hours.... But we did get to go out door to door before the snow started defying the season and ripping down tree limbs.

My mom made it to our house for the evening to cover the candy-giving while we took our little monster out and to witness the awesomeness of her creation.

I had found this costume on this lady's blog over a year ago and knew in my heart that it would be perfect for Riley.

We bought a pattern and did what was recommended - combining the dinosaur pattern with the panda pattern and a little bit of the devil. I tracked down the supplies, my mom sewed it together, I took care of the horns and the finishing touches -- I also Monster-ed up some hoodies for Greg and me. Check it out:

No I haven't disappeared.

2011-10-02T19:20:00.001-07:00

I'm a mom. I suck at blogging.

Decorating, however...

Decorating I'm good at.

You like my monsters?

Happy October :)

Drastic

2011-07-19T10:09:00.001-07:00

Hey. So. Opinion.

I'm thinking of drastically changing my do. Greg is opposed as he likes the super long hair, however he admittedly is not the one who's lugging around 7 pounds of Heat-Retaining hair. My original goal was to grow it so that it falls below my boobs. As my boobs continue to grow - defying all laws of nature - my goal seems increasingly impossible.

On the one hand, I have romantic notions of my kids having memories of Mama with long hair when they were little - Maybe that sounds silly. On the other hand, I can't get cutting it short out of my head.

I'm also afraid it won't look good if it's short. I'm heavier than I used to be and my face is rounder. Maybe long hair is better than shorter hair. I do have stick straight hair and the tousled shorter looks I like would probably be harder to achieve.

To Sum Up - I"m looking for opinions here people. Feel free to weigh in.

Keep the long hair? (The Picture above was one of the best hair days I've had in the last YEAR. It DOES NOT look like that all the time. Mostly it is pulled back in a messy bun that usually is half-fallen apart.)

Cut it SHORT?

Official.

2011-06-28T10:37:00.000-07:00

Closet Before:

Closet After:

Kitchen before:

Kitchen After:

Nursery Before:

Nursery After:

EXPLOSION.

2011-06-06T09:18:00.000-07:00

Okay. So.

1. Greg was offered a desireable new job in the Allentown, PA area which is directly between our families, that he promptly accepted. His start date is June 13th..

2. His new job includes a relocation package, so contrary to my initial freak out that I NEED BOXES and I NEED TO PACK, they will actually be hiring a moving company for us who will pack up our entire house down to my underwear drawer, and unpack us when we get where we're going. They will also help to sell our house and help us to buy a new one.

3. Riley's top two teeth came through last week. This means he can bite. Seriously.

4. Riley's first steps were on Saturday, June 4th in the afternoon.

5. My 96 year old Grandfather fell out of bed, hit his head, was taken to the hospital, and had a heart attack so we packed up and left to go see him 2 days later. We saw him in the hospital. He was coherent and interested in Greg's new job and the move. He wished us luck. I told him I love him very very much.

6. He died the next day after being brought home with hospice care, during a severe storm in Carlisle PA that took out trees, created tornados, and left his house (and my grandmother!) without power for 4 days.

7. We had already been planning to visit my OTHER grandparents, whom Riley had not yet met, so that's where we were when my Grandfather passed away. My Nana is officially in the terminal stage of alzheimers and has maybe another 5-6 months ahead of her, but we lucked out that she was having a good day, and although she was extremely frail, asked several times to "go home" and didn't know who we were - she was delighted by our beautiful baby.

8. Riley learned how to drink out of a sippy cup.

9. We've made two trips to Allentown (5 hours away from home) to check out houses for sale - neither resulted in finding a house we really want to make an offer on. We've given up on finding our dream house, now we'll just settle for something that'll do for a while that's easily resellable.

10. My birthday is on June 12th.

11. Greg is going to leave on my birthday to start his job. It is unknown how long I will be alone with Riley here in Pittsburgh for 5 days at a time.

12. Riley learned that dropping toys on the ground for Mommy to pick up is SUPER FUN.

13. Greg's Car broke down with 277000 miles on it. It is Dead. Defunct. An Ex-Car.

14. We put a deposit down on a 2005 Toyota Sienna. We have not yet picked it up. But boy, am I thrilled I'll be driving a car I'm COMPLETELY unfamiliar with right when Greg leaves to go 5 hours away.

15. I made a new mommy friend in Pittsburgh and we totally click really well.

16. Did I mention I'm moving away from Pittsburgh and will totally not have any local friends again as soon as I made one?

17. I just got my period for the first time in a year and a half.

AWESOME.

Seuss.

2011-04-20T14:12:00.000-07:00

Seriously?

2011-04-07T09:41:00.000-07:00

Seriously.

Tinyprints.com is having a sale on Mother's day cards so I'm taking care of all grandmothers and great grandmothers in one happy fell swoop. I called Greg to tell him about my success and his reply was to ask if i wanted to make one up for myself.

I have a 7.5 month old, this is my first mother's day... I guess I just thought that it would be at least a few more years before I was asked to take care of my own card.

After 60 seconds of silence, he started to back track and has now asked that that question be erased from memory because he "...uh...didn't mean it that way".

I am irked.

Seriously?

Wait.... I'm still married?

2011-02-15T06:17:00.001-08:00

I think Greg said it best to me when we were discussing our relationship... It's as though before Riley was born, we gave all of our love to each other, and we spent time with each other, and paid attention to each other. But when Riley came into this world, he sucked up all our love and attention, and we're left standing in the wake, blinking bleary-eyed, looking at each other and saying "Wait... who are you again?"

I can now officially say that I have fallen head over heels in love with my baby boy. He smiles when I smile. He laughs when I laugh. His only sin is that he's in 12 month clothing and he's only 6 months old.

We've exited the desperate first months of the life of a new human being. We Ferberized 2.5 weeks ago and after 3 nights of pure unadulterated hell (except not... he only cried for a maximum of one hour the first night...), he now sleeps through the night from 9 p.m. to 7:30 a.m. He takes two naps (sometimes three) a day. And now Greg and I have been gifted with our evenings. Seriously. I know we used to spend time together. Alone. But for the life of me I can't remember what we did.

And neither can greg.

So greg made a request for your help. What are some romantic things that your significant other does for you or that you do for your significant other?

Merry Christmas :)

2010-12-24T13:52:00.000-08:00

Crafts from the trenches... These are some things I've accomplished in the last four months.

Oh, and:

As an aside, dry-ish, red, rough, flaky-ish-ness on nipples (or even just ONE nipple and not the other) is a normal side effect of breast feeding right? right??

Once a month.

2010-12-15T06:15:00.000-08:00

I guess that's how often I post now. Sorry. It's just that it's nigh impossible to type a post without resting the keyboard on top of Riley while he lays on my lap, on the Cuddoozle (better than a boppy), snoozing while semi-permanently attached to my nipple. And typing on him wakes him up.

I don't care if this is a bad idea. The boob keeps him happy while I drink my coffee, surf the internets, and crochet. His whistly sleep breathing is just icing on the cake.

Riley grabs things now. like toys and hair and crochet hooks.

He giggles. Except that -with out fail - after the third giggle, he ALWAYS gets the hiccups. (is that normal? should I be worried? the girl who had the hiccups for a really long time shot somebody, didn't she? is that what this means for his future?)

He likes nursery rhymes and the sound of a violin being played. And being smacked on the butt repeatedly is the only super reliable way of putting him to sleep.

Greg and I are starting to figure out that we're still married and if that is going to continue to mean anyrhing, then we have to figure out how to put some effort into it.

I have crocheted three and a half blankets, made and embroidered 3 stockings, decorated our front window with city silhouettes and christmas lights, made 6 christmas presents, and started to make doilies for a king sized headboard. Despite the crocheting... I'm suffering a little from craft brain freeze and seem to be unable to come up with more project ideas -- I'll take suggestions.

Teddy Bear

2010-11-12T05:57:00.000-08:00

So while there is nothing quite so sweet and heart-filling as holding Riley on my chest as he sleeps -- except for maybe when he lifts his head slightly, stretches and then does an exhausted little face plant into my boobs... my powers of telekinesis have not developed yet and I'm stranded here staring at my cup of coffee that is 3 feet away.

And then again... he smiles.

And then there was one....

2010-10-26T06:35:00.001-07:00

The good news is I am a crocheting fiend. In one week I've learned how to do granny squares and circles in squares and I'm just finishing up darning the squares of one whole baby blanket. Any hookers out there want to let me know how you prevent your hand from hurting after a day of crocheting?

The bad news is that Greg has to go on a business trip for 4 days next week and will just be getting back in time to go visit my parents on Friday.

I will be alone with Riley from early Monday morning to sometime on Thursday.

The good news is that upon learning of this event, my stomach didn't feel immediately filled with lead and I didn't go into a cold sweat. I think I can handle this.

The bad news is, I'm still apprehensive about being alone all night for three nights. AND I feel guilty for thinking that way because there are obviously single parents out there who do this all night every night - Or women whose husbands are away in Iraq who do the same and here I am, nervous about four measly nights?

Wish me luck.

Brendan --- if you're reading this, STOP

2010-10-19T08:16:00.000-07:00

So, it is just too good to resist posting these images. I've gotten quite good at crafting one handed using only 30% of my conscious attention. I recently finished my brother's Christmas presents. Extra points if you know where the quotes come from.

Now if only I could ALSO be the master(/banisher) of diaper rash. Any suggestions?

Some thoughts:

2010-09-30T06:36:00.000-07:00

Being engorged is less like having stones for breasts and more like having breasts filled with golf balls.
Babies farts can be extremely loud. Especially when enhanced by a thick coating of Vaseline.
Nasal aspirators are considered evil by infants everywhere.
Enemy #1 to a clear skinned baby face: Untrimmed baby nails.
I am in pants limbo. My maternity pants are too big. My regular pants are too small. Must. Resist. Buying. All. New. Pants.
Knitting while nursing takes talent.
Snickers has been my go-to nighttime nursing snack. They were on sale last week and now I am faced with a difficult truth: There is such a thing as too many snickers.
Early on in our marriage, I thought it was hilarious to jump out from dark doorways to scare the pants off Greg. Ever since the Spraying Poop Incident of 2010 Greg has been 10 times as skittish about baby farts while changing diapers as he was about looking around corners. I've never seen him jump so high before.
Due to a miscommunication we now have 8 million size 1 diapers.
Being home all day with him is the easiest thing I've ever done.
Typing one-handed is a skill.
Going with only 3-4 hours of sleep a day has not yet made me feel like the walking dead.
Being home all day with him is the hardest thing I've ever done.

A Craft...

2010-09-23T08:32:00.001-07:00

The crib quilt that I made for Riley.

And the nursery that it belongs to:

This is just a preview - I took the photos without a flash and the colors didn't come out in the photos... The color is more a brilliant lime green than a pear green. More photos to come sometime in the next century.

August 13. 3:28 p.m. 8 pounds 7 ounces. 20.5 inches.

2010-09-01T08:33:00.000-07:00

And here, for the sake of my degenerating sanity/memory, is the whole story:

I had a doctor's appointment on my due date, August 12th. My mom had been staying with us for a good 2 weeks already - she was an angel. She dusted and vacuumed and cleaned and cooked AND she drove me to and from work every day so that I wouldn't have to whilst 9 months pregnant. We were running late for the doctor's appointment, and we ended up waiting an extra 45 minutes just to be seen! I was uncomfortable in those waiting room chairs, but we were kept entertained by Riley's in-womb hiccups.

When we were finally seen, we found out that I was holding out at a "good" one centimeter dilated. Of course, before the doctor shoved his entire arm up inside me to figure that out I was once again given the speech of "This means absolutely nothing. The baby could be born now or weeks from now."

Awesome. There's nothing I like better than recreational vaginal spelunking with absolutely no point or purpose.

When we left I was more uncomfortable, courtesy of the spelunking, and hungry. We grabbed dinner from Panera and went home to catch the finale of So You Think You Can Dance. When the show was over, we went to bed. Greg offered a back massage, which I eagerly took him up on and he kept that up for a good hour. In e last 15 minutes or so, I kept urging him to rub my lower back because I was feeling annoying period-like back cramps in waves.

Eventually he fell asleep, mid-rub.

I, however, stayed awake... fascinated by the regularity of my somewhat uncomfortable back cramps.

Three hours later, at about 3:00 a.m. I decided I should probably wake Greg up and let him know I was in labor... especially seeing as how the cramps were getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

The first time I woke him up and asked for tennis balls (because rubbing those into my lower back seemed like a brilliant idea) he mumbled something, rolled over and fell back asleep. The second time I woke him up was a little more violent and a little more desperate. He started timing the contractions... by which I mean he timed one and then figured that the next several would probably be the same so he didn't need to time those. One strongly worded explanation later, and he was timing every single contraction. He also broke out the tennis balls and started rubbing and less than 3 minutes later, my water broke.

There was a small gush and I leapt 6 feet into the air, off the bed, and rushed into the bathroom. Amazingly, I avoided getting anything on our bed. I had been wearing a pad in preparation for this moment, but because I've never gone into labor before I wasn't sure how to prove to the doctor that my water had actually broken - so we mutually agreed to take a few photos of the sullied pad. I won't post those photos. You're welcome.

I called the doctor and he said "Come on in!" in the style of an uncle who's in the pool telling you, with a big shit-eating grin on his face, that the water's FINE and will not give you the ability to identify with an ice cube upon submergence.

I called our doula who said she was leaving right that second and would meet us at the hospital.

I woke my mom up and told her I was in labor.

We gathered all of our luggage (two small rolling suitacases, a large pink birthing ball, 3 pillows with waterproof covers, and the camera bag), and by the time I hit the first floor I was throwing up dinner.

The hospital is 5 minutes from our house and getting there was very much a blur. Greg dropped me off at the Emergency entrance (because it was 4:00 a.m.) and left to park the car. I was wheeled up to triage where I needed to sign in and fill out paperwork. When they finally admitted me to a room in Triage - where they check to make sure you're not faking - Greg got out the tennis balls again, and I got changed into a hospital gown. They asked for a urine sample - which would have been a lot easier if I hadn't peed about 20 times before we left the house. I'm not possessive of my urine, and I would have saved some for them if they had warned me - but nobody said anything!

They checked my blood pressure and inserted an IV catheter in my wrist (on the side - annoying!), and then I met a friendly resident who performed the most painful speculum exam I've ever had. Seriously? I wasn't faking.

The verdict was that I was four centimeters dilated.

About that time Rene, our doula, arrived. And she started pushing for us to be moved to a labor and delivery suite.

What seemed like HOURS later, I was finally moved and we fetched my mom with our 8 million bags to go with us. The put us in a lovely large room with a couch and a chair and a bed and a hot tub. They immediately strapped monitors to me and said the baby's vitals looked great!

The next 5 hours were a blur. I tried the hot tub and that worked well for a while until the nurse, who seemed a little personally offended that I wanted to try going without an epidural, complained that the monitors kept moving and could I please GET OUT OF THE TUB and HOLD STILL FOR A WHILE. I tried walking around. I tried laying down. I tried being on my hands and knees. I tried using the birthing ball. The use of the tennis balls - as hard as he could press and roll them - was constant. All of these different positions brought to you by Rene, the doula. Without her, I would have stayed in one position the entire time and probably been 150% miserable. Greg could not persuade me to try different things, at all. Everything he suggested sounded like an awful idea. Move? Roll over? Stand up? Walk around? Are you kidding? I'm still alive while laying right here, thank you very much. Rene pushed me to try other things and each time, it was good for a while, and then she'd suggest something else and I'd have the same visceral reaction ... but she got me to try something else. Without her, I might have merged as one with the hospital bed, because up until she started to get me to move, The only thing I was doing was pressing my face as hard as possible into bed rail.

At around 8 a.m. my mom left to go back to our house. You see, the counter top was being installed in our kitchen and someone had to be there. See, I know i haven't written over the last many weeks - but life has been anything but dull and one of the highlights has been the kitchen counter top. To make a long story medium length,we placed a counter top order with a local company for a solid surface counter top made by another local company. The Local-ness was a bonus because they could install it much sooner than other companies. They said they could get a guy out to do a template and then install it the following week. It took them a week to get a guy out to do the template, and then two weeks to fabricate the countertop and when they finally installed it... It was wrong. Don't misunderstand me - I was just about ready to say "Fine. Whatever. We have a COUNTER TOP, I won't be picky." But there were just wayy too many things wrong. So. Very. Wrong. One side of the counter extended 8 inches beyond the lower cabinets. It had a bump on one surface. They mis-cut one area. They fused a piece in to cover it up and you could see the fused area. You could see the seams, you could FEEL the seams. There were 2 unfinished edges. The sink had 8 dents in it. They said it would take them a couple of hours to install it, when - in fact - it took them about 9 hours. We refused to sign the paperwork that said it was fine, so they called in their boss who took one look at it and told them to rip it out. He said it was unacceptable and they would fix it - and throw in plumbing AND a windowsill. So we gratefully accepted that they would fix what was wrong, and mournfully waved goodbye to our temporary countertop. If you just squinted and let it blur in your vision - it had looked great! They weren't able to set up another install date until August 13th at 8 a.m. And it just so happened I was 8 hours into labor at that point so Mom went home and babysat the install guys.

Finally, after not being checked all that time, the doctor made an appearance to check me. I figured I was at least 8 centimeters and if that was the case, I could make it without drugs.

I was 6. 6 Centimeters. It had taken me 6 hours to dilate 2 more centimeters. And then they told me I not only had to hold perfectly still for 15 minutes because they needed a better read on the baby, but I wasn't allowed to get up at all from now on because they found meconium. With the ability to move around while laboring completely taken away from me anyway, I no longer saw the point of forgoing an epidural so I asked for one. Within 10 minutes the head of anesthesiology was in the room administering one. They did a beautiful job and I felt almost immediate relief. I'd like to say I felt complete relief, but that would be a lie because I could still feel contractions.

I pressed the button for "extra" medication every 10 minutes or so for the next several hours... Which, at first, was completely ineffective seeing as how the brilliant anesthesiologist had handed me the button, proudly told me I could press it any time I wanted with no risk of overdosing myself... and then forgot to hook the button up to the machine. When it was finally hooked up, it still did not relieve the regular waves of feeling like I needed to poop.

By 2:30 p.m. I was officially uncomfortable again... The need to push was somewhat intense. The doctor made another appearance and declared that I was very near 10 centimeters and that he would be back at 3:00 p.m. and I could start pushing then.

The next half-hour was the slowest half hour of my life. By the end I was sucking in air to keep from pushing. At 2:58 p.m. my mom walked in with news that the counter top was finished and looked beautiful.

At 3:01 p.m. the Doctor walked in and a few nurses started buzzing around like bees... and then he told me I could push.

I pushed for 20 minutes.

And then the baby's heart rate plummeted.

I was told to stop pushing, and they waited three minutes for it to rebound.

It did not rebound.

So I was rushed to the operating room for an emergency c-section.

About 30 people swarmed into the room, they put an oxygen mask on me and rushed me out of the labor and delivery suite. Greg wasn't allowed to go with me. I later learned that my Doula stayed behind because my Mom was a mess. I can't tell you how grateful I am that Rene was there to hold my Mom while she cried.

They practically ran me down the halls and into the OR. The room was full of people in blue. They immediately strapped me down and strung up the curtain. And here's where I learn how lucky I am that I opted for an epidural - because if I hadn't, they would have put me out completely. I would not have been awake for the birth of my son.

I was a little out of it, but I remember asking about where Greg was and being told that they needed to get the baby out, but that he might be able to come in a little later. I also remember trying to tell the two young doctors at my head that they had a very good bedside manner - very reassuring.

I wasn't scared. All I can tell you is that I knew it would be okay, so it was just sort of an interesting situation.

The worst part was that I wasn't completely numb when they started cutting me open... But that was over very quickly and soon, all I could feel was pressure. I did specifically feel them reach down low inside me and pull the baby towards my ribcage and then up out of my body.

And then I held my breath until I heard him cry.

And then I couldn't stop smiling.

Greg was finally allowed into the room and he came in, wearing what looked like a haz mat suit, crying. I beamed at him and said "Everything's okay honey! I'm okay, I'm fine! And the baby ... Can you hear him crying? He's crying!"

And Greg laughed at me through his tears.

They took Riley to the NICU because they thought he might have inhaled some meconium, and I was confined to my bed for the next day. I barely saw Riley as they wheeled him out of the room and I didn't get to touch him until many hours later when my nurse decided to stay past her shift just to roll me, bed and all, down to the NICU so that I could see and touch my baby.

I didn't get to hold him until about 24 hours after he was born. But it was worth the wait.

Our firsts were spread thin over the next few days - First time Greg got to hold Riley, first time I breastfed him, first time he came to be with us in my hospital room...

Everything after the c-section went swimmingly. The nurses in the NICU are rockstars, and they were thrilled to have a full-term baby that they could pick up and cuddle. All tests came back negative for any kind of infection. Everything turned out to be best case scenario and we ended up coming home from the hospital on Monday.

I've had help from my mom and now my mother-in-law for the first three weeks of Riley's life. This Tuesday I'll start to be on my own completely - no one to tag team him when he's fussy with the gassiness he seems to have inherited from his father, or has peed out of his diaper. No one to hold him while I try to nap for 15 minutes here and there.

I'm tired, but not as tired as I could be. I'm sore, but healing well. I'm occasionally overly emotional and tetchy, but mostly just happy. I'm terrified of being completely alone with Riley, but hopefully I can handle it. We'll see.

:)

2010-08-27T14:53:00.000-07:00

At least that makes one of us

2010-08-09T08:46:00.000-07:00

The past week has been a whirlwind of getting ready. My mom is in da house, which means that things are being cleaned that I didn't even know COULD be cleaned. She's white vinegar-ed the washing machine, and torn apart the oven and put it back together again. She's lifted a lot off of our shoulders so that Greg can focus on the Kitchen and I can lay down when I need to with a little less guilt. The pets adore her because she hasn't yet learned that all of their begging for attention is out of being spoiled and not out of neglect. She's sewn up the curtains, grocery shopped, and she cleans the litter box daily. It's amazing.

Greg's had time to install the microwave, outlets, and put all cabinet doors and hardware up.

We were supposed to have a countertop by now... But we don't. We DID have one for about an hour last week on Tuesday. Then it went away.

I was almost weak enough to just ask that they leave it. Even though one edge of the countertop extended 8 inches beyond the lower cabinet. Even though one side of it was completely unfinished and you could see the wood inside the solid surface top. Even though it was square edged rather than the bull-nose that we paid for. Even though there was a bump in the surface that they sanded down and then you could see the sanded spot. Even though they cut it wrong around a corner of the kitchen and then tried to hide it with a fused patch that was obvious. Even though there were see-able and feel-able seams throughout. Even though the sink was dented in 7 places.

...

I really really want a countertop and more importantly: a sink.

When the boss-dude showed up, he declared the job unacceptable and not up to par with their work quality. He had the guys pull it up immediately and said they'd fix it and throw in plumbing and a free windowsill out of the same material... Which is nice and all. And I appreciate that they're fixing it. But seriously? I was 9 days away from my due date. Now I'm 3 days away and still no countertop.

Last night, Greg was holding me in bed - as best he can on the other side of my ginormous and nest-like pregnancy pillow - and he put his hand on my belly and got very quiet. He just stared and stared at his hand. And then his eyes started filling up with tears. Without looking up he told me that with all this stress lately - with the kitchen and the house and the nursery.... We haven't been focusing on this one obvious thing. When we talk about pregnancy and birth we end up talking about labor and delivery and what's going to happen and pain and pain management and the doula, etc.

We don't talk about the fact that we're going to be holding an infant in our arms when this is all over. That's the point. That we're going to have a baby. Our baby. My baby. His baby.

He looked up at me with tears streaming down his cheeks, and he said "I'm ready."

Anybody else's partner act like this?

2010-07-28T07:27:00.001-07:00

So we were driving around running errands last night, returning items to ikea and picking up storage containers, and at some point I was alone in the car when BAM, I felt a sudden tightening in my lower back and strong discomfort (very similar to the back cramps I experience during a period) and what might have been a small leakage of liquid from you-know-where.

When Greg got back in the car from returning some unnecessary plumbing parts, I was debating whether or not to tell him about the sensations I was experiencing.

Eventually I came clean just to stem the flow of his anxiety - which really didn't work out.

Part of it was that apparently I had a certain look on my face that meant he was missing something - which USUALLY means he's forgotten something he promised we'd do, and I'm waiting for him to figure it out. So he was sitting there getting more and more frustrated by his inability to guess at what store we were supposed to also visit - Baby Gap? Joann's? Marshalls? While I'm sitting there breathing evenly and wondering if this is the start of labor.

When I told him what I was experiencing, he asked a bunch of questions and I reassured him that I could still talk through whatever was going on, and that it wasn't that bad, and that it might be absolutely nothing! Chill! His response was this:

"So this is really going to happen. This is actually going to happen. For real. We're going to be out, minding our own business and all of a sudden you're going to turn to me and say 'My water just broke' or 'I'm going into labor'. And It's going to happen. Really."

He hasn't really gained complete composure since.

I'm glad I told him what was going on, but I'm also not. Because now, whenever we talk (phone or in person) he asks me how I'm feeling twice. Just to make sure I'm not trying to hide the fact that I'm in labor from him. Those crampy sensations have completely subsided, and I'm back to being just regular old uncomfortable-because-there's-a-full-grown-baby-in-my-uterus.

To reassure him further, Last night I promised him that I wouldn't sneak off to the hospital to have the baby without telling him.

He was less than amused.

I am not writing because I fold under pressure.

2010-07-22T11:23:00.000-07:00

The baby is large and in charge... of my internal organs.

I am stressed and hot and tired.

Things in the house are progressing, but not fast enough.

(You can glimpse the kitchen in the background).

Oh, and have I perhaps mentioned that the baby's name is Riley?

Deep breaths.

T-21 days till my due date.

That which they do not tell you.

2010-07-01T06:41:00.000-07:00

I was just saying to my mom that if it weren't for the whole kicking thing, the uncomfortable contractions, and the sore uterus - I wouldn't know I was pregnant. This is true to a large extent. If I don't look down, I do sometimes forget that I've got a very active bun in the oven.

On the other hand, there's some freaky shit going on that NO ONE told me would happen and therefore I wonder whether it's pregnancy related, or I'm just getting quirkier.

Firstly, my feet are itchy. Mainly my toes. There is no rash, no scaly-ness, and no redness. There's probably some swelling, but I'm really really bad at telling whether or not my feet are swollen. I'm grateful that they haven't grown in size - Apparently my mom, pre-pregnancy, was a size 7 in shoes, and post-pregnancy and forever after amen has been a size 8. Even though I don't WEAR stilettos anymore, I would rather not be faced with the harsh reality that my silver sequin heels wouldn't fit me anymore.

So, back to the itchiness. They itch mildly all day, but then at night - I lay down in bed and am suddenly consumed by the itchiness of it all. Greg is amused by all of this, and calmly offers to scritch said toes until I am mostly calmed. This takes a long while. We've also tried moisturizer - My toes are soft and supple AND ITCHY AS ALL GET OUT.

Pregnancy? Or Quirk?

Also, (and at first this was delightful) Water now tastes like cream. Ice tastes like cold cubes of icing. You'd think I'd forgo complaining about this one, but at the height of summer when what you really want is a swig of ice cold water - Ice cold CREAM is not nearly as thirst-quenching or refreshing. At first I thought it must just be OUR water. It must just be our Brita Filter or something... And then I tried water at a friend's house... and an expensive restaurant... and a Denny's... And water is no longer water. Water is like melted ice cream. It's awful. I so desperately just want ice water. Is that so much to ask?

Pregnancy? or Quirk?

And you guys - Let me let you in on something I learned in our last baby class. Babies REALLY DO come out of vaginas. I mean - I know you've probably all been informed of this, and if you've given birth, you probably feel even more well-informed on the subject. But I think it bears repeating: BABIES ENTER THIS WORLD THROUGH THE VAGINA. I swear I knew this basic information before, but watching umpteen women give birth in the educational videos during our last childbirth class -- They're serious. It really does happen that way.

I'm sure I'll be even more viscerally informed after my own birthing experience. I just thought I'd share. Birth Control is effective. If you don't want to shove a baby through your vagina, use it.

The people I've shared this eyes-the-size-of-saucers-inducing revelation with, along with the acknowledgment that I'm not particularly excited, intrigued, mystified, or READY to give BIRTH - even though I'm (as) ready (as I'll ever be) to take on an infant and just about looking forward to it.... They tend to get all snippy with me. "Well, If you weren't ready to give birth, then why did you want to get pregnant!?!" As though I should be excitedly anticipating the hemorrhoids, the tearing, and the incredibly difficult work that is child birth.

I guess this is the beginning of the mommy-judgment. I'm already less-worthy because I don't have the proper feelings of awe and excitement for the birth-giving. I can only imagine how I'll be judged when I actually admit out loud that I have feelings other than all-encompassing fuzzy love for my little dumplings. But seriously, I expect to be pooped on, and I expect not to like it. That's just reality, right?

I mitigate my fear and anxiety through education. I took classes. I read books. I'm practicing breathing and rolling my hips on a big pink exercise ball. I breathe through my braxton hicks contractions when I can remember to do anything other than say "Ow ow ow ow ow". I've hired a doula (We met with her for two hours, she's lovely). I've decided I want to keep all my options as open as possible, but I want to try everything I can before I decide to go with an epidural. And I've been cluing Greg into everything that could potentially piss me off whilst laboring - i.e. denying me food or cheering me on with the pep of a high school cheerleader. Either of those opens up the very real possibility of me biting off one of his fingers, and neither of us wants that.
So I'm working on it, but I'm not psyched. I'm nervous.

Also, I'm becoming moody and territorial. The nursery is in the midst of the VERY LAST paint touch ups, and then everything can be put in its place. All the baby clothes are laundered and waiting. I've been imagining stacking them in size order and carefully placing them, one by one, in the dresser drawers while imagining my little squirmy boy wearing them for the first time.

Then Greg made the near fatal mistake of "trying to help" by taking the clean laundry basket of baby clothes and dumping it into the nursery room dresser to get it out of our bedroom.

He simultaneously de-virginized the dresser and the clothes in one fell, clumsy, swoop.

At the cold, calm core of my intellectual self, I am able to understand that this should mean nothing. I am still completely capable of organizing, touching, arranging, and daydreaming during the task of "putting away the baby's clothes".

But I would be lying if I told you it didn't pain me to even type those words. I am/was furious. I'm still having trouble letting it go. My plans were violated and thus the world comes to a crashing inferno of an end. I experienced a conniption during which my head split, I shed my skin fully, and my eye sockets burned with a blue eternal flame.

Pregnancy? Or quirk?
Let's hope, for Greg's health's sake, it's just pregnancy.

Waiting for the World to Change

2010-06-25T06:19:00.000-07:00

I keep waiting to post in hopes that I'll have some spectacular photos to share with you. A finished nursery? A completed kitchen? A clean house perhaps?

Nope.

Things keep plodding forward at what seems to be a snail's speed and I keep biting my nails and covering my eyes and wishing it would all just go away.

In order to catch you up a bit, here are some highlights:

Greg is up and about, without crutches. He will be in a straight leg brace for another 3 weeks at least. He is attending physical therapy twice a week where they bend him and prod him and electrocute him regularly. The best news here is that he can drive. The doctor was not being entirely truthful when he earnestly assured us that there was no possibility of Greg driving until he was out of the leg brace because insurance wouldn't cover it. Turns out doctors should stick with medicine and stop advising people on what insurance will and will not cover because our Insurance companies said we were good to go! This outcome turned a seriously frustrating and stressful situation into a puff of non-issue smoke.
I have begun to develop the ability to ignore the chaos and mess around me and focus in on the little things I can accomplish. It has been incredibly guilt-inducing that up until about a week ago I haven't worked on anything crafty SPECIFICALLY for my baby - So to remedy that I began a slew a projects including a crib quilt (just for show), and curtains for the nursery. I'm making great progress with at least the quilt. Hopefully I'll have something to show you soon.
Our "Kitchen" aka "Dining Room" is a complete and total disaster. As much as we've tried to use disposable plates (Give us a break - I'm 7.5 months pregnant and Greg's in a leg brace, we can't be toting dishes up and down stairs just to have a clean bowl for cereal in the morning), there are still dirty dishes piled up. And in addition to dirty dishes there are several Tupperware containers of molding food just laying around, sealed in their containers. It's gross and totally freaks me out.
We're meeting with our potential Doula next week. She sounds like she might be a good fit for us. She has two daughters, she's given birth both with an epidural and completely without medication. She is a strong proponent of keeping the main support person (Greg) as involved as they want to be (and he wants to do everything - he just doesn't know what to do!). And she shared that she understands that change - even wanted, desire, sought after change - such as bringing a baby into the world, can be difficult and overwhelming. It is not all butterflies and roses - and it's okay not to be sickeningly happy about every moment of every day when embarking on the journey of parenthood. Sounds about right to me.
Yesterday was our Four year Anniversary. Greg had flowers delivered to me at work. Four red roses for the years we've been married and one pink rose for the year to come. After the baby is born, he'll add a white rose. He was kicking himself for not including a little baby rose bud this time though. Isn't he sweet? He's definitely my favorite. We also went out to dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in Pittsburgh. We decided that it was an acceptable expenditure, and then enjoyed ourselves thoroughly looking out at the city skyline and enjoying a four course meal.
Unfortunately, there was a slight shadow overhanging our dinner: Our handyman pulled a houdini on us. Our handyman, who has been helping with odd-job projects for the last several weeks, has been flaking out on us lately and I really don't appreciate it. He insulated the entire kitchen in less than 3 hours. He put the baseboard in the nursery. He did a spectacular job on both projects. Then, we had him do the finishing of the drywall that we had a company come in and hang. The drywall finishing was only supposed to take two days - it ended up taking 4. Then he painted. The painting was supposed to take Half a day. It took Two days. Then he and Greg were supposed to start tiling the kitchen floor together (Last weekend). They weren't even able to think about starting until Sunday - He told us he'd be over at 10:00 a.m. At 11:30 I finally convinced Greg to call him to find out WHAT the deal was - Turns out he'd slept in. He came over once that afternoon to bring some tools over, but they decided to start doing the actual work on Tuesday night together. Tuesday they did about half the floor. Wednesday they did about 2/3rds of what was left. He was supposed to come over yesterday during the day to finish the little space that was still yet untiled so that TODAY he could grout it all and then this weekend we (Greg and I) could start putting together kitchen cabinets! Exciting right? Well, when I got home from work at around 5:15 yesterday, Mr. Handyman was no where to be found. There was a bucket of wet mortar, part of the remaining floor had been tiled, his saw as set up, but there was no Mr. Handyman. We tried to reach him for the entire rest of the evening - Nothing. His cell phone started going straight to voice mail. In the middle of our incredibly pleasant anniversary dinner, Greg shared with me that he'd also looked at the tile Mr. Handyman had laid that day and it was hugely sub par work. He hadn't used spacers, the tile was all kinds of crooked... Greg thought it would need to be torn out and re-done. When we got home from dinner, Greg started prying up the tile himself because the mortar was still damp and then spent an hour scraping it up off the subflooring. We still have not reached Mr. Handyman. Who knows what's happened. I don't want to be uncharitable, but I'm thinking there might be a substance abuse issue going on here. Additionally I'm somewhat pissed. I also think Greg's too nice. I'd like to chew this guy out for what's going on - if only we could get in touch with him...
Also, he took our house key. Greg had left it under the front mat so he could get in while we were at work, and apparently had told him - on a whim - that he could just take it with him. Now I'm afraid we're going to have to replace all of our locks because I'm paranoid that this guy has our key first of all, and second of all in the course of his hiatus he could have had a copy made. He doesn't seem like a malicious guy - but seriously? ugh.
My brother is coming to visit today. He'll be staying the weekend. It is STILL up the in air what exactly he and Greg will be working on together while he's around.
I converted Greg's grandmother from shooing stray cats and kittens out of her garden by yelling and gesturing at them to wanting to catch them and deliver them to the Humane League's doorstep by sharing a simple statistic with her. "The average number of litters a fertile cat can produce in a year is 3. The average number of kittens in a litter is 4-6. In seven years, one female cat and her offspring can theoretically produce 420,000 cats. Only 1 in 12 of those 420,000 cats born finds a home." I see this as a win-win because now she'll get them out of her garden and off her property and they'll stop breeding exponentially.
There is grass growing in our gutters. This is not a situation either of us are currently equipped to deal with.
I'm going to give birth soon and I'm kind of freaked out about it.
I'm going to be a MOM soon and I'm way more freaked out about that.
Greg's parents and his Aunt and Uncle are coming to visit July 4th weekend. Hopefully we can have a kitchen cabinet par-tay. That is, unless Mr. Handyman comes back, sneaks in using his key and steals all of our cabinets. And our dog.

meh.

Doula

2010-06-11T06:33:00.000-07:00

So, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I'm thinking about hiring a doula.

Maybe I'm too late to the party. It feels like 7 months is too late. Shouldn't I have been thinking about this before? The thing is that until the lady who runs our childbirth class started talking about exactly what a doula does - I hadn't been interested. Our teacher is a doula herself - but she's not on-call. She volunteers at the hospital when she has the time and goes where she's needed for free - so we couldn't hire her for ourselves. When she explained that a doula is there for the ENTIRE labor and delivery - that a doula supports you and your partner, answers questions, and is a good touchstone for the doctor... it started to appeal to me.

I had this touchy-feely idea of a doula. A Doula would pressure me to go without drugs. A Doula would wear only organic cotton and hemp. A Doula would also probably be prohibitively expensive.

I'm not much into the touch-feely stuff.

I'm going to be going through Labor. I'm going to be pushing. I'm going to be tired and probably cranky and probably in pain. If you use flowery language to describe these things, I'm going to resent you and your organic cotton.

The thing is, from reading I've been doing - and the no-nonsense, hysterically blunt teacher from our childbirth class - having this support person appeals more and more and more.

I go to a group of doctors. There are 7 of them. Any one of them could be on call for the birth. I believe there are 2 men and 5 women. I'm not picky about doctors - I never have been. I went to these guys based on the recommendation by my family doctor. So long as they have a degree and a certain semblance of doctor-ish-ness, I'm just going to assume the best and go along with it.

But if I really get down and dirty and examine how I feel about them, I definitely prefer the female doctors in the group (I usually don't have a gender preference). However, there's absolutely no way to know who (of the 7) will be on call at the time I go into labor. Additionally, even though I feel very comfortable with 5 out of 7 doctors in my group, I hardly know any of them. I've seen each one maybe twice in the course of my prenatal care visits. One of them is so cute I want to put her in my pocket, one of them has crazy long unbrushed hair, one of them makes great eye contact when I talk to her... And that's about the extent of our relationship.

And, I know that when the time comes and I'm sweaty and contracting in my hospital room, the doctor will be in and out. He/She will not be a constant companion/consultant. They'll probably be in the process of delivering several other babies and I won't be #1, top of the list all the time.

ALSO, this is our first baby. I know what I know and don't know what I don't know. I know there must be tons that I don't know. And its the little things that bother me. For example, I don't know why I thought this - but I thought that nipples just had one hole - making the boobs kind of like duel super soakers. But at this point in my pregnancy, white dots are starting to appear on the ends of my nipples. And I am a serial picker. If there is something on my skin, I am going to pick at it - which leads to these awkward moments where I'm craned over my boob, picking at tiny white dots and Greg hobbles in, grabs my wrist and says "LEAVE THAT ALONE FOR GOODNESS SAKES".

It's my understanding that for a price somewhere between free and $1000, we could hire a Doula to come with us to the hospital, be there through the entire labor and deliver, and stay till after the first successful breastfeeding latch. She would be able to answer our questions - any questions - during the whole process. She'd be the calm pep-squad pillar in the room, a constant and knowledgeable presence. Her goals would be our goals (which are pretty much a healthy baby with as little pain as possible). She'd support Greg as well as myself - keeping him involved, helping him to know what I need help with next. The doctor - whatever doctor was on call - would be able to talk to her about what was going on with me as he/she came in and out. Supposedly Doulas can help with anything from changing the playlist, to getting your partner some coffee, to refilling the ice chips, to advocating on your behalf to get the anesthesiologist in there RIGHT NOW.

Most importantly, I imagine I would feel less helpless and less floundering. Less scared.

The thing is, we don't really have money to throw around right now. We certainly don't have $1000 to just pay somebody to hold my hand when admittedly, Greg does a fine job. But, if we could find one for the lower range that I clicked with and respected as much as our birthing class teacher, I think it might be worth it.

Has anybody else used a doula? Was it worth it?

Photo Update:

2010-06-07T11:20:00.000-07:00

Kitchen Progress 1:

Kitchen Progress 2:

Finished JUST IN TIME for a visit to NJ and a "surprise" baby shower:

With a visit to our Alma Mater on the way home:

And a few last minute changes to the Nursery (Don't get too excited about those curtains - after a few days up I started to hate them so we returned them (the table cloths!) to Bed bath and beyond and ordered fabric instead):

And Sad Drugged-up Greg:
Today I'm chauffeuring my husband to our first real birth/baby class.
Should be a hoot.

Send in the clowns

2010-06-02T06:47:00.000-07:00

So this week has been a little stressful. I hope all of you have been sucking up all the "relax" vouchers in life, because none have been passed my way lately.

Let me be as brief as possible. The nursery is furniture-ready. The kitchen has insulation and recessed lighting. The plumber is supposed to be scheduled soon, the drywall guy will be scheduled soon after that.

We took a weekend trip to NJ for a family reunion which also turned out to be a surprise baby shower. I had strong suspicions. While people were extremely generous and it was fun, only one of my friends from the area was able to attend.

On Monday we drove the 7 hours home, picked up Dexter from the kennel, ran some last minute errands, and greeted Greg's mom and grandma who came in to town to be with him till today.

Greg went in for his knee surgery at 10:00 a.m. yesterday, he came out by 12 or 1, he woke up by 2/2:30. It was a longer surgery than expected because the tear was worse than expected.

However, they were able to suture it. He has an 80% chance of healing completely. He'll be in the completely straight leg brace for at least 4 weeks, on crutches. He is on several medications and has a low-grade fever which is normal.

Today he has two un-related doctor's appointments, one of which is to check for cancerous nodules on his thyroid.

My parent's dog - the one they got because I told them a dog would help me through adolescence - had a stroke or slipped a disc at the end of last week. She was in a lot of pain and couldn't move or sit or lay down. Her breathing was labored and she wouldn't eat or drink. She's 13 years old (a border terrier), and mom took her to the ER. She took a turn for the better after a few days of steroids and most of the numbness seems to have passed, though she's still dragging her left rear leg. There was a point last week when it was probable that despite my planned trip to NJ, she might be put to sleep 12-24 hours before I'd get there. I got to hold her at the vet's office for a little bit on Saturday - but this is absolutely heart breaking.

My grandfather is still not eating.

My car came within inches of running out of gas yesterday.

My uterus is particularly sore as it seems the baby has gone through some kind of growth spurt and so I'm hobbling/limping through my day.

So many things make me cry - it must be the hormones from the pregnancy, though it's tough to tell with so many things going on right now.

Greg's mom and Grandma are headed home today, and he will be left in my care. I know I am capable and strong. I can take care of him completely and I am ready and willing to do so.

But there's a small, sad part of me that thought he would be taking care of me as we reached the home stretch of this pregnancy - not the other way around. And I feel very guilty for feeling that way at all.

Peaches and Cream and Alzheimers

2010-05-25T07:13:00.000-07:00

I am approaching my 29th week of pregnancy, which - for those of you not well-versed in week-to-month conversion - means that I am into my third trimester and approaching the home stretch. A few things have changed including my bedtime (pre-pregnancy: midnight, post-pregnancy: 9:30 p.m.), my weight (down 40 pounds and then up about 11 from there), and my ability to stay calm. I am not a serene earth mother. I am pregnant and worried.

What's there to worry about? Plenty.

There are the ridiculous things - Will the baby get my flat feet? Am I gestating a little one that will satisfy my mother-in-law's desire for a blue-eyed grandchild? Will I go into labor a month early, like my friend did? Will I go into labor late, after making my mother hang around for a week before and a week after the due date? Will the gulf oil spill affect future potential family vacations to the Jersey Shore?

There's Greg. His surgery is June 1st. His doctor also wants his thyroid to be checked - no big deal, just possible CANCER. AND: Despite having been married almost 4 years, we STILL have major communication issues.

Allow me to elaborate.

While he is all at once handsome and handy and awesome - he is ALSO a serial optimist when it comes to plans, deadlines and due dates. I LOVE making to-do lists. I love knowing what's coming next. I love having accurate expectations about what will be accomplished every night of the week. I glean a deep satisfaction from the check mark symbol. The KEY here is ACCURACY.

Leading up to this surgery thing, we've been ALL ABOUT plans and priorities. We've needed to evaluate what is most important to accomplish before his leg is immobilized by a brace and he's relegated to crutches. This baby's growth is NOT slowing down. It's like a big, drooling train headed straight for us. It WILL be here in August - Possibly sooner. We need to get serious about what we can get done.

So we made a plan, detailing what work would be done. I took a deep breath and swallowed the necessity for take-out every night last week and this week. Greg has been working his butt off in the kitchen and elsewhere.

But boy do I hate that he's an optimist.

No matter HOW many times I look him in the eyes and explain, ever so seriously and clearly, that I would appreciate an ACCURATE estimate of how long each task will take him... And if he doesn't know, could he PLEASE just tell me that he DOESN'T KNOW?... And if he THINKS he knows, could he PLEASE multiply that number of hours by 3 before opening his mouth to tell me?...

He gets it wrong about 70% of the time.

It's usually not as bad as this past weekend.

Proposed Schedule, Outlined out by Greg himself:
Friday Night: Lay the plywood subfloor, and the Masonry board subfloor (with Mortar) in the kitchen.
Saturday Morning: Take all trash/construction debris to the Dump
Saturday ALL DAY: Tile the kitchen floor
Sunday Morning: Weed the front, Mow the back yard
Sunday ALL DAY: Install the Nursery floor
Sunday After Dinner: Grout the Kitchen floor

What happened in Reality:
Friday Night: Lay half the plywood Subfloor
Saturday Morning: take all trash/construction debris to the Dump
Saturday ALL DAY: Lay the rest of the plywood Subfloor
Sunday Morning: Fit the Masonry board subfloor
Sunday ALL DAY: Install the Masonry board subfloor with mortar
Sunday After Dinner: Finish Installing the Masonry board subfloor with mortar

So.... Yea.

And the thing is, he WASN'T dawdling. He was working hard. And Also, for the record, this sinking feeling of failure and frustration that I feel? It could have been avoided COMPLETELY if he had just said to me "I am going to lay ALL of the subflooring this weekend - I will finish it by Sunday night. If I finish it sooner, we will talk about what I should do next."

TA-DA!!!!

But no. I'm left feeling like somehow, the weekend was a waste because not even HALF of the work we wanted done, got done.

What's next to worry about? Plumbers and contractors. We're bringing in outside help to get done some things in the kitchen, and there's something about hiring professionals that causes my blood to run cold. Greg's reaction is less paralyzing fear and more a stern commitment to procrastination - as in, things are moving at a snail's pace insofar as securing these professionals.

Next? There are my grandparents. I consider myself one lucky duck that I still have all four of my grandparents. Greg has three of his. I don't get to see them often because we live so far away, and they don't (or shouldn't/can't) travel anymore. My mom's parents are in their mid-to-late nineties. My dad's parents are in their 80's. Both sets still live in their own homes. My mom's parents are quirky, and they certainly have their health issues, but for the most part they are frustratingly and admirably with-it. Greg gets a really big kick out of their stories, and the love I feel in those moments - listening to him pepper them with questions and them delight in telling about his first car (a Model-T) or the one room school house she taught in... It's wonderful.

My dad's parents aren't doing so well at the moment. My Nana is now officially considered at the severe level of alzheimers. She doesn't recognize my grandfather anymore. Their location is not nearby to anyone in the family, and their money is running out. Their 24 hour help is going to change again in June (for the 4th or 5th time in the last couple of months). My Poppop has stopped eating.

For some reason, up until a few days ago, the worst I thought I would have to deal with as my son comes into the world is whether or not to allow my ailing, mentally absent grandmother hold her new great-grandchild. What would happen if she got upset all of a sudden? What would happen if she got angry? Alzheimers is unpredictable.

But now I realize that those concerns were rather sunny compared to the very real possibility that my son may not arrive in time to meet them in the first place. Why haven't I been considering this possibility before? Why did it hit me like a ton of bricks yesterday? I could lose them with a week to go in my pregnancy. What do I do?

My mom has told me that no one will expect me to attend a funeral held before or after the baby is born - even with months of padding.

Greg missed his grandfather's funeral because he was in Brussels, Belgium during his semester abroad. He still regrets missing it.

How am I supposed to plan for this?
What am I going to do.

2010-05-19T19:16:00.001-07:00

Just a note: Anytime my home computer experiences a fatal (or near fatal) error, it plays the following sound clip:

WE ARE THE BORG. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS, AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP. WE WILL ADD YOUR BIOLOGICAL AND TECHNOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. YOUR CULTURE WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE OURS. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

There's something almost comforting about it playing in full right before the blue screen of death.

Over the Hump.

2010-05-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

So about 10 days of hell have just about wrapped up, and I will officially be back to life-as-normal-as-possible by the end of the day today. It mostly had to do with my work life and I'm glad that this cycle of stress is winding down.

In addition to all that, we've been checking things off our list of things to do like pros. Last week, the doctor forgot to give me the shot of Rhogam I was due for. They will ONLY give me the shot within 72 hours of bloodwork, which means I got up extra early yesterday and did the blood work and got the shot in the butt. We purchased our floor tile. Greg scheduled his pre-surgery doctor's appointment. We've scheduled time for our HVAC guy to put in the last vent - what with the kitchen innards so much more accessible now. Greg's stalking a plumber and a contractor. And the kitchen electric work is ALLLLMOST done.

We have 8 more days of productivity in the kitchen remodel before other things interfere and then Greg goes in for surgery.

By Sunday we will have installed recessed lights in the kitchen, run wires for under and over cabinet lighting, laid subflooring, tiled, weeded the front yard, mowed the back yard, and laid the laminate floor in the nursery.

Ambitious? bah.

Anybody ever undergone knee surgery before? How much does it really get you down? Please, help to clue me in so I can have accurate expectations.

Establishing A Pattern

2010-05-14T12:22:00.000-07:00

So. First of all, I do NOT have gestational Diabetes. In fact, I kicked the test's ass. A blood sugar level of above 130 is cause for concern and your personal ticket to the next battery of tests. A blood sugar level between 70 and 130 is considered "Normal". My number was 78.

Apparently I'm a tetch anemic, so I'm going to start on those prenatal vitamins again and some iron supplements - but WOO, I AM NOT DIABETIC!

Now I thought this would be a solely happy moment. No more worries, no more concerns! Just plow ahead with the kitchen remodel and the nursery remodel and continue to gestate.

But no.

No.

No - because we have a pattern here at Casa Crafty Intentions.

That pattern involves pain, becoming handicapped and sometimes for fun - disfigurement.

I won't be graphic this time around, but if you're interested - Look back at the bathroom remodel and you'll be more literally reminded about Greg's ridiculous injury. He put a masonry screw in the back of his leg.

That was fun.

This time, he's decided to one-up himself.

Instead of getting the injury while actually remodeling the house - He decided to do it while playing racquetball.

And Instead of it involving a quick trip to the hospital for some interesting moments involving morphine and x-rays ultimately culminating in the treatment of his injury (with a pair of pliers and a screwdriver) resulting in a few days on crutches and some puncture wound healing...

THIS time it involved a doctor's appointment, x-rays, an MRI, and now surgery.

Surgery will be followed by a few days of wooziness courtesy of pain meds, and then 4 weeks of being in a Leg brace whilst using crutches, followed by 4 weeks of using crutches.

He should be recovered JUST IN TIME FOR THE BIRTH.

He tore the lateral meniscus in his left knee. The above description of the recovery process only applies if the surgery "goes well".

I've kindly asked that he refrain from injuring himself on a whim like this again, whilst I AM PREGNANT.

Thanks.

So we have two weeks to get as much done in the kitchen as possible. Right now it looks much like this:

How is this going to work out? I have no idea.

Any body up for lending a hand with a kitchen or nursery remodel? I can pay you in fabric, food (though nothing oven-baked), and snuggles.

Genital Diabetes

2010-05-12T07:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Greg and I took the day off from work with the main goal of going in for my gestational diabetes test. The morning started out SPECTACULARLY with us scrambling around the house trying to locate the prescription for the test so that Quest Diagnostics would actually administer the darned thing.

I know for a fact that after my last doctor's appointment, I handed the prescription to Greg saying, "Here, you're in charge of this. I can't be trusted." And then Greg claims he put it right back in my hand and said, "Put it in your purse, and we'll know where it is."

Suffice to say, Greg emptied my purse and it was not present.

I desperately called my doctor's office and asked if they could fax the prescription for my Genital Diabetes test to the Quest diagnostics before my appointment in 15 minutes. Yes. I said Genital Diabetes. That is how flustered and panicked I was. I didn't even realize that that's what I was demanding a prescription for until 5 minutes AFTER I got off the phone. It doesn't matter anyway, the lady on the phone said that it would take at LEAST an hour to locate my file, go through channels, get a prescription and fax it over. I got off the phone feeling even more despair which was then nicely seasoned with "I am an idiot" sauce as a result of the Genital Diabetes comments.

With 2 minutes to go before we needed to be there for the appointment, I decided to comb through my purse and LO AND BEHOLD - I located the little prescription which was folded neatly and nestled in my wallet. Greg didn't actually open any of the items in my purse, he just assumed it would be floating around in my purse. We were both very grumpy.

Then we went to the wrong Quest Diagnostics because Greg had made a fancy internet appointment and had ASSUMED he made it at the place closest to us - which is now, by the way, closed for good. So after running from the parking lot to the closed office, and back to the car in the pouring rain, we were finally on our way to the correct location.

The good news is that the Quest place we were supposed to be at was way nicer than the one I'd originally thought I'd have to spend an hour in. Hardwood floor, nice chairs, no funny smells - Great!

They made me drink a small soda bottle of what was decidedly NOT orange creamsicle flavoring, but rather was more like liquid orange sugar crack. It left me feeling a touch queasy as I walked back out to the waiting room with my book.

I thought that this would be a piece of cake, right? The hard part is finding out the results. I can sit on my ass for an hour and metabolize. No big deal right?

The nice lady at quest warned me not to move around too much because it could affect the test results.

Good thing she warned me because within 10 minutes all I wanted to do was run up and down the room SCREAMING.

I had enormous amounts of energy combined with nausea, an inability to burp, and a rising temperature. Suddenly the room was a SUPER HOT SAUNA. I started sweating. Then my vision started getting sparkly with white and blue spots. I decided a trip to the bathroom would help. Once there I stripped as close to naked as possible and put my head between my legs. I spent several minutes fantasizing about laying on the cold tile floor and then did three jumping jacks. The awful nausea/crazy feeling didn't go away for a LONG while. It lasted almost the entire hour. I was just starting to be able to focus on reading my book when they called me in to take the blood sample. I admitted that I'd been through a pretty intense sugar rush, and the nice lady was sympathetic and then told me that I'd likely start crashing soon.

By the time Greg got me home I was FREEZING COLD and exhausted.

He wrapped me up in 3 blankets and a sweatshirt and laid me on the couch.

After I was mostly recovered we spent the rest of the day running errands, eating at IHOP, and talking to plumbers about the HORROR that is our plumbing. I mostly stayed away while Greg and the plumber wandered through our kitchen, bathroom, and basement. Greg laughed. Alot. It was that if-I-don't-laugh-I'm-going-to-cry laughter. The good news is that our first estimate for plumbing work we wanted done is approximately our budget for plumbing, if not a touch lower! The bad news is that there are 3 or 4 other issues that are LOOMING and may or may not be a problem in the near future and we may or may not want to take care of them now.... Which would probably cost us several thousands of dollars more than what we want to spend.

We're getting a second opinion.

I find out today sometime if I passed or failed the glucose test. If I failed, I have to go in for a three-hour test that is, apparently, WAY LESS PLEASANT then that first test.

Yippee.

Life.

2010-04-30T06:56:00.001-07:00

I go in for my Gestational Diabetes test in 2 weeks. There is nothing that freaks me out more than a test for which I can not study.
We bought all the cabinets for the kitchen, my mother-in-law personally tore out an entire wall. The window we wanted to take out is gone, framed up, and covered with plywood. More people are coming this weekend to help destroy what's left and possibly start adding some electric work.
Greg's alarm went off the other morning and woke up the baby. It's the first time that it was abundantly clear that he can HEAR what's going on outside the womb and definitely shared my opinion - through some very opinionated kicking - that he is NOT FOND of the morning alarm clock.
Greg is jealous of my pregnancy pillow.
There are some tough times ahead for my father's family as we deal with my grandparents and their health issues. My Nana has Alzheimer's and has stopped regularly recognizing even my father, her oldest child. My PopPop has been making some bad decisions, including driving long distances against the doctor's orders and putting a down payment on a $55,000 RV. He got in a car accident and has broken his "good" knee, the one he hadn't already had surgery on. After weeks in rehab and little to no progress, he is finally starting to cooperate with therapists - but now they want to discharge him and the doors of his home are not wide enough for the wheel chair he is confined to. And I am over 7 hours away from all of it and feel guilty and horrible that I can't be there to help more.
The nursery is ready to be painted and I selected a color from Lowe's called "Martian".
My car wouldn't start yesterday morning - the key would not turn in the ignition. I spent 45 minutes rubbing my fingers raw, trying to get it to turn while Greg drove all the way home from work to try his key, get the car towed by AAA and take me into work himself. After 2 minutes of key and wheel jiggling, he got the car to start without issue. Apparently the steering wheel was locked - a feature of our car. I had an emotional breakdown because I couldn't figure it out on my own and I will soundly blame the sobbing on Pregnancy.
My last Doctor appointment took place during a blackout and I learned that if peeing in a cup in the dark was a test, I would fail.
All of our pets have now officially been in for their Vet appointment. Dexter has tartar at the rear of his mouth, and he had hook worms (gross). On the other hand, our cats were so healthy that the Vet started asking what in the world we feed them that they are so perfect.
I jogged across the street in heels the other day (whilst jay walking), and promptly felt EXTREME DISCOMFORT in the uterine area for the rest of the day. Greg demanded I call the doctor to check in about this new almost-painful sensation. The doctor's orders are to wear sneakers to work and change shoes when I get there and no more jay-walking. Also, when I asked how long I should expect to feel this discomfort she said "Pretty much for the rest of your pregnancy." Grrreat.
My boss gave me a potted plant in appreciation for my work, and now there are tiny little flies staging an invasion of my workspace.
No matter what I try, my hair does not seem to grow long enough to hang below my boobs. Greg thinks it's possibly relative and strongly supports my decision to keep trying to grow it long.
I have fallen in love with this blog and am in the process of making poncho super hero capes (like she makes) for my nephews for christmas because there's the possibility I'll be a little busy at that time with the whole figuring-out-how-to-be-a-mom thing.
Red wine smells absolutely intoxicatingly good. And I could really go for a beer. And a sunset colored cocktail. And a mint julep.
Dark chocolate peanut butter exists.
My nipples stick out all over the place. They are large and in charge and they have developed the ability to show themselves through my thickest, most supportive of bras. What devilry is this?
I am looking for some good books to read because I have been voracious of late and have read approximately 14 books in the last 3 weeks. I don't feel like reading either Wicked, Anansi Boys, or Time Enough for Love at this very moment, the three books I own that I have not yet read, and would gladly take suggestions. Got any?
We are going to install an herb garden on the remaining kitchen window using the Asker series from Ikea and some curtain rods.
The Original Pancake House serves the best breakfast ever. EVER.
Someone brought in their 5 month old to work the other day, and holding her gave me a deep and aching need to hold my baby boy. Knowing that I was holding a baby girl and I couldn't stop thinking about my own little one felt absolutely amazing.
Greg and I went to dinner and saw "The Backup Plan" for his birthday on Wednesday. I both laughed out loud and was not impressed. There are some hilarious moments, and some gross moments.
Did you know that the doctor who invented the Lamaze technique was a woman who had not given birth? Years after patenting and lecturing all over about the effectiveness of the Lamaze breathing techniques and how it is possible to have a relaxing and almost pleasurable birthing experience - She got pregnant and gave birth. After giving birth she revealed that it was a lot more difficult than she expected and a lot more painful. Consequently, I will not be taking the Lamaze course at the hospital. I am taking both the basic and advanced birth/infant care course, the hospital tour, and have even signed up for a course at a local animal shelter to help us prepare our pets for the addition of an infant to the household. I have a feeling that no matter how I breathe, this baby will be coming out somehow.
I am seriously considering getting an appointment at a quality place to be waxed for the first time, ever. What other time in my life are so many people going to be looking at - nay, INTENSELY STUDYING what's going on down there? And also, it couldn't possibly be more painful than birth. I almost wish they offered waxing simultaneous to child birth - you could just get it all done at once.

These thoughts brought to you by TMI and good intentions.

To Retro or Not to Retro.

2010-04-19T11:14:00.001-07:00

This past weekend Greg and I made progress in leaps and bounds. The Nursery is officially electrically charged, there is a working ceiling fan connected to the niftiest switch I've ever seen. There are no holes in the walls, and everything has spackled once. Sanding, more spackling, more sanding, painting, and flooring are next on the nursery to-dos.

We also moved 3/4 of the working kitchen into the dining room. We're still working out kinks and there's still a good amount that needs to be removed from the kitchen into the dining room (plates? cups? who needs those...).

Work on remodeling the kitchen is to officially begin on April 24th.

Exciting.

And a lot of pressure.

I'm usually responsible for the design vision behind ONE room remodel at a time. It gives me a chance to really mull it over aka obsess. I'm a little overwhelmed with having the nursery AND the kitchen going on at the same time.

The Nursery is mostly decided I think.

This is the nursery I decided to use as inspiration:

The Color on the walls is Benjamin Moore, Apple. Greg is appalled by it. However, Here is a link to the same exact nursery without the sunlight streaming in. So while he'll argue with me till he's blue in the face about painting the nursery that first color, he's totally fine with that second one. And the fact that they're the same color means that I win.

We bought six of these table clothes:
From bed bath and beyond while they were on sale. We'll be using them as curtains.

We're getting black furniture - Black crib, black dresser, black chair.

There are some details that are up for grabs, but here's the basic design:

Crib bedding is NOT decided. That IS the correct rug. Ugly Dolls are definitely coveted. And those Graziela Prints are also much coveted. Obviously the color will not be quite so seizure-bright. I'd love to hear what you think!

So now, I'm slowly and reluctantly turning my attention to the kitchen - which, for obvious reasons, I find completely daunting.

There are some choices that have already been made for me. We're keeping the budget on this one as low as possible - so we're definitely doing an Ikea kitchen and we're definitely doing their standard white (least expensive) cabinets.

We will be keeping the same fridge and almost definitely we are keeping our stove - which works just fine, so I can get over the fact that it's not the prettiest stove on the block.

I'm really struggling with the relationship between the Floor, the Backsplash, the Countertop, and the wall color.

I love black Countertops. I especially love those black stone countertops with a tiny bit of sparkle to them. (Not yet priced out) Assuming that we get a lovely black countertop, what should the floor and backsplash be? Should the only color in the room be the painted wall color, which will only really be visible at the top of the room above the cabinets?

We've looked into vinyl flooring versus tile flooring, and Although vinyl is a bit less expensive, Greg has more experience with tile and we both think it'll wear better than vinyl. So we're looking into (preferably $5 per square foot or less) tile. Here's the look I like:

I love black and white checkered flooring.

First of all, they're fairly large tiles - easier to deal with. Second, we can probably get a good deal on black and white tile for floor! Third, I think it would look great with black countertops and a simple white subway tile backsplash.

Drawback? Greg hates it.

He hates the black and white checkered-ness.

I don't know how to get around it!

So let's ignore the floor for now.

What if, instead of a plain white gloss subway tile for a backsplash, we made it something more like this:

Or

These are Glass subway tile back splashes. I can't figure out exactly what that second picture has that makes it so pretty... but the tile I've priced out that is in that first picture is probably about $15.00 per square foot making it quite a bit more expensive than what we'd guessed we might want to pay for it.

And THEN, do I still do black countertops? What do we do on the floor then? White tile? Are white tile floors okay or do they seem too laundry-room?

I'm confused and frustrated.

What do you all think of the black and white checkered floor? Are there any rules I should be following for what kind of color relationship the backsplash, countertop, and floor should have? Are there rules I should follow for creating a generic (yuck) kitchen that will appeal to all types of people or should I feel free to go with the flow - Is black and white checkered too much personality? What about blue or green subway glass tile? What about this?

Opinions welcome!!

you're a shining star!

2010-04-09T10:42:00.001-07:00

I haven't written because I'm not sure what to say. Aside from juggling the multitude of tasks in our house and trying to manage my personal-freak-out-levels so that I'm not just letting the nesting get out of control, I've spent my time envisioning the little boy I'm going to be getting to know pretty well over the next 18 years.

At first, it was a struggle. My mind was completely blank when I tried to insert the BOY part into the FUTURE CHILD scenario. It was so easy to see Greg cooing over a baby girl or dancing with her to music or reading, cuddled up in bed. Slowly, and with effort, I've started to see that there are beautiful things like that to be experienced with my son as well. In a moment of sadness (in an attempt to see me smile), Greg foolishly conceded that our son can be a Giants fan rather than an Eagles fan. I'll take it.

I can see our baby boy flying stunt kites with his father on the beach. I can see us cuddled on the couch, playing video games like Mario Galaxy. I can see my son falling utterly and completely in love with Dexter - who is so obviously ready to fall in love with a little boy.

In another effort to get my mind on track, Greg took me to Carter's where I very carefully, and consciously, avoided the girl section and focused on the little boy clothes that I'd been ignoring. While we ended up buying several adorable onesies (Mommy's little Monster to name one), my favorite are the 6 month size jean overalls. They're so very cute.

Also, it's not as though this little one gives me space in which to sort out my thoughts without reminding me he's serious about this whole coming into the world thing. Ever since the ultrasound technician jostled my stomach, poking me with the wand a bunch of times to get him to change positions so she could get a better measurement for something - He has not stopped moving.

He tumbles, he somersaults, he practices the fetal version of jujitsu, he stretches and he jumps. There is not an hour that goes by without some kind of earthquake like movement. At one point, he definitely figured out where my bladder was. These days, he's starting to explore my other internal organs - perhaps to figure out which one is the most entertaining to squeeze?

Greg has felt the movement on only a couple of occasions, although if I mention that there's action - he doesn't fail to patiently press his hand on my stomach and wait.

The baby is particularly active during Earth Wind and Fire's "Shining Star". He's not quite as into Michael Jackson (though we'll work on that), though he did get a big kick out of the last minute of the Riverdance Finale.

I promise I have not forgotten about the fabric I asked you all to find - and let me tell you, I was very impressed with the response. I spent hours and hours and hours searching for it myself - and can I just say FRUSTRATING. VERY FRUSTRATING. If there are no further results in the next couple of weeks, I will still be awarding something to the person who made the most progress: Lauren. For although I was unable to acquire this perfect fabric for the nursery, it helped me to dream it up. What I ended up doing was ordering 6 table clothes from Bed Bath and Beyond with curtains in mind, so we'll see if that works out when they get here... I'll take pictures.

Now it's time to get ready for a visit from my parents so it's back to the vacuuming and the dusting and the sanitizing.

I hope your life is magical as Spring is truly sprung.

This is a Prize Puzzle

2010-03-29T11:59:00.000-07:00

Seriously.

If you can figure out where I can purchase this fabric, or at the very least - a designer/creator's name, I will send you a package. The package will have cool things in it.

The ONLY THING I WANT is to know where I can buy:

The fabric that's hanging underneath the sink.

This is from a photo by Magnus Selander.

I know NOTHING more about it.

If you, by some chance, track it down - leave a comment and I will get your prize package ready.

Incoming Collect call from: "Weehadabebe

2010-03-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

Eeetsabuoy."

After the ultrasound I cried. I stowed away my dreams of a little girl.

But, while it's been slow to start, I'm already dreaming of my little boy.

My son.

More to come later.

Baby booties are taking over my life.

2010-03-18T08:25:00.001-07:00

Somebody Restrain that Woman!!!!

2010-03-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

So, in order to more clearly demonstrate the insanity in my head, I've decided to do my best to share with you my schizophrenic vision for the nursery. It is not a large room. It is basically the width of its bay window. Here is a photo taken before the previous owners moved out:

Ever since getting a dog, this room has served as the unofficial cat room. Location to between three and four litter boxes, cat food, water, and probably 2-3 piles of cat vomit at any one time.

Suffice to say, I haven't had a pretty, clean, happy feeling associated with this room at all. And it will take some appropriate renovation to make it habitable for an infant. The renovation is all in Greg's corner. He is handling ripping up the floor and laying laminate. He rewired the room and will install the ceiling fan. He has reinforced insulation and will be patching, spackling, and sanding the walls. Then he will paint it the base coat, which I am fairly certain is white.

It is my job to know the end-product. I am the keeper of color, the one responsible for a theme, the one responsible for being creative.

I feel proud of the rooms that we've completed so far in our house. There are very few things I'd change if I could have a painless do-over. My friends and family like our house and its many colors, and I've gotten plenty of compliments from the online photos. It's enough to make me feel proactively obstinate at the mere thought that a Realtor will probably suggest we paint everything white.

Perhaps I go through this stage with every room remodel. Perhaps I just push it away and forget about it as soon as we successful complete the space. But it is undeniable that there are hundreds of ways to decorate an adorable, stylish, modern/retro nursery. It is a room that actively INVITES whimsy. If you're dying to paint a mural or use some nifty vinyl decals, a nursery is a brilliant place to experiment.

The problem at this point is that I settled too quickly. Logically, it makes sense - the Owl mural:

The artist freely gave me permission to recreate it! The colors are bright and happy. The mural would probably fit PERFECTLY over a crib. I could do that blue scallop edged line all the way around the room. Spoonflower.com would allow me to design my own PERFECTLY matching fabric for curtains and a dust ruffle. This rug matches perfectly. This Mobile works spectacularly! There are so many cute owl-y things that you could include in a nursery. I believe I read that in Chinese Lore, Owls represent good luck! What more could you ask for?

The above photo is the only head-on photo I have of the mural, and it is not directly head on. I would have to play with it in photoshop to get the perspective just right - not to mention the time it would take to ACTUALLY paint that. The spoonflower.com fabric that I would design myself is just another way to vacuum up time and energy that I'm not sure I have. The owls and trees are adorable -- but is that really the way I want to decorate the baby's nursery? I have such a deep and abiding love of books and fairy tales. Is a realistic theme of "Forest" really the best I've got? And then, even if I went through with all those details... We'll probably be moving from this house in a year or two. What then? We leave it all behind.

I've been thinking that maybe I need a theme that is either an easy mural and intensive with other details or an intensive mural where all the details easily fall into place. And by mural, I want you to know that I truly am open to vinyl wall decals - It just makes me cringe a bit when looking at most price tags. But if the decal was perfect for my purposes, I would definitely use it.

So, after at least four months of thinking I had it all figured out, I'm less than a week away from knowing if it will be a boy or a girl I'll be decorating for and I'm completely clueless about where exactly to start narrowing down the possibilities.

Of course, I usually start by looking at what other creative people have put together. This is quite possibly my favorite:

I love the clean lines, I love the bright colors. I love the green stripe that goes all the way around the room, even through the curtains on the other side of this photo. I adore that tree. However, I don't want a jungle themed nursery - I don't want to do giraffes. And while this works for a boy, I'm not sure I'd be okay with just Green/Brown/Black being the only real accent colors for the nursery of a girl.

This one also tickles my fancy. In addition to a lovely green color, they use one bold accent color of bright turquoise with drips of color from other items - curtains, prints, storage, etc. But, I'm not sure I want to paint the ENTIRE ROOM a bright color like this as the room I'm going to decorate is small and I feel like a bold color that covers ALL of the walls might be oppressive.

This one utilizes about 9 million packages of vinyl dot decals. Don't let them fool you - you can't get all of the dots they show you in this photo in one order - SO it would probably be expensive. But I do like it. I don't like the baby pink walls - it takes away from the clean lines. I'm also not wild about the juxtaposition of the rectangles in the crib and the circles on the walls. A little too busy.

This one has that retro feel I love with a splash of color that goes all the way around the room. I would venture to guess it is a painted mural and not vinyl decals. AND I love the hot air balloon mobile. However, I don't like that the walls are beige and the carpet is beige... It's not bright and airy enough for me. And as much as I adore hot air balloons, when it actually comes down to it - they are very stiff whimsy symbols. There's not a whole lot you can do to make them really amazing in a nursery setting. They're breathtaking in person when there are a million dots of rainbow color floating peacefully in the sky - but I have no idea how to recreate that in a tiny little room.

This Nursery has a classic tree. It's a tree I like very much - and they did the painting over a chair rail very skillfully (as that can definitely be awkward). I love that the flowers and leaves seem to float and blow over the crib. I like the green and pink color scheme - though it is a bit muted for me - I would rather a hot pink and lime scheme. But trees, I find, are EXTREMELY common in nurseries. Trees are nurseries as Pimples are to teens. Everybody's got 'em. That drastically cuts down on the allure of taking the time to paint an attempt at a tree mural behind the crib. But there are so many options:

This one has the same gentle, blowing quality but it incorporates flowers and I could make the color scheme something more suitable to what I'd want.

This one (by the same artist) is a bit more stark. I'd be tempted to center this over the crib which might be a little too reminiscent of Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card (anyone? anyone?).

This retro-style graphic I LOVE. It looks like I could pull something like this off much in the way the people in the very first green-giraffe nursery did with their graphic. If I did a continuation of the rolling hills (more simplified) all the way around the room as a green border line, and these trees were centered over the crib... Wouldn't that be sweet?

But then again, we're back to a woodland/forest theme! Curses!

This tree might introduce the proper amount of whimsy. It's adorable and it's growing stars! Its tufts are just begging to be pink and cute. I could simplify the roots and do a border around the room and a pink/green color scheme might be perfect. Also, this artist has also given me permission to use her drawing. However - the work it would take in photoshop to simplify the graphic, make it into something vector-style (as in the green-giraffe nursery) and then paint it... And then what would balance it out? The Green-giraffe nursery has a tree surrounded by giraffes. What animal goes with this tree? Greg's answer was squirrels. I think he's insane. My room as a child was decorated with unicorns and I loved it, so I could see that. But there's something about knowing the Virgin-myths/Phallus-shaped-horn stuff that goes along with the Unicorn that takes away some of the magic for me at this stage in my life. Why, suddenly, is there no animal cuter than a giraffe - and I DON'T WANT TO USE GIRAFFES!!??!!

Speaking of Giraffes:

How adorable is this print? And SIMPLE. And EASY. And... Stupid giraffes. Can't I do this with a different animal? WHY IS MY MIND BLANK!

This one's not a nursery, but I like the mural style. Actually I think it might be a vinyl decal. I like the idea of a sun with clouds and rainbows. That's pretty happy, right? But I don't want to then decorate the rest of the room in rainbows and suns and clouds. I think that would get... tired. Even though this:

Would be conducive to a cloud border all the way around the room. Humph.

As I've said before, I like the lime green/hot pink color scheme possibility. I can envision a room encircling border of pink, sandwiched by two lines of green. On either side of a white crib would hang tiny little chandeliers (on sale for $39.99 each). The rug would bring out the green, while other accents would highlight the pink.

And while that sounds like it could be successful, other than the chandeliers, it is NOT very whimsical. It's very... streamlined... and prissy. Even though this:

is adorable. I'm not sure even spicing up a whole wall with giant polka dots would work in this situation.

And for some reason, the pink and green is indelibly linked to the chandeliers (that are ON. SALE.) and for that reason I can't really envision many of the typical nursery murals/animals in the room. Something like this might work:

or

But again, that's still very ... hygienic and sophisticated. This is a drooling, pooping, developing baby I'm decorating for. We are not designer-label people. It feels like this might be too... straight jacket for my little one.

While I would consider decorating in a particular fairytale/story theme, I'm not crazy about the idea. My mom had originally wanted to decorate a nursery in the style of Wynken, Blynken and Nod... and for some reason, that makes me want to choose something just as cool but not copy that idea (even though she never got around to it).

There's the classic "Hey Diddle Diddle" rhyme, which I love for it's ridiculousness. But I like the idea of decorating with barnyard animals and flatware about as much as I like the idea of decorating in a jungle theme.

My favorite fairy tale is the 12 dancing princesses and there's a little golden book with illustrations that are to die for.

but painting something as complex as the twelve princesses rushing to their waiting princes through the silver, gold and diamond forests.... That seems a tad daunting.

I could do a simple floral thing... But boy that feels like a cop-out. More organic, less sterile... but not creative enough.

Even Dandelions blowing in the wind (which I SERIOUSLY considered for MY bedroom) doesn't quite make the cut. Although if I did do that, I'd definitely have to resort to vinyl decals which have varying degrees of quality and detail. So the search for the perfect dandelion would be sure to take up a slew of hours.

I could do the painted color border with some houses sitting on/in it.

And while I love the above graphic, I think that, too, might be sterile. Where's the imagination?

AND I LOVE the above... but If I painted it on the wall above the crib - stemming from the left hand wall.. Would it originate from ... Nowhere? Why is it there? What does it do? ... I'm not ruling this one out though...

I could do a flotilla of dirigibles.

But the detail involved and the time involved tracking down public domain images of all of those flying ships...

I could do a wall of frames and frame pictures of my little one and our family and her first pieces of artwork on the wall!

Buuuuut... Then I have to work on a layout of a million little frames to paint above the crib... and this does nothing to help me figure out a color scheme!

I could do something similar to UP with a house floating by with a million balloons or a stork carrying a little bundle in a sheet.... I could give up the idea of a mural entirely and do the over-done hanging of the name in big store-bought letters. OR I could use store bought letters to write something else out entirely... Like "Once upon a time..." Or ... Any other suggestions?

Anyway. That's just the tip of the iceberg. I would continue but I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I don't know where to start. I don't know how to reign in the constant chatter and debate in my head. I don't even know why this matters so much to me in this moment.

*Gulp*
Help?

I feel like:

2010-03-16T10:22:00.001-07:00

This.

Which is to say that, for the first time in my life, I feel bloated. It's never been a symptom of my periods before, and I didn't even think to apply that particular verbage to my condition until whining for a full five minutes to Greg at which point HE suggested it.

I would like it if this feeling would stop. Please. Someone.

It feels as though a very sharp pin might do the trick.

In the mean time, I'd also like to confess that I'm certifiably insane today - Just as I was yesterday and will continue to be this entire week until Saturday at 10:00 a.m. at which point a very nice Ultra Sound Technician will tell me whether I can expect to have a son or a daughter.

In preparation I have been doing the following:

1) Reading as many internet anecdotes as possible wherein the Technician gets it completely wrong.

2) Following up with reading anecdotes wherein they can not possibly tell at that time what gender the child is.

3) Experiencing a blanket state of angst wherein I am grumpy almost all of the time.

4) Freaking out about knowing exactly how to decorate the nursery that isn't ready to be decorated yet - because I really know what's important.

According to folk lore:

1) The baby's heart rate has been consistently higher than 150 bpm, meaning that it is a Girl.

2) The baby was conceived in November when I was 25, meaning that it is a Boy.

3) I don't yet have a very noticeable baby bump, so there's no way to tell if I'm carrying "high" or "Low".

4) I crave sweet things like fruit and fruit juices, so that means that it is a Girl.

5) Greg has probably gained a couple of pounds so far in this pregnancy - if only for the sheer fact that he's been eating anything I crave and then refuse to touch ever again - so that means that it is a Girl.

There are a million more.

I've also been looking up ultrasounds on Google Image search and trying to see if I can tell if it's a boy or a girl. I can't.

I'm thinking of just up and asking the ultrasound technician how good at this they are.
... Do you think that would be rude?

The Crazy...

2010-03-12T06:45:00.000-08:00

... has temporarily subsided. I am left in its wake with a nagging feeling that I was the asshole who forgot her keys and Greg is a saint for embracing the role of sacrificial goat so wholeheartedly.

Spring is almost here. There are still snow piles on the ground, but the smell of rain is pervasive and there's a whisper of the possibility of thunderstorms tonight. The coming of spring brings with it an itchiness. I'm not speaking of allergies - I'm speaking of the urge to "Nest".

I seem to be at an intellectual impasse because on the one hand, I am incapable of doing what needs to be done, and on the other - EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE FIXED.

The porch needs to be power washed. The front door needs to be painted. The back yard needs a burgeoning garden. The Living room needs to be baby proofed. The Dining room is completely overtaken with boxes from the attic which needs to be overhauled. We need to FINISH PAINTING the stupid hallway. The hallway needs a shoe rack. And a new welcome mat (inside and outside). Don't even get me started on the kitchen - a project that requires the ENTIRE REMOVAL of walls, ceiling, floor and a window!!

And that's just the first floor.

My closet needs a thorough smack down. My shoes need to be culled. My craftroom - Neglected for MONTHS - needs a serious overhaul wherein I should force myself to give away a number of little crafts that seemed brilliant at the moment of creation and now just take up space! My youngest nephew turned one in the midst of my severe morning sickness/pneumonia and I haven't yet made his birthday present. The bathroom needs touch up work on wall paint and grout in addition to a thorough culling of whatever it has managed to stash behind cabinet doors in the way of tiny shampoo bottles and moisturizers that I will never use.

The nursery needs a floor and it'd be nice if those infant-sized wall holes disappeared sometime soon. The door needs to be painted, the ceiling fan needs to be installed. Then I'll need to get my act together and actually paint that mural I decided upon the WEEK I got pregnant.

By the way - I AM having a sort of buyer's remorse. As cute as it sounds in theory, the whole nursery color/theme scheme I have going on doesn't do anything to satisfy my love of pink, glitter, or poofiness (IF it's a girl).

And yet - with all this potential work on my plate - I'm not permitted to lift anything heavier than a cat and my time to work in evenings has been severely reduced by my new bedtime of 8:30 p.m. The majority of my evening time are taken up with saying "I need to eat something" and the actual act of eating. It's exhausting. I drag myself up to the bed and am asleep before 9:00 p.m. most nights. And yet I've lost a little MORE weight.

The only thing I can do at this point is to tackle the insane pile of baby booties that are waiting to be sewn up. And, as my mother pointed out, I've cut out more pairs than there will be days in life of my infant wherein she will FIT in said footwear.

And goodness knows I fully expect that motherhood will so completely exhaust me, I'll feel accomplished just making it through another barefoot-baby day.

SO, I would like to share a detailed plan of what exactly I'll be doing in the nursery. But I'm not going to. Because I'm tired. And I need to go eat something.

2010-03-09T10:14:00.000-08:00

10 pairs of baby booties down. About a million to go.

I went home for lunch a few minutes early today because that's what my stomach demanded when someone else nearby heated up their lunch to the point where I could almost taste it. Upon arrival I actually ate a full meal and had time to sew up two pairs of booties. I put the dog back in his crate, and eagerly ripped open a package of new pink fleece gloves that came in the mail. I was permitted to indulge in this personal purchase because Greg put my old pair of pink fleece gloves on eye-level with Dexter, and Dexter obligingly sampled the goods... to pieces. The new pair was flawless and fit me even better than the old pair. I walked out the door, distracted by people jack hammering on the sidewalk right up the street. And then reached into my purse as I walked to the car to go back to work.

No keys.

Keys were not in my purse.

Or my coat.

I called Greg and asked if he had given our neighbor a key like he had promised he would after making extra duplicates.

He hadn't.

I asked if he had hidden a key outside.

He hadn't.

He said he'd just have to come home (a 45 minute drive) with the only alternate suggestion being that I could walk through bird poop alley at the side of our house, pry open the kitchen window, and try to hoist myself through it - OVER the kitchen sink.

A pregnant woman. Hoisting herself through a window.

Well, this pregnant woman freaked.

I marched to the back of the house. Moved the cement block that we have blocking the alley way. Opened the back window. Reached around and unlocked the back door.

I made it inside to my keys yelling into the phone, out of my mind with stress and hormones and the absolute betrayal that Greg could follow through enough to get 3 extra keys made but not WALK HIS ASS over to the house next door with one of them.

And then I noticed that my brilliant pink glove had a black smudge on it now, probably from moving the cement block.

And I started bawling.

I was 15 minutes late back to work in addition to being snotty and red-puffy faced.

It's one of those days.
I'm furious. I'm nauseous. And I am not sure how Greg can possibly get out of this alive.

France probably has government mandated Paternity Leave too.

2010-03-05T13:56:00.001-08:00

I've been reading babble.com.

I stumbled across this article, the following is an excerpt.

It made me cringe with the level of (albeit sarcastic and exaggerating) honesty.

This is exactly how I feel.

"First you get pregnant, after months or years of costly fertility treatments that involve needles the circumference of ballpoint pens but are necessary because you've dragged your (expensive, office-appropriate) heels past the peak fertility age of twenty-four. Once properly inseminated, you develop hyperemesis gravidarum and puke up every ounce of (caffeine-free) herbal tea you ingest until you need an IV, by which point you've lost your job and your will to live. And that's before the sudden appearance of stretch marks, which you affectionately call "tiger stripes" because it looks like an enormous cat tried to claw its way up your torso to reach that Dorito you're shoving in your mouth (Doritos, or grilled cheese sandwiches, or Chunky Monkey are the only food you can keep down; as a result you've gained eighty-nine pounds and kids on the street say, "Mommy, what is that thing?").

Labor lasts at least ninety-four hours.Then comes the birth. If it's in a hospital, it's overmedicalized and impersonal and you're pumped full of pitocin until the baby comes shooting out into the hand of a twenty-six-year-old resident who's using the other hand to text on his iPhone. If it's a homebirth, you discover while squatting in your birthing pool that contractions feel like being disemboweled with a hunting knife, but your Baba Yaga-like midwife won't let you go to the hospital for an epidural, because epidurals cause autism and malaria. In either scenario, labor lasts at least ninety-four hours.

Once the baby's here, you must spend between six months and eighteen years feeling like a terrible, horrible mother because you A) Can't/don't want to breastfeed (and formula is an UNNATURAL ARTIFICIAL CHEMICAL POISON!!!), B) Find changing diapers less fun than backpacking through Honduras and sleeping with Irish scuba instructors, or C) Occasionally consider popping your baby in the free alt-weekly box outside Whole Foods so you can get some sleep and so your baby will be raised by the next person who comes for a newspaper, who probably has organic carrots in her shopping bag and would be a much better mother than you.

To save what's left of your sanity, you write about your experiences on your new mommy blog. And oh, your blog commenters can sure relate! In fact, their stories are much worse than yours. They gained 237 pounds while pregnant and had to be taken to the birthing center on a flatbed truck. Their feet got so swollen they actually exploded, taking out the eye of their OB-GYN. They too planned a natural birth — ha! — but wound up screaming for not only an epidural but a dram of chloroform. Their baby once cried for seventy-seven hours straight, until their family was not only evicted but deported. Now they live in exile in France, where child-raising is much, much more evolved; every mother there is guaranteed by law a free nanny who'll makes boeuf bourguignon for your enfants while you get your government-sponsored pedicure."

Better Spirits

2010-03-01T06:51:00.001-08:00

So I'm pregnant. That's what I said two nights ago when I turned to my husband whilst I was eating a bowl of canned peaches in bed. I know I've been saying that for a while, but I think it's finally starting to sink in. My dreams are steeped in babies, my stomach needs a constant intake of only the freshest of foods (fried stuff makes me throw up - go figure), and daily I sense small seizures beneath my belly button.

I have worries and concerns. I'm trying to stay away from worrying about the stuff over which I have no control (Genetic abnormalities, whether or not my body will go the distance to grow the full 10 fingers and toes, etc.), but other worries leak in.

My weekend consisted of feverish felt cutting. I'm a woman possessed. It's as though I'm trying to make up for those months of non-crafting. Without exaggeration, I have 50+ pairs of baby booties cut out with another 20 or so to go. I will be making a pair of baby booties with every single trim and cutesy ribbon I own. I have a plan.

I won't be able to do this after I give birth.

... right?

I'll be sucked dry of the will to do anything other than cater to the needs of a tiny screaming dictator.

... right?

I mean, after all - My mother, who I think did a very good job, was so tired after caring for me day after day as an infant that she washed 12 pairs of hard contact lenses down the sink after forgetting whether she was taking them out or putting them in. Then there was the time she stuck me with a safety pin whilst changing my diaper during church (I now have a freckle there). Not to mention the fact that she still feels guilty about dropping me. Upon bending down to get out a new diaper and diapering essentials from below the changing table, I rolled off the changing pad, onto her back, and fell to the floor. Now, I don't wear contacts currently, I'll be using disposable diapers and changing pads come with straps these days... so now I'm faced with all the unknown ways I'll zone out and mess up under the strain of motherhood - there have to be millions of possibilities.

... right?

It's not even like infants have any choice but to be crazy-demanding. It's hardwired. It's genetic. It's evolution. The more demanding an infant is, the more likely it is that they'll get the attention of their parents and KEEP the attention of their parents. This was key in survival. So the noisier, sleepless babies won. Awesome.

Yesterday, Greg drew a bubble bath for me and then read "American Gods" by Neil Gaiman to me while I luxuriated and shaved my legs for the first time in for-ev-er (Don't worry, the water wasn't hot-hot, I don't want to cook the baby or anything). And then he washed my hair for me and wrapped me in 4 towels and helped me into bed. And then he surprised me with expensive pregnant belly moisturizer that smells AMAZING and soaks into your skin IMMEDIATELY (not greasy or sticky at all!) and capped off the evening so perfectly I fell asleep before he'd even considered opening the book again. (As A Note: Greg reads me to sleep every night. It's from books I've already read that he's reading, or books that I've read further than he has so far. It's incredibly sweet)

And the birth of our baby will mean the end to these lazy, intimate moments.

... right?

I mentioned dreams before... And I wasn't kidding. Nightly I dream of babies. I dreamt I gave birth to a toddler. He had a full head of hair and a full set of teeth and all I could think was that I was sad I had missed out on the infant stage. I've had many dreams about twins. I dream one twin is a great eater, and the other won't breastfeed! Last night I dreamt that during our ultrasound we found out it's a boy and went home with a photo of the ultrasound -- a perfect silhouette of a baby with a little tiny penis. "Mama's Intuition" is still telling me it's a girl. But in the dream world, boys and twins abound. 3 more weeks till we find out.

In the mean time, I'm working on these booties and attempting to shut everything else out. Photos of the madness to come soon. Hope all is well with you.

The Olympics are Killing Me

2010-02-17T06:45:00.001-08:00

So, I've been holding off on writing this post because I wanted to have a good attitude because I feel my next blog entry after this flattering one from Breigh at Canadutch should be in good spirits. (I blushed when I read it - she's very sweet to have picked me).

However, this pregnancy is giving me a bad attitude, so I'm just going to let you have it. First of all - why on God's green earth is Olympic coverage so freaking late at night? If I start watching at 7:30 or 8:00 when it comes on, I MUST CONTINUE WATCHING until Greg pries the remote out of my fingers while I sleep and even then I muster the strength to rouse myself enough to mumble about needing to stay awake to watch the last two figure skaters -- because if I go to bed, they can not possibly succeed to their full potential.

Mid-week last week I had a terrible flashback to the Summer Olympics a few years ago. I suddenly remembered being completely sleep deprived, performing my daily tasks with the energy of a b-movie zombie, and then going home to watch Michael Phelps win his 47th through 50th Gold medals at FREAKING LATE O'clock. This must be what other women talk about when they tell me that while Pregnancy was not a piece of cake - the horrible memories fade away after you give birth. I had completely forgotten that the Summer Olympics had reduced me to a drooling sleep-hungry nematode. And that's why I let the Winter Olympics draw me in to begin the same trans-formative process! And on top of all of that - I know the Winter Olympics get some flack for being not-as-interesting as their Summer sibling, but I find both equally fascinating. It's not like Michael Phelps faced the possibility of being gored on foot long razor sharp blades attached to the feet of his competitors as they barrel down their swim lanes.

Also, I am now officially on prescription Nausea medication. The last straw came last weekend, when Crab legs appealed to me for three days straight - and then promptly did not. Unfortunately, my stomach changed its mind directly after I had ingested about a pound of them and then I spent one of the most unpleasant 20 minutes of my life bent over the nearest trash can. Then I broke down and called my OBGYN almost crying - begging them to give me a second chance. The last time I was in their office they freely OFFERED ME PRESCRIPTION MEDS and I TURNED THEM DOWN. I am an idiot. Thankfully they quickly acquiesced and Greg picked up a bottle of 10 of the tiniest white pills I have ever seen in my life. Apparently they can only give me 10 at a time because us pregnant women - we're CRAZY and CAN NOT BE TRUSTED with NAUSEA MEDICATION.

So I take one every 6 hours and have to get a refill every three days explaining over and over again to nurse at the dr.'s office that yes, I realize I'm in my second trimester, I have not been on these meds for longer than a week, and can you please for the love of all that is sacred just send the next prescription in?? Spectacular. This is so. Much. Fun.

Also, I either have severe indigestion from whatever I eat or I have started to feel the baby flap its little butterfly wings - because that's what it feels like. So I can totally take heart that I'm growing a giant butterfly in my Uterus that has sucked any and all joy out of eating - a process that I apparently need to participate in 6-8 times a day in order to not throw up. This does not compute. I need to put something in my stomach so that nothing comes up out of there. My head thinks this is stupid - I should put less in there so that there's less to anger the stomach gods. Instead, my Stomach has decided that it is much like a very angry Volcano on an island in the middle of the south pacific where human sacrifices are required to keep it from exploding. And that's about how pleasant eating feels to me.

A B AB...

2010-02-15T07:18:00.000-08:00

I have an "Irrational-Fear" confession to make.

My blood type is O-negative.

My doctor told me this at my OBGYN appointment last week. This means that they absolutely need to know Greg's blood type as soon as possible because if he is Something-positive, that means that my body could decide that the baby I'm carrying is an evil interloper and make a move to eradicate it from my system. Then again, the problem is not so much with THIS baby, it would be with the NEXT baby. It's sort of a fool-me-once/fool-me-twice system.

The funny part of my story pertains to telling my parents that I am O-negative, and finding out that they are O-positive and B-positive. They came up with three theories. Either it is possible for two RH-positive parents to produce a RH-negative child, My doctor did the blood test wrong on me, or Mom was fooling around. They asked me to figure it out and kindly get back to them as soon as possible.

Turns out that it is possible for two RH-positive parents to produce an RH-negative baby - it's just not that common.

The Not-so-funny part of my story is why exactly I'm afraid of being O-negative and into my childbearing years with a most-likely Something-positive husband. In reality, they have a shot for people like me. At 28 weeks along I'll get a shot (in the hip or in the butt, I can't find conclusively - Gosh I hope it's the butt), and when I give birth I'll get another shot. If I ever suffer even mild trauma (car accident, tripping and falling) I should probably go to the Doctor and tell them I'm O-negative, and they'll give me a shot just in case. This shot prevents my body from being able to form antibodies to ward off future fetuses. It reduces my chances of experiencing the baby-as-evil-interloper scenario to a teensy tiny 1%.

But that's exactly what happened to my Grandmother.

Granted, she was giving birth at a time when they DID NOT have this shot. But if you want to get technical, my Dad is the oldest of 10, not 8. Except that the two babies born 2nd and 3rd were both stillborn because of the RH-Factor issues.

In 25 years I have only seen my father cry 3 times. Once was in the telling of what it was like for my mother to miscarry twice before successfully carrying me to term. My Grandmother carried two babies to term that did not survive past their delivery. I can not even imagine the pain. The story of those two babies has always been the most real horror story of my life - though it's never really discussed and I'm not even sure how I know about it.

It never occurred to me that I could be at risk for the same thing.

And it didn't help yesterday, when I had a private freak out moment at around 5:30 pm (on a Sunday), that Greg couldn't IMMEDIATELY tell me exactly what blood type he was. Somehow. Don't ask me how. I just wanted him to figure it out. Right away. Now.

So my gem of a husband is, today, calling blood banks to find out if they would please PLEASE accept a pint of his blood if they will only tell him his blood type so that his crazy pregnant wife can pick a new focus for the insanity.

I will not eat Green Eggs and Ham

2010-02-12T06:27:00.000-08:00

Faced with the prospects of motherhood, whenever I hear a story about a difficult situation in parenting my mind leaps to how I would handle it - and perhaps even more importantly, How will this Child-of-Mine act? What will their personality be?

I am of the firm belief that children need boundaries and rules. A lack of structure contributes to a sense of chaos and only spurs a child to act out in worse and worse ways. I feel confident in my ability to decide upon rules and not merely crumble at the hint of resistance. I am stubborn.

But there are situations that, upon contemplation, chill me to the core.

In the scheme of things, they're fairly silly. I'm not talking about a nightmare in which your child becomes a drug addict. I'm talking about teaching healthy eating for example.

I don't cook currently. Greg does the cooking. And Greg cooks whatever I feel like eating - this was going on long before the pregnancy. They are not always balanced meals. They are not always healthy. They do not always contain a vegetable.

I eagerly soak in accounts of parents who have such an iron clad grasp of the rules in their household that even if there is grumbling about finishing that spinach, the children know there is no real other option. You must finish the spinach - no amount of tantrums or whining will change that fact.

I remember sitting at the dinner table as a child and picking at my food, completely disgusted by liver or pork chops. From my vantage point now I know that I'm not a big meat-eater. Protein by way of meat just doesn't appeal as often as beans or chick peas, etc. But I'm still not counting my daily servings and I probably often come up short on the protein meter.

I watch my brother-in-law and his wife corral their three boys, all under 5, and strap on their armor for battle during dinner. Even foods you'd think would be delicious to a 5 year old, like pizza, there is cajoling to eat 3 more bites to the tune of "I want to get down", "Noooooo", and that one where their face screws up and their lips draw back and and they make a higher pitched "ehhhhh" sound. The parents don't give in, and they do a spectacular job of staying calm. And they remove children in the throes of a crying tantrum to a quiet space where they can calm down, and then return them promptly to the dinner table to finish what they started.

My soul cringes at these near certain future battles.

Then again, I also feel elation at other prospects. It isn't all bad.

The idea of reading to my child at night and watching their head spin as they discover Middle Earth, Hogwarts, Tortall, and Narnia makes my heart soar. I can't wait till they meet Brian of Hatchet, Old Dan and Little Ann of Where the Red Fern Grows, The Boxcar Children, and Meg and Charles of A Wrinkle in Time. It makes me giddy. That part will be so much fun. So many doors to open, so many worlds to share.

My husband, however, is focused on much more basic items at the moment. "If we can choose whether our child is an Innie or an Outie," he said to me last night, "We're going to choose Innie."

What are your toughest battles? Has anything been easier than you thought?

A Fragile State

2010-02-11T11:26:00.000-08:00

The moment when the two winners of superbowl tickets from the Ellen show were shown walking out on the field and then gasping and tearing up in awe and happiness made me cry.

The Google commercial during the superbowl made me cry.

Thinking about the Google commercial has made me cry.

What has not made me cry is the jerk who took the beautifully dug out space in front of my house. Greg spent a lot of time digging that space out and when I got home today it took a half hour of driving around block after block after block to find an even questionable parking space on the street, at which point I got stuck in 8 inches of sludge and snow trying to park. A nice man got out of his truck and tried to shove me in to place and 15 minutes later gave up as I was most of the way out of the street. Normal sized vehicles will be fine.. Trucks, hummers, and national guard vehicles may have to squeeze themselves around me - and there's NOTHING I can do about it.

It took all of my will power not to either: Re-shovel as much snow as possible onto the car in front of my house, or write a very LONG angry note.

If I weren't so exhausted from walking 2 miles home, I'd totally do both.

I even pressed play on Itunes! Oh Michael, I do miss you.

2010-02-10T10:25:00.000-08:00

Consider your suggestions heeded... for the most part.

So this morning, instead of getting up at 7:30 to plug into the boob tube, I decided to see how long I could sleep. I slept until about 11:00 a.m. which I haven't done since college, so I almost feel a sense of accomplishment there. 13 hours of sleep, check!

Then I came downstairs, set myself up and ... watched some daytime TV. I figure that if it's a similar evil to brain cell killing drugs, then I shouldn't just cut it out - that could be dangerous. But now I'm set up with American Gods by Neil Gaiman and I've already knitted about 20 rows on the fingerless glove I'm working on. My days ambitions include cleaning off the coffee table (crazy - I know), and pressing the "On" switch on my sewing machine. No current plans to actually make anything with the sewing machine, I just want to expose myself to the gentle hum of it's On-ness and make sure I don't have a spontaneous seizure at the possibility of productivity.

I've even been motivated enough this morning to have done a bunch of internet research as to whether or not painting my nails would permanently damage the baby I'm carrying. Popular opinion is split on the issue, but I decided that I could turn on the ceiling fan and live on the edge.

Now I'm off to perform the daunting task of taking a DVD off the shelves, walking to the DVD player and putting it into the slot. exhausting.

Blizzards and Uselessness

2010-02-09T19:22:00.000-08:00

So, Pittsburgh (and much of the Mid Atlantic States) has been snowed in. The roads are worse than anyone can remember, it's so bad that my work has been closed for the last two days and will be closed again tomorrow.

Greg, unfortunately, still has to journey out to his work - but he's a good snow driver and he calls to let me know he got there safely.

I'm not sure if it's been the funk of still recovering from being sick, the funk of not having worked on anything crafty for the better part of three months, or the funk of being pregnant - but I stay in my pajamas all day while Dexter naps at my feet - twitching and snuffling in his doggy dreams. I watch the morning news, and then Ellen. Then I watch as much of The Doctors as I can tolerate, switching to Judge Mathis when I can no longer stomach it. The People's Court is next and then two hours of blurriness. There's nothing good on between 1:00 and 3:00. At 3:00 Dr. Phil comes on which is sometimes trashy and sometimes thought provoking. At 4:00 I watch Judge Judy verbally eviscerate some folks, and then at 5:00 I avoid the news for a second helping of Judge Mathis which is not at all satisfying because I find his kind of justice significantly less satisfying than that of Judge Judy or The People's Court. The People's Court comes on again at 6:00, and then I'm free of the yolk of Daytime TV to watch recorded shows with Greg.

I nap in and out, and I eat when the fancy strikes me or when I feel like I should probably force myself to eat something. I've officially discovered that the Nausea has not left me. The only reason I am keeping it at bay is because a doctor on my team of OBGYN's suggested I take half a Unisom before going to bed every night because that would help with morning nausea. She was right. It makes the nausea worlds better, as evidenced by a few days ago when I forgot to take the Unisom before bed and spent the day feeling miserable, culminating in throwing up an entire BLT sandwich.

You're welcome.

Suffice to say, my days are long and lonely and sad. I mean it is SAD that I just sit here and let Daytime TV wash over me like a gentle soul-sucking tide. For all I know, I'm suppressing the BABY's development by merely considering watching two helpings of Judge Mathis in one day - let alone by doing that.

I think I need help.

The thing is, I also think I am genuinely tired and that makes me want to lie down. That's the Pregnancy talking, right? I should be feeling a little extra tired, even at only 14 weeks?

Hey - When Do I get a bump? Seriously. I've been pregnant and dealing with this nausea thing - even Pneumonia - and all I have to show for it is having lost a bunch of weight.

Normally I would be rejoicing - Woohoo! Lost weight! And I wasn't even trying! But somehow, it feels like I've been cheated.

I want that round belly - Yes I Have Something Growing In There - feeling. When does that happen? We finally started taking photos of me once a week, but I haven't noticed a change. And yet the doctor's said that my Uterus is a little bit bigger than it should be at this point if I have all my dates right. So where's the bump?

I find myself jealous of other pregnant women because THEY ARE OBVIOUSLY PREGNANT. Me? I'm just a little extra crabby and a little extra picky about my food. And A little less likely to get up and do anything useful with my day.

How can I love another man?

2010-02-04T06:03:00.000-08:00

So I'm 13 weeks along, today. I'm heading to the doctor this evening to be checked out again to make sure the coughing is on its way out and to check out the baby. I'm not optimistic about the coughing, but we'll see.

Greg and I will be finding out the sex of the baby as soon as possible - but only through an ultrasound, probably at about 20 weeks along. We definitely want to know the gender.

The first time I explained out loud why we want to know the gender, I did so to a co-worker and I did so in a completely bumbling idiotic way. I told her that it was just practical because then if we or others want to buy gender specific items for the baby - we'll know the gender! It made complete sense as it was falling out of my mouth, and then my very down to earth co-worker popped my balloon of nonsense by following up with, "Oh thanks, that's very kind of you. Otherwise, what ever would we do?"

I felt like such a jackass.

The truth is that I think I want a girl. In fact we timed conception so that we could aim for a girl. It seems like my husband's family is predisposed towards boys - my mother-in-law had two boys, my brother-in-law has three. Rather than having a 50-50 shot it feels more like 80-20.

The TRUTH is that I'm more comfortable with the idea of having a girl. I'm a girl. I have girl friends. For an entire summer when I was 15 I served as a 9-5 mother's helper to a woman with 5 daughters all under 5 years old. For every boy-specific crafty idea that occurs to me, there are 20 more for a girl. As evidenced by my nephews, boys like cars and trucks and trains and I have very little interest in those areas currently.

The TRUTH is that I will be thrilled with whatever baby I'm growing. I will love them and cherish them and play "This little Piggy" with their toes. While I have trouble seeing past the negatives on the horizon (sleepless nights, ears full of baby spit up, leaky aching boobs, a kaleidoscopic avalanche of different poopy diapers), I have very little doubt that I will, at some point, fall head over heels madly in love with my child. Whether that happens while they're still in Utero, when they're handed to me in the hospital, or slowly as we start to get to know each other, I'm not too worried.

The TRUTH is that I will probably need some time to adjust my thinking from frilly tutus to tonka trucks and that my adjustment process, if it's a boy, will be all the more successful if we find out the sex early.

What I'm not sure about is whether this is a shared experience between expectant mothers. My brain tells me that this is normal. That of COURSE lots and LOTS of people have baby gender preferences from the get-go and that about 50% of the time those preferences are honored and the other 50% adjust. My heart, on the other hand, feels lonely and guilty for having a preference in the first place - especially when I have zero experience. I really should just be grateful. Having any further desire beyond a healthy pregnancy means I'm greedy and just asking for trouble.

So, Am I Alone?

Pneumonia

2010-02-03T11:56:00.000-08:00

The week after I announced my Pregnancy on this blog, I started to cough. Deep Mucus laden coughs.

It didn't hurt my throat and although I felt pretty shitty on Monday morning, I assumed it was just a pregnancy thing. I drove in to work and I am sickly proud of the fact that I did not get into an accident while simultaneously driving and throwing up into a giant sized McDonald's cup of water that had been in the driver's side cup holder.

Once at work, I could not remain vertical. My boss's first glimpse of me that day was splayed out across my desk surface, face down. At this point she knew I was pregnant so I think she just assumed I was doing my best to deal in that moment and continued with her business. Ten minutes later when she walked by me again and witnessed me leaning as far back in my chair as physically possible with my eyes rolled towards the ceiling, she cleared her throat and gently suggested I go home.

I took her up on that offer and (probably stupidly) declined her offer to drive me there herself.

I made it home, collapsed on the couch, and remained there for a week.

I am not exaggerating. With the sole exception of the the hour+ that it would take Greg to coax me up the stairs to get in bed for the night and then coax me back down to the couch in the morning - I did not move for a week.

I did not eat for 7 days.
I did not pee more than once in the morning and once directly before stumbling into bed.

I maintained a fever of 101-102.

I coughed, constantly.

Greg, consequently got much much better at reading the sign language alphabet - Although I think I'm doing S, R, and X wrong.

On Thursday it got so bad I called my mom and told her that if it was at all possible, I needed her.

All this time we had been occasionally calling the phone number for my OBGYN group of doctors and speaking with someone about my condition. As yet, they had only recommended fluids and certain over the counter medications.

Thursday night my father-in-law and brother-in-law arrived to begin a weekend of work on the nursery. While I lay motionless and pathetic on the couch, they tore apart the room that will be the nursery. They ran all the wires, ripped up half the floor, and generally were a big help.

Unfortunately, by the time they left on Saturday evening I felt bad enough to swallow my fear and announce - in sign language - that I thought Greg should take me to the hospital.

We called the doctor one last time to describe my symptoms again and they told us to go to the ER immediately.

Our friends drove us there and parked our car for us so Greg could go straight in with me.

I was immediately hit up for all kinds of liquid samples and did my best to oblige. They hooked me up with an IV immediately because I was dangerously dehydrated. They gave me something for the excruciating pain of the cough - which was still not in my throat but rather in my stomach. I had sprained a stomach muscle from coughing so hard. I had also burst a blood vessel in my eye from the strain of coughing and throwing up the liquids I'd tried to drink.

They took me in for x-rays of my chest. I remember a very nice man pushing me down the hall in a wheel chair as my vision got longer and longer and more tunnel-like. He was talking to me and asking me questions, and I wanted to answer him and felt I was being unforgivably rude for being silent - but I just could not make my voice work. I remember stepping up the x-ray machine and pressing my front against a cold metal plate.

The next thing I remember is looking up at the x-ray technician from the floor.

The poor woman hoisted me back into my wheel chair and did the rest of the x-rays with me sitting in it.

After delivering me back to my emergency room bed, the doctor announced that he and the radiologist had reviewed the x-rays and they would be admitting me immediately for Pneumonia. There was fluid in my lungs.

The rest is a sort of wide-eyed, sleepless, animal-planet re-run fueled blur. They took me to a private room where Greg slept on a very uncomfortable looking chair. I peed every 3 hours or so which was unusual for me. I learned that Potassium as an IV drip is PAINFUL and to be avoided at all costs. I kept the TV on the entire night long. I watched the same episode of "It's Me or the Dog" three times.

Every time I was asked if I'd like to extend my stay for a day or so longer, or if I'd prefer to go home I answered "Go Home" emphatically - wheezing and coughing the whole while.

They prescribed antibiotics and cough syrup with codeine. They listened to the baby's heartbeat - which was fast, but okay.

The doctors were nice, the nurses were fantastic (even including the one who constantly talked to herself while insisting on taking blood samples at 3 a.m.), and when they finally took out the IV, I contorted myself wildly in bed and fell asleep almost immediately. I stayed in the hospital for a total of 24 hours. I got to go home at around 6:00 p.m.

My mom announced she'd be there the next day.

Greg went back to work on Tuesday, staying home on Monday to care for me. I stayed in bed all day and we wrote down every instance a liquid or solid passed my lips, and every time I peed.

My mom took a great burden off of Greg's shoulders by being with me when he went back to work. She cleaned the entire house (that had been neglected for over a month because of my pregnancy sickness before this debacle). She cooked all the meals. She made me start sitting up, and she helped motivate me to shower.

After two weeks of debilitating illness and pain, I'm back at work this week. It's completely exhausting to be sitting up, walking around and WORKING for 8 hours a day, but I'm doing better every day.

The doctor wants me to come back in tomorrow because when they okayed me to go back to work, she still heard something in my lungs that worried her. And I still haven't stopped coughing.

I have started eating (I ate almost the whole half of a wrap for dinner the other night). And bathing regularly. I haven't thrown up since Monday.

I'm thankful to be home. I started knitting again, but mostly when I get home from work I collapse and rest.

I will never forget this pregnancy.

In case you were wondering...

2010-01-13T06:04:00.000-08:00

This:

is why I've been on hiatus from my blog. Yes, that's a stick soaked in my urine. You're welcome.

I have a really big mouth, and even more loose lipped fingers and I just couldn't trust myself not to say something or STRONGLY HINT AT something if I even typed a little bit of an update in the past month.

Friends, family, and work know now so, it's safe to spill the beans.

I'm with child.

And I'd be jumping for joy and skipping through the magical fields of paradise surrounded by glittery cupcakes of vanilla and butterscotch happiness.... If movement didn't make me want to throw up.

We found out in Late November and I am now 10 weeks along. I've been nauseous and queasy and vomiting since 6 weeks on the dot. Despite the serious even-toned one-sided conversations I've been having with the imp currently occupying my uterus, there has been no let-up in my daily battle with food. Everyone keeps saying it'll get better in a few weeks. Here's hoping.

It was our first try. So much for all those fears of being infertile. Now onto the fears of miscarrying. BRING ON THE WEEKLY PREGNANCY TESTS. Who cares if I'm paying the local grocery store 6 dollars a week to pee on a stick to see two pink lines to reassure me of what I could have confirmed that very afternoon on my own if I had only mentally acknowledged the contents of my lunch on ground in the parking lot as I drove away as fast as I could.

Yesterday, we heard the baby's heartbeat for the first time. It sounded fast and regular and reassuringly alive and disconcertingly real.

And THEN we found out that the car Greg uses (that has over 300,000 miles on it) needs over $1,000 of repair. And THEN we added up the cost of redoing the nursery, juxtaposed with the Kitchen remodel we've been gearing up for (to begin in the summer), in conjunction with the idea of either repairing this VERY OLD trooper of a car, or getting a newer possibly more reliable car.

And then I exploded.

In addition to playing dead on the couch, requesting odd foods and only being able to eat 2 bites before rejecting the rest, and losing a bunch of weight, I've also COMPLETELY LOST my crafting mojo. I have knitted maybe 10 lines in the last 8 weeks. I have not been able to do ANYTHING. I'm not sure if I can properly convey the wrongness of this situation -- so I'll leave it at that because it's a little too weird to even talk about.

Greg has been amazing. He's cooked turkeys and hams and dutch babies and rice krispy treats (Ironically, that last one is the only one I HAVEN'T thrown up). He's completely taking care of the dog, the cats, and all the cleaning (which isn't a whole lot different than usual, but seeing as how I haven't been moving AT ALL after getting home from work... it's been painfully obvious how spectacular that is). He's taken down half the Christmas decorations and will probably be dealing with the 8.5 foot tall tree all by himself in the next couple of days.

And if I wake up in the middle of the night, he reads to me till I fall asleep again, even if it's at 4:30 in the morning and he is slated to get up at 5.

I've gotten permission from an artist out in Portland, Oregon to replicate a mural she painted in a store called Rare Device for the nursery. The artist's name is Amy Ruppel and the mural is:

I love the colors and I love the illustration. It'll be good for a boy or a girl, so we can start whenever we want. There are other things to be done first - finish the electric work, a ceiling fan, baseboard heating, baseboard, floor, etc. But it feels really good to have a plan.

I feel completely overwhelmed by the amount of stuff we’ll need — or is it “need” — for this baby. A crib? A dresser? A changing station? More storage? Bottles (bpa free?)? A pump? Storage bags? Pacifiers? a play yard? A high chair? A walker? A swing? A bouncer? A car seat? A stroller? A bassinet? A sleeper positioner? A rocker? Clothes? Toys? bibs? Bathtubs? A diaper bag?

I’m pretty darn sure I didn’t register for this much stuff for my wedding. AND there are like 5x as many big ticket Items as when I was starting out in my first home (A big ticket item, to me, is something over $100).

And what if I make the wrong choice? The crib I selected has no moving parts – while my mother is convinced that I won’t be able to pick up the baby without the ability to lower the side of the crib. What if the sleeper positioner will make the baby too hot to sleep? What if the high chair collects stray food in strange un-cleanable places and becomes gross within days of use. And despite the fact that I KNOW a $170 stroller isn’t anywhere near the most expensive thing out there – how can I possibly justify registering for that plus ten more items that are just as expensive that could collectively pay for 25% of our much needed Kitchen remodel (see below)!

So - In the mean time, especially while I'm doing my best to imitate a slug every night, we are embarking on an experiment.

The experiment is the attempt to operate as though my salary does not exist, and we still need to put $1,500 of Greg's salary into savings each month. That means there can be NO extraneous spending. No Dvds. No decorations. No new craft supplies (although I do have a gift certificate to Joann's from Christmas, so that's fair game). No clothes. No splurging.

Yesterday it was so easy to suggest and then agree to this experiment. And then I found out that "This is it" comes out on dvd later in the month. And "The Lucky Bones" is in theaters this friday. And Audrey Kawasaki is having a time-limited edition sale of TWO prints in a week or so. And suddenly my urge to throw up is a lot stronger than before.

I'm working on providing myself with a minute-by-minute reminder of why this is a GOOD idea and how much it could help (with the car, kitchen, and nursery) if we could save that much money this month (And in the future).

So, I hope you can forgive me for my long absence and the possibility of longer periods of time between future postings -- It's just that I'm a little busy crafting a baby over here.

Cheers!

2009-12-11T10:27:00.001-08:00

I keep coming back to post here, but I just can't.

There's a lot going on right now - a lot I want to talk about, but I can't just yet.

In the mean time, I hope you have an ecstatically happy holiday and a merry new year. Send your good thoughts to me as I weather another 8 days without my husband while he's away on business, working the night shift.

Thank goodness the 8 hour power outage happened the night before he left... although it's too bad he couldn't fix the mangled gutter after the windstorm or help me unfreeze the pipes!

Like I said - A lot going on!

It's all been done before...

2009-12-03T05:18:00.000-08:00

I am spinningly, twirlingly happy!

How are you doing?

I'll share the slightly negative first. My husband has not yet been sent back to work on site for his last week of duty. They haven't made a decision yet, so every day this week I haven't really known until we both get home at 6:00 p.m. whether or not he's leaving that night! It's been a little stressful - I'm grateful that he's been home, don't get me wrong, but it's very very tough not-knowing.

Also slightly negative - our white cat, Eevee, has miraculously and without warning overcome any and all fear associated with the first floor of our house. We have three cats and a dog. They ALL want to be as close to us as possible, while not being too close to each other. Delilah is a cuddler, but if you shoo her off your lap more than once, she'll take the hint. Ella is a percher - she would perch on your knee or your chest and NOT MOVE all day. She has the patience of stone. She will sit next to you and wait till your will to shoo her away breaks, but she is not "pushy" persay. Dexter, the dog, can be pushy - like any dog - but in general he just wants some piece of his body to be touching some part of your body while he sleeps like a log.

Eevee is pushy. When we got her, she hid under a chair for the first month... THEN we learned her real personality. She will not get a clue no matter how many times you toss her on the floor. She WILL use her claws to cling to your pants or shirt. She will headbutt your hand, head, or face so hard you will be convinced she left a bruise. She also sheds the most, so while this assault is progressing you will slowly be covered in a fine layer of white fur.

When my brother stayed with me for a week, I came home after work that first night and the only real story he had to tell me (with wide eyes) was that, when visiting the facilities, he thought he had closed the bathroom door... but apparently not, because after three loud bumps, the door swung open and Eevee cornered him on the toilet for some very aggressive loving.

He was a little scarred by the experience - thankfully not literally.

Anyway, she has - for the longest time - stayed on the 2nd floor of the house because she has been absolutely terrified by Dexter. The other two cats have acclimated well and have figured out that by merely hissing, he runs for the hills. So since March, Eevee has been the white cat stalking anybody who enters her 2nd floor domain... until now. She has officially returned to the1st floor and seems curiously unimpressed by Dexter. Whereas before we felt bad for her because she refused to come downstairs - now we find ourselves fine-motor-task-challenged because of the aggressive-headbutting and we long, somewhat ashamedly, for the days when she was the 2nd floor haunt.

On the good side, we're having Thanksgiving this weekend! Because we were in California over the official holiday, friends of ours agreed to wait to have Thanksgiving dinner till we got back. Dinner will be on Saturday with an Applewood smoked turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, and some cheese and crackers - I'm stoked. PLUS we're going to go get our Christmas trees together on Saturday afternoon. I plan to get another 8-9 foot tree, even though I'm not sure anything will really top last year's tree.

ALSO,

I actually found out through comments on this blog (Thanks burrito!) that I won the Me, My Scarf, and I contest through Craftzine.com and Singer with this scarf:

They're sending me a Singer ProFinish Serger in the mail this week! I've never had a serger before, so this should be really really fun. Any suggestions on what I should try first?

Also, you should check out the runners-up and other entries into the contest because there are some really creative, really gorgeous scarves in there!

Have a great day!

BONUS:

Cell phone capture of my finished attempt at a Where the Wild Things Are inspired Hoodie!

I'll take some better photos with the gloves later!

My <3 belongs to Eureka

2009-12-01T13:09:00.000-08:00

Well, loves... We're back. We went to California for exactly one week. We sat next to extremely sniffly people on the planes. We had an absolutely magical time. We started north and headed south.

Here's a quick sum-up:

We stood near some really big trees.

Really. Big. Trees.

I touched the pacific ocean:

We rode horses on the beach in Mendocino.

.... and were sore for days after.

And we saw some very beautiful things.

I will share more about our trip, as well as some revelations we had while we were there (Including the fact that Greg is terrified of Trolley cars sharing the road with Normal Cars), at a later date.

Hope your Thanksgiving was warm and lovely!

Mish Mash

2009-11-16T11:30:00.000-08:00

First, the Audio File I wanted to upload with the Previous post:

Go Here to Check it Out

THIS is what I looked like for Halloween before the blue turtleneck and dragonfly hair clip.

This is the Ridiculously amazing game of Mexican Train Dominoes we played at the Cabin two weekends ago (That I Won! Booyah!)

This is my brother getting to know my dog:

This is my brother getting to know my cat (at 6:00 in the morning) :

This is my brother slowly coming to understand that he likes cats as much as dogs:

This is the new area rug we put in my craftroom. And by "we" I mean my brother and my husband. And by "craftroom" I mean "Disaster area".

This is Greg and Brendan bonding over animals and Mario Galaxy.

And This is the scarf I worked on for two weeks to enter into the Me, My Scarf, and I competition for a Serger!

Go here to find out why it represents me.

Hope you enjoyed!

Everybody In Unison: "Awwwww"

2009-11-12T11:57:00.001-08:00

In college, I was the Musical Director of the All-Female A cappella group on campus and Greg was the Musical Director of the All-Male group. For a while, it was my life. I arranged music, invented choreography, planned rehearsals, scheduled bonding activities and tried my damnedest to knead the Drama and Cattiness out and replace it with warmth and excellence. I'm proud to say (that obviously with the help of the entire group and the talent of 15 amazing women) I made A LOT of progress. The term-in-office for a Musical Director is one year from the beginning of a Spring Semester until the end of the following Fall Semester. Come November of 2005 I was nearing the end of my final term as a Senior. I had a rhythm to how I handled events and concerts - and a Big One was approaching.

Starting the previous year, we had begun what we hoped would become an Annual event: An A cappella Extravaganza, featuring all four Lafayette College groups AND each Lafayette Group invited a Guest group from another school. We took over the entire Performing Arts Center with our matching outfits, our bits of Flair, our pitch pipes, and our vocal percussion. Each group was stationed in their own room.

Traditionally, All-Female groups invited All-Male groups and vice versa. It was like herding cats to keep the girls all in the warm-up room and get them focused. They kept slipping out to go spy on the attractive men's group from Swarthmore or the mixed group from UPenn.

I was wired and focused and no-nonsense. We warmed up. They had strict orders to report back to the room 10 minutes before the concert started. I set them loose for a while.

The concert was great. I love a cappella music - it never fails to give me goosebumps. There was a brilliant version of "Lightning Crashes" and an overly ambitious version of "Italian Restaurant" and an absolutely electric version of "Obsession". Cadence - My group - was on in the second half.

Everyone had to turn in their songs beforehand for the printed programs - but the OTHER invited All-Female group hadn't gotten around to it so it had been a complete surprise to hear them sing "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You". It was delightful to hear them suck at it. And it was intoxicatingly delightful to sing our version later in the concert (We had handed in our songs and couldn't just change our set last minute) and blow everyone away with our awesomeness - our reference to "Sunday Morning" by Maroon 5 and a short quote from Stevie Wonder's "Living in the City" AND our amazing (and simple) choreography.

To say I was in a good mood coming off the stage is an understatement.

All that time I hadn't spent any time with Greg. He was doing his thing with his guys - getting them ready and lined up and whatnot. The Chorduroys -- Their group -- was the last to go in the concert that day. For some reason all-male a cappella is pretty much always adorable. There's very little they can do to suck completely - a little enthusiasm makes up for a lack of musical talent. But the chorduroys had both Musical Talent AND enthusiasm going for them.

All the groups were standing in the wings behind the stage waiting for their set to end because we were going to do one giant cheesy finale song that we'd only learned that morning. So we cheered as loudly as we could from the dark backstage area as they sang through "Alcohol" by BNL and "Africa" by Toto amongst others.

We were only allowed a 3-4 song set so when their 4th song ended, I was just about ready to lead the charge to join them when Greg walked to the Microphone, centerstage.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming out this evening. We have one more song for you. It's a very special song"

At this point I was pissed. They totally violated the 3-4 set rule.

Standing Cold and Scared on top of the Hill
Then came the moment when I lost my Will
I prayed for mercy please Lord take me away
Give me Sunshine where I only see gray

Suddenly I realize I'm standing all alone. I HAD been surrounded by my girls - but now they are all huddled 10 feet behind me, clutching each other. I'm alone and standing closest to the stage. I remember thinking - This is extremely weird.

The past had a hold on me
It Can't be denied
And the changes didn't come easily

"Can Megan Please come out onto the stage?"

and as they sang the chorus of the song...

I've been lonely
I've been cheated
I've been misunderstood
I've been washed up
I've been put down
I've been told I'm no good
But with you I belong, cause you help me be strong
There's a change in my life since you came along.

In front of an audience of 400 people, he knelt to the ground in front of me, pulled out a small black velvet box, and opened it.

I don't remember him actually asking me to marry him. I don't remember saying yes out loud. I remember feeling like I was 10 feet off the ground. I pulled him up into a hug that didn't end till the song ended. There was a roar of applause and screams of delight. My parents were in the audience.

It was perfect.

I later learned that everyone, except me, knew about it. The girls in my group weren't sneaking away to flirt with the group we'd invited to sing with us - they were sneaking away to harass Greg into showing them the ring. The guys in the group ALL spent hours of their free time learning that song specifically so that Greg could propose while they sang it. Greg stole the arrangement off my computer in secret (One I'd been working on for some time for fun) and re-arranged it for men's voices. He went shopping for the ring with one of my close friends. He'd had it in his pocket for a few weeks before actually proposing on that stage. And he asked my parents' permission first.

Lately I've been browsing a few new blogs and I've come a cross a few adorable stories of marriage proposals, like this one. My guess is we're all biased, and barring having some kind of insensitive catastrophe of a proposal - you're going to think your moment was perfect.

In the spirit of romantic recollections, I wanted to share the moment I got engaged to Greg with you.

g-r-o-s-s

2009-11-11T11:53:00.000-08:00

Can I just say that what is compounding my bouts of depression is the constant taste of metal in my mouth? What an absolutely AWFUL side effect. I took my last antibiotic pills this morning and GOOD RIDDANCE. I've snacked more in the last several days than I have in the last year and it's not because I've been hungry or because it tasted good. Thank Goodness the taste of old pennies will be gone soon because I'm very close to taking a disposable razor to my tongue.

2009-11-10T11:07:00.001-08:00

I keep thinking that my next post will be sunny and cheerful and by the time I sit down to write it, I feel Meh. Or, like today, I feel down right glum.

Greg came home on Thursday night late. Although we got into a fight on the phone on his way in (I told him NOT to tell me when to expect him so that I could just be elated and excited and hopeful all night, HE called at 9:00 to tell me not to expect him till Midnight because he thought I was speaking in code for "PLEASE TELL ME"), when he walked in he kissed me and didn't stop for a long time.

I won't fill you in on the details, but thank God the Nuva Ring is history.

He took me to work friday morning and worked his magic with packing and grocery shopping and dropping Dexter off at the Kennel. We actually had the chance to sit down and watch the first episode of Desperate Housewives together before we took to the road in a caravan to the family cabin for the weekend.

The weekend was a blast. Everyone got along swimmingly and we played a ton of games and talked and laughed, etc.

We left to go home on Sunday after lunch.

On our way back we stopped to pick up some wine and browse some DVDs. We stopped several times at various Dunkin' Donuts. We held hands. We picked up Dexter.

For the last hour of the drive I buried my face in his palm and kept it pressed to my cheek till we pulled up to the house. I unloaded the car as quickly as possible, we ordered food.

We finally sat down and after eating, we clung to each other while Desperate Housewives played on. Episodes only last about 43 minutes. I would be lying if I told you I wasn't checking that number display on the DVD player.

When the credits started to roll, we started crying almost simultaneously and we begged each other to watch just one more episode so that we could maybe sit even more closely entwined for a little while longer.

When it ended, I kept my shit together while he ran and grabbed a few last minute items and took the dog out. I kept it together while he put on his coat and opened the front door. I broke when I tried to speak - just to say "Okay, Drive safely. I love you."

I don't know what you see in this - I don't know if you think of me as pathetic or immature... Co-dependent or weak. What I know in a deep way is that I am in pain with him gone.

I hate it.

The first week he left in the early morning and I didn't have a chance to cry - he kissed me while I slept. It almost flew by AND he came home a day early.

This second week caught me off guard and his departure left me empty. It was as though my innards were savagely vacuumed from my body in relation to him driving away. I thought this week would be easier because my brother was coming to be with me. Brendan's been nothing but a cool, chill guy. He let me watch Desperate Housewives, he hooked up my bluetooth and he's made my itunes music available on my Living room tv. And I still feel complete despair.

I feel like crying at very random times. I wake up every hour all night long. I get tired at 8:00 p.m.

Car rides are the worst. On my way to work there's a voice that taunts over and over in my head that the one thing that made it worth it - going home to him - is denied me for the next month.

When I called her crying a few minutes after he'd walked out the door, my mom's first question was "Did you at least wait to cry until he left?"

I tried.

Also - My husband tells me my belief that "The more fabric softener sheets you add to the dryer, the Better!" is disappointingly false.

2009-11-03T11:45:00.000-08:00

I have some awfully strange notions about the rules of the world that have absolutely no base in reality. I'm sure we all have our weird tics. Mine include pulling the toes of my socks up over my foot before entering a shoe because my toes can NOT touch the seam of the sock and sleeping with my head sandwiched between but not upon two pillows. But I'm not talking about weird tics. I'm talking about unspoken beliefs about an action that will affect other events in life.

For example, there's a small insane part of me that believes that popping a pimple makes me lose weight - an infinitesimal amount of weight, but weight nevertheless.

I also have a deeply rooted mostly-subconscious belief that talking about the worst outcomes will prevent them from happening.

There's a thing on Slate right now about a couple of women who have given up Kvetching and complaining cold turkey. I don't know if I could do that. I'm not sure if what I do would truly be considered complaining. I see it more as my personal version of that guy on the street corner with the giant cardboard sign that says "THE END OF THE WORLD IS NEAR". He's not complaining so much as stating the obvious. So much of what I say to make the people around me laugh is based out of negativity about the future.

I think part of it comes from trying to outdo my mom. She's SERIOUSLY worried about everything. I wasn't kidding when I mentioned in a previous entry that in less than 3 seconds she went from "When will your furnace be finished?" to "Your pets will all get pneumonia and die". To be seriously concerned about that is beyond me. I don't know how she does it. If I truly believed events could transpire like that I'm pretty sure I'd remain in a fetal position all day.

Then again, I can also seriously work myself up. A little while back, when H1N1 had just started getting hyped up, Greg and I took a trip to NJ. It felt like the shortest driving trip we've ever taken because we were so preoccupied for the ENTIRE 7 hour drive.

I brought up whether or not we should have a plan for if something happens and we decide we need to get out - to flee. What would that be? Oh, I don't know. Something very similar to I Am Legend... think disease and looting, military blockades and people in giant white plastic suits keeping a panicked public in their doomed city and possibly zombies.

Greg's family has a cabin in the mountains so that's a logical place to flee to. But what about food? Clothing? Fuel? Little things like matches? Water? Flashlights? A Radio that can be powered by hand cranking? What about the pets! The dog! The cats!

It didn't take me very long to get Greg worked up, and it didn't take us very long to develop an Adrenaline high just thinking about the kind of situation that would warrant needing all of those supplies and the kind of plan we were talking about.

So I get that part of my worry-potential honestly from good ol' Mom. But the dark humor? That's just me.

To be entirely honest, I do enjoy a good amount of optimism, I've just learned to drown it out and smother it with pessimistic quips.

Should you be curious, the rule: "The More Pessimistic Quips you utter about a situation, the Fewer Bad things will happen to you" is False.

But I've also found that "The more Good things you expect, the fewer bad things will happen" is also false.

What I know?: I'd rather expect the worst and be surprised by something better than expect the best and be disappointed.

Day 2:

2009-11-03T10:12:00.000-08:00

So, it's Day 2 of Megan: Home Alone, and it is definitely more stressful than day 1. Today, at 7:30 a.m., 5 burly HVAC guys invaded my basement in an attempt to wrangle the 50 year old towering behemoth of a furnace out of the house, and replace it with a cute little energy efficient one. Also, they came to put in an air conditioning unit and put returns throughout the second floor.

I bought them a big pack of gatorade.

When they first arrived we went over a couple of things (namely: Please don't let the cats out...) and they got to work. I left pretty soon after, more thankful than I thought I would be to be out of the house while that was going on.

I returned home for lunch at noon and... as if I were a shadow, snuck in, took the dog out, warmed up some leftover pizza and doled out some sweet baby gherkins, and I thought I was free and clear (despite the grating noises of construction progress) when in walks the Main Guy.

He's covered in black soot, stops for a moment and says "I just got extremely lucky... I came within 4 inches of cutting a water line"

What can I do with that? Nothing. Nothing!

It's like walking in to the O.R. in the middle of surgery on a one-hundred year old man while they simultaneously drill holes in all of his teeth.

I neglected to ask for a revised version of when they thought they'd be finished, and now - according to my mother - because I didn't ask, they may not finish, and when they don't finish, it'll go down to 32 degrees tonight, and because I didn't have a better quippy response than "Electric Blanket" to "How are you going to stay warm tonight?" not only am I going to freeze, but all four of my pets are going to get pneumonia and then I "won't have them anymore".

My original expectations were to go home at the end of the day to an empty and newly efficiently heated house.... they are now revised to "A house with water and pets that are alive."

you've been hit by... you've been struck by...

2009-11-02T11:25:00.001-08:00

Greg is gone.

He left this morning at 6:45 a.m. after getting out of bed, putting my favorite shirt of his (spritzed with his cologne) on a pillow, and tucking it up against my back while I slept.

He made coffee and took Dexter for a walk and then started driving.

This week shouldn't be hard. Last night, out of paranoia and greed, I over-ordered from the pizza place and now have tons of pizza in the fridge along with plenty of other meals to last me till thursday night. He's coming back Thursday night because we're going up to the cabin with friends this weekend.

So... This is what I've been freaking out about for months. The day has finally come that he has left and I am alone. Except that when I got up this morning, I got dressed... I drank coffee... I took Dexter out and I went to work, like any other day. I guess it either hasn't sunk in yet, or it's not as universe-altering as I thought it might be.

It's going to sink in tonight when I'm alone and there's no one to check out the serial killer noises coming from downstairs (either the cats or the roomba).

This past 7 days have been inordinately challenging for me. In that, I mean it hasn't been challenging for just ANYONE. For other people this may have been no big deal - some bumps in the road, but easily managed. In conjunction with my neuroses, this was... Difficult.

On Wednesday, I went to the doctor for the first time in a while. In particular I was going to talk to her about some "Digestive Issues" I had been having... for months... ... ...

I am only going to say the word once, but YES, thank you, I now realize what an absolute idiot I must be for waiting months to see the doctor about daily diarrhea.

I must have inherited my father's attitude toward health care. And the fact that I'm making that comparison does not comfort me. This is the man who waited, laying in bed, for two days - clutching his stomach in pain - before finally agreeing that it might not just be a stomach ache. The doctors say he was insanely close to having a ruptured appendix.

Anyway, once the doctor got over the word "MONTHS" in relation to how long this had been going on... She signed me up for a SLEW of tests. And then she threw in some x-rays to examine my sciatica. Then she sent me straight next door for blood work... which came back the next day saying that my White blood cell count was high and the Doc decided to put me on the Antibiotic equivalent of nuclear warfare.

Also, I had to take stool samples. Three of them. Three times. That's nine vials of poop that I handed off to a poor innocent Quest Diagnostics woman this morning. The process of collection was more stressful than I ever thought it could be. I have a much better understanding of the sexual anxiety some men feel. I wasn't sure if I could aim it into the right place, or if it would be big enough, etc.

Totally gross... I know... Perhaps unnecessarily so. But you come here to read about crafts and my life right? This is my life. For the last 3 days I've been worshiping an evil looking white plastic bucket whose sole purpose was to constantly ruin my mood and constipate me for the first time since childhood when I pooped in the toilet by accident whilst potty-training and then refused to poop AT ALL for the next 7 days.

On Saturday I had my First X-rays ever... All I can hope for is that the diagnosis does NOT turn out to be, "Nevermind, you're fucked."

In addition there were two very large *things* that culminated at work on Thursday and Friday requiring coming to work early and leaving late.

AND THEN Greg left.

I think that's the worst part of all.

These are not the Droids you're looking for...

2009-10-22T07:16:00.000-07:00

There are times when I struggle with what's fair game on this site. I created this space to be the place I could write things down if I felt like it - mostly crafty things - but it turns out I've been inspired to write about a few more things than just crafts.

I read a lot of blogs about all kinds of stuff. One of the main points of discussion is what is appropriate for blog recollection?: kid's antics? tantrums? health? family? friends? money?

There's something I want to talk about that I've been embarrassed to talk about with anyone for a long time. My bad. It's not something that's my fault and I've been feeling like it is. Now that I've figured it out, I'd like to share my experience. If you want a more intimate portrait of me, keep reading. If you'd like to keep things light, I understand. Check out this onesy, and then move on to your next blog.

My husband and I haven't been having regular sex for almost a full year.

It's hard to tell, in popular culture, where the line is between the Jokes about the decline in a Married Person's sex life ("Getting married for the sex is like buying a Jumbo Jet for the peanuts") and Reality. We had a healthy, fulfilling sex life for the better part of two years after getting married. Of course I had thoughts of "Is this just the 'honeymoon period'?" in my head, and our more unusual for-the-novelty-of-it lunchtime or early-morning sex declined in frequency, but not enough that there was a noticeable drop off. We learned about each other, We (mainly I) griped about variety and spontaneity. We were mostly happy - and in a day and age of Endless discussions about what "happy" is, how to achieve it, why it is fleeting, and so on and so forth - that's saying something.

In the beginning, I was on the pill. I started on the pill a few months before the wedding so that we could enjoy un-condomed sex at least during the honeymoon. I'd taken the pill before, and anytime I take one, I get a headache. I think it's Pavlovian. It happened a couple of a times, and now, whenever I take a birth control pill, I immediately get a headache - even upon just holding it in my hand with a glass of water in the other. Regardless, I thought it was worth it. And for a while, it was.

And then the reality of being on a tight budget sank in. We knew we didn't want to have kids right away, and my inability to take the pill everyday at the exact same second as the previous day paired with my personal brand of paranoia meant we were using condoms AND the pill at the same time. Since were weren't enjoying the un-condom sex anyway, I decided to go off the pill. Greg supported me. And then, in the next few months, I remembered why I enjoyed the pill: Less Acne, Shorter Period, and next to NO cramps.

Unhampered by the pill, my back cramps like to see how long they can keep me on the couch each month. I have a feeling they record the pitch of my whining, and how high I turn up the heating pad to tally up the scores of which month's monster cramps win the trophy.

But, whatever, it's natural. And It could be worse.

Plus, we have always talked about being "Young Parents". His parents were 20 when they had their first son, his brother was not much older than that when he became a father. In an abstract, subconscious sort of way, I felt like I should be ready. And one of the things you need to do to be ready, is to be ovulating, right? So I'd keep the hormones out of my system and I'd be ready in 6 months, or a year, or two years when we decided to get going. Condoms don't bother me, so this wasn't an issue.

The thing is, we weren't ready in 6 months. Or a year. Or two years. When we actually talked in depth about it, we realized we really wouldn't be ready to even start trying till at least three years into our marriage. So in December of 2008, I swallowed my procrastinating and made a gynecological appointment to make sure everything was still where it was supposed to be, and to go back on that headache-inducing pill.... which is why when my doctor brought up the Nuvaring, I was skeptical, but interested.

A few months before that, I had one of those "girl-talk" moments with 4 other young wives my age who were ALL on the Nuvaring, Loved it, Loved the spontaneity of it, and all despised condoms to the point of looking down their noses at me, raising their eyebrows and saying "you only use condoms???". It was a weird flashback to a warped kind of play ground where my doll was the off-brand and every body else had the cool-kind.

I expressed my skepticism about keeping a plastic ring in my body for 3 weeks every month, and my doctor assured me that it was safe and even MORE effective than the pill because you CAN'T FUCK IT UP! You put it in... You leave it in! You take it out, and you put another one in a week later!

I wouldn't get headaches from a daily pill. I wouldn't have to stress out about when I took it, or if I was really safe from all of Greg's little Michael Phelps's.

She was offering me two free month's worth, and then said that she was aware of a deal through my insurance that would give me ANOTHER free month. And if I didn't like it, she'd be happy to write me that prescription for the pill.

The money savings broke through all the doubt, and I took her up on the offer.

We rejoiced! Unprotected, completely safe sex! And FREE for three months! Woo!

She told us that we should really wait until the second month to consider it completely safe, just in case, so it felt like a month of finger tapping and waiting. There was some discomfort. There was some weirdness. When the nuvaring slips out a little, it can be very uncomfortably weird - there's nothing like excusing yourself from a meeting to stop a little plastic ring from peeping out to check whether it's day or night.

We had sex a few times the second month because... Well, I was on the nuvaring. This is what we did this for. So we could have sex more often, with more spontaneity, and less - Hang on honey, I'll be right back. It was slightly uncomfortable. I stressed a little about whether it stayed in place or was shoved back up into my naval. And it was slightly uncomfortable during actual sex. My doctor said we could remove it prior to intercourse and then replace it afterwards, but seriously - to me - there's nothing less sexy than saying "Hang on honey, let me just yoink this plug out of me and find an acceptable place to put it during coitus... on the tissue box? no... the night stand? no.... in a new Zip lock bag? Sure... let me just nip down to the kitchen..."

And then it stopped. We stopped having sex.

It's taken me a LONG time to admit this, but it was me. I'm manipulative enough to have convinced Greg it was him for a while, but that's wrong. I'd say: no, some other time, I'm tired, really- right now? we're in the middle of _____, I'm just so comfortable, please hold me, don't you just want to cuddle, not right now, check tomorrow night, check tomorrow morning, I'm not in the mood now - why don't you ever touch me at ____ o'clock? and ON AND ON AND ON AND ON.

I did such a good job of convincing Greg it was his fault, I convinced myself too. And it's not that stuff was so very wrong - I still wanted to spend time with him. I still wanted to talk to him. I still wanted to cuddle on the couch and I still did my best to make him laugh. But we never had sex.

Or rather, we did maybe once a month. And those times were probably the worst sex we've had.

Intellectually and Emotionally I knew we were missing something huge. I knew something was wrong and I'd talk about it all the time. I'd bring it up gently, angrily, meanly... I'd say all the things I could think of to beat it to death till maybe something would happen and things would go back to normal.

TO make a long story (and about 10 months of our lives) short, it didn't change and we both were just miserable when we thought about that part of our lives. Greg coped by not thinking about it. I coped by obsessing about it and taking it out on him.

10 months later, the nuva ring had become slightly annoying to me. It does feel weird, I hated having to remember to pick up the prescription. I hated taking it out, I never remembered to put the new one in on the EXACT date I was supposed to...

And then a few weeks ago, I realized that the amorphous "WE NEVER HAVE SEX" started "forever" ago... If forever was "approximately 10 months"... right about when I started with the nuvaring.

I feel like an idiot. For goodness sakes, You'd think I'd put two and two together, especially when there's so little going on down there.... You'd think I'd figure out that the only thing I was doing to affect that world was really really AFFECTING THAT WORLD.

And so I shared my enormous epiphany with Greg. And through the haze of my not-wanting-sex-AT-ALL it was surprisingly difficult for me to decide to forgo the next ring in exchange for a shot at a libido. I wrestled with it, and I consulted with one friend, and she wisely pointed out that our upcoming trip to California might be more fun if I wasn't such an Ice Queen...

So I gave it up.

It's been 2 weeks, and I have a libido. The process is slow, It's been a long time and there has been so much rejection between us that we need to relearn how to be intimate - but there's blue sky peeking out from behind those clouds.

The point of sharing this is not to steer you away from ever trying the Nuvaring - it's my understanding that for some women, it works incredibly well without side effects or with the added benefit of extra libido. The point here is to say that my life had what seemed like an insurmountable problem. There were tears and fights and turmoil. I felt lonely and wrong for a very long time. There was definitely some depression. This haze has definitely been affecting my writing here on this blog and my panic at Greg leaving to work on site five hours away from me. I didn't have the thought to examine all the possible causes. I suffered and Greg suffered for a long time, and it beat us both to a pulp.

But we climbed that mountain and now we're coming down the other side. Sex is such taboo topic. It is so rarely discussed seriously even while it's considered such a big part of marriage. The question shouldn't always be Do you still have sex after being married for a long time, because what is a long time? Three years of marriage feels like a long time to me. I'm proud of it. It's an accomplishment. When I tried to find someone who talked about something like this online, the most popular search result featured a discussion of "You've only been married a few years and you're not having sex? Something is horribly wrong with you. You should go to a therapist. You should consider divorce. The spark should not be out so fast."

It was terrifying to read that. It was terrifying to think something was so wrong that no one even wrote about their personal experience and all other responses pointed towards "This is not going to last". Other responses were too flippant: It's just a dry spell! You'll get over it!

Yes, you have little control over a lot of events in life, but in my marriage there was no weather report. There were no rainy seasons to look forward to. A dry spell will not go away when you hit April showers!

It took a long time for me to figure out what was going on. We went through a lot of turmoil.

We're not through it yet, but we're on our way and things are getting better. The dry spell didn't just disappear, it took work. And that's okay.

A few wittle booties for your consideration

2009-10-21T10:53:00.000-07:00

So - I just want to state in writing, for the record, possibly so that my husband will finally agree with me and so that I will not forget : I should not be allowed to go grocery shopping with Greg.

If I go by myself, it's fine. I'm usually annoyed and I want to finish as quick as possible. If I go with someone who ISN'T Greg, I stick to my pre-designated list.

If I go WITH Greg, we come home with at least 3 items that are COMPLETELY unnecessary.

Direct example: Two nights ago, Greg and I went to Costco together. As wonderful as Coscto is, I don't think I can leave without having a $200 bill. It's physically impossible.

In addition to the necessary Dog and Cat food, Kitty Litter, and Chicken soup for that evening's dinner, we came home with four containers of Legal Seafood Soup, a package of Salmon burgers, and a box of Mallomars.

Did I mention I'm working hard to eat right? Salmon burgers should be delicious and healthy - totally not on the list - but delicious! healthy!

Legal seafood? Delicious! Not quite "healthy" so much as "containing the richest ingredients ever".

Mallomars?

I have no defense. And of course it wasn't a single package. It was a costco sized box. Containing three times the normal number of Mallomars.

I should not be allowed to go grocery shopping with Greg.

On a more productive note, I finally photographed all of my most recent baby booty creations. They come in waves:

M... Mrs...Jo.... You there!

2009-10-15T11:37:00.000-07:00

Dating back to early childhood, I've always had a major mental block when it comes to referring to adults by their first name.

My parents instilled a very strict sense of courtesy in me, even to the point where I had trouble shaking my carefully drilled phone greeting even after entering college. The incessant mocking freshman year helped to rid me of my well-practiced, "Hello, this is Megan, How may I help you?"

Not that I'm not going to drill the very same phrase into my children when the time comes. I can't tell you how many surprised and delighted compliments I got after answering the phone that way as a kid.

When I was in Fourth Grade or so, my mom started taking me to a ceramics class in someone's basement in a nearby very well-to-do neighborhood. This woman had her own kiln in the basement and she charged a single fee for one hour of ceramic heaven. You were allowed to choose one piece at a time and then you could paint it or glaze it etc. I don't know how many weeks upon weeks I participated. In the very beginning, the woman incharge shook my small hand and said "You can call me Lee".

This was So Very Wrong to me. For months the most I could bring myself to say was "Um, excuse me?" to get her attention. It was terrifying not to know how to address this woman. It violated the order of things for her to ask me to call her by her first name.

I don't know if my fear stemmed from what my parents might do to me if they found out I called an adult by their first name, or if it stemmed from a genuine sense of CHAOS... but it took me months to just be able to look at the floor and say her first name, let alone in her eyes.

Fast forward about 17 years and here I am, three years married, and still feeling totally and completely awkward about what to call my in-laws.

They're wonderful people. Welcoming and loving.

My brother-in-law's wife calls them by their first names. I believe she does the same with the Grandparents - except for Grammy, who is easily called Grammy.

I'm intimately aware of my awkwardness in this arena. I always thought that when I got married I'd call my in-laws mom and dad just like my parents do with each other's parents.

I blame Greg. He started the awkwardness by calling my parents by their first names the first time he met them and we spent time together.

I think we were playing a board game and he said, "It's your turn, Velma." to my mom, and I just about died and buried myself right there. I swear, it's not that my family's uptight - I think my parents were just fine with him doing that - but it shocked me.

So then, when the time came to be with his parents - even after we were married - I wasn't able to retire into using comfortable monikers like "Sir" or "Ma'am", "Mom" or "Dad"... Instead, I felt weird silent peer-pressure moving me to call them Jim and Joy.

And therein began my awkward dance.

When we play boardgames and I want to remind them its their turn to play - I'll say "It's Green's turn!", When I have to get their attention I tend to move a little closer to them, make eye contact and then speak - without addressing them. On the rare occasion I slip and ACTUALLY refer to them by name, my eyes start to twitch a little and I shift from foot to foot - waiting, perhaps, for a stern, but polite, correction that never comes.

Admittedly, I'm a nutjob.

How do you address these figures in your life? And are you comfortable with that?

A Good Weekend

2009-10-13T12:49:00.000-07:00

After Four Hours of Driving, we got here:

And ate these:

We dropped some souvenirs off at the In-laws and got to snuggle some nephews.

And after we got back on Sunday, I still had time to make a beard:

Good times. Good times.

"The Scholarship for People Who Want to Move to their Dream Home"

2009-10-09T08:40:00.000-07:00

How do you decide to move to a completely new place? Do you plan for it in the long term, and then just do it? You put your current place up for sale, Start looking for new jobs, and begin a house hunt in various areas where the jobs hopefully are?

Do you just DO IT? Do you find the perfect house and then put in an offer and scramble to put your house on sale and then look for a job?

Do you Look for jobs, find one, then put the house for sale and look for a house in the area of your job?

Do you Put the house for sale, wait till it sells, find a new job, and then find a new house?

Here's what I would like.

I would like to move to Bloomsburg to one of the most beautiful Victorian homes I've ever seen. I would then like to put our current house up for sale whilst simultaneously finding new jobs. Both endeavors would have positive results immediately.

Also, the people who currently own that house in Bloomsburg would sell it for $50,000 to $100,000 less than what they're currently asking.

Perfect.

Perfectly idiotic. That's never going to happen.

I wish there was a pill to kill these butterflies that plague me whenever I find a beautiful semi-affordable home in an area conducive to family visits that's for sale.

Why isn't there a scholarship that I can apply to?

I could write my essay about what a good "american" family we would be with 2.5 children and a dog and a couple of cats. We'll decorate for every holiday and I'll even force myself to get to know the neighbors. I'll give away good chocolate candy at Halloween, and I'll never turn carolers away at Christmas without offering hot chocolate first. I'll watch the neighbor's kids before they have to get on the bus in the morning. Greg will keep the house is good repair. We will salt the sidewalks before it snows and shovel immediately after. I promise.

Let our Powers Combine: Earth! Fire! Wind! Water! Heart(h)!!

2009-10-06T05:59:00.000-07:00

Today, on Woot.com, they are selling two-packs of Emerson Digital SmartSet Indoor Lamp Control Security Timers. Intense. I usually call Greg on my walk in from the parking lot to my office building, and this morning I'm pretty sure I felt the drool through the phone as he quickly purchased two sets. Apparently, they are top notch, low price, and perfect to continue the streak of increased security.

This is our mantle right now:

I like it.

In addition to the 8 million other projects I have lined up (literally) around coffee table and living room (including a king sized quilt... yea.), I have added a project to finally use up these sheets of plastic that I bought a year or so ago.

I had high hopes of making the PERFECT craft bag, all by myself without a pattern. I made lots of pockets for the outside, and a large space perfectly sized for two knitting containers, 8 vinyl bags, etc. It was going to be heavy so it needed to be reinforced, and I think I lost my mind a little.

We bought quarter inch thick plastic sheeting that we were going to cut down to size and line the bag. Suffice to say that even adding a single piece to the bottom made the bag weight 20 pounds... Empty.

Turns out the PERFECT craft bag should probably be purchased from someone who knows what they're doing.

I still have two very large pieces of semi-opaque white plastic, and a few weeks ago I had a vision of what I can do with them. I want to create a dimensional silhouette of a generic city in our front living room windows. I know it'll be a pain to make lots of cuts in (freakishly thick) quarter inch plastic... but when it's finished I can thread white christmas lights into select window holes, put it up in the windows for the holidays and rejoice at my adorable little window display.

The problem is, it really IS a pain to make cuts. Greg had a helluva time cutting out the bottom of my bag, which is just a rectangle. He was using an exacto knife, over and over and over again. The other day I spotted a Pumpkin carving dremel. I'm not sure how adventurous I feel with the power tools at the moment, but does any body have any suggestions? If it's specifically for pumpkins, I probably shouldn't use it on plastic, right?

I'm wearing Glow-in-the-dark Underwear.

2009-10-05T06:04:00.000-07:00

Last week Greg and I did next to nothing except for slowly stress out that my parents were coming to visit (my dad is very allergic to cats and dogs), and mope about because it was raining.

On Thursday we FINALLY returned the little kittens we've been fostering for a month. We've officially been fostering for about 2 months, and I'm done. I LOVE cats and dogs. My heart breaks for the situation that is America's Shelters. But if we had fostered again right now, I would have swallowed the next batch of kittens whole because their high pitched (shockingly LOUD) meowing would've driven me to insanity, let me off at the corner, spit in my hair, and then zipped away whilst cackling.

We haven't been back to the dog park since the day after Dexter's incident, mostly because it's been raining and partially because I found this website by this guy who breeds German Shepherds and thinks Dog Parks are of the devil, Fights are bound to happen, and intermixed with his advice are graphic photos of dog bites. Yikes.

Instead, Dexter's been going for a nice long walk in the morning, and then we let him run his crazy little head off in our back yard (Which is now Officially! Fenced! In!). He can't run very far - in fact he can't run far at all - so instead he does a million suicide runs dashing from one corner of the yard to the other, back and forth until he collapses.

On Friday night we buckled down and cleaned EVERYTHING. Dusted EVERYTHING. Vacuumed EVERYTHING. I cleaned out the freezer. Greg contained the cats. And by the time we went to bed the house was cleaner than the last time they came to visit.

My parents drove in on Friday night and stayed at a hotel, so we didn't see them until saturday morning. We grabbed some breakfast and then we got cracking. My Dad and Greg replaced all of the door knobs and put dead bolts on all of the doors to the outside. My mom and I settled on four recipes, picked up the necessary groceries and we actually cooked ALL of the following: Split pea with Ham Soup! Ham and Bean soup! Beef and Lentil Soup! Chicken with Mushroom Stew!

I'm glad I bought some Tupperware specifically for this marathon cooking event, because otherwise we would NOT have been able to store it. The great news is that right now there are at least 20 meals frozen in the freezer awaiting consumption by me.

We had a nice dinner together and we met them for breakfast on Sunday morning, but they headed out directly after so as to get home at a reasonable hour.

I had this great idea of what Sunday would be like which was almost completely ruined by the fact that apparently we won't get to watch ANY of the Giants games for forever. They were just teasing when we got to see the cowboys lose at their new stadium. Greg was kind enough to actually consider paying for cable or direct t.v. so that I could actually watch the Giants on weekends, but how could I possibly justify that. The truth is I can't, so I think instead, I'll just pout about it for a while.

In the mean time I'm lining up a million and one crafts, books, and T.V. shows that will suck up my time while Greg is AWAY. There's Friends, and I can read 4 or 5 Neil Gaiman books, and I picked up the new Dan Brown book and the new Audrey Niffenegger novel and "The Lovely Bones" which I want to read before the movie comes out.

And I started to line up and lay out all the crafts I could work on. Which turned out to be more overwhelming than fun, and now I'm pretty sure my craft room is mocking me with all the potential that's in there that I'm clearly not pursuing fast enough. Here's hoping I don't just sit there for hours (again) tonight staring at everything I could do, and actually doing nothing.

Photos and Thanks

2009-10-01T07:46:00.000-07:00

You people are lovely. Your suggestions are well-taken. We have an alarm system already that I'll be sure to set at night - maybe even well before I go to bed (Then I'll just have to remember to turn it off before letting Dexter out that one last time, or I'll totally freak myself out with the alarm going off).

My Potential Weapons are as follows: The Steak knives in the kitchen. The... well, I'll have to think about it...

Btw, I've always wanted the dragons they market at the Renaissance Faire. They sell these adorable little green geckos in plastic cages as "Baby Dragons". My parents were always very negative about them. I suppose that now I'm adult I could get one, but think of the potential fire hazards!

I love the idea of a Dog on the Premises sign. I wonder where I can get one... Lowes?

My parents are coming in this weekend, and my mom is going to help me cook some serious meals that we can freeze. I'm supposed to pick out a few recipes that we can attack together. I definitely need to think about this.

I know I've been whining a lot lately, and I really appreciate you putting up with it. I'm just trying to get it all out now. Maybe if I constantly predict the worst case scenario and think of NOTHING ELSE, then maybe everything will be okay. I tend to build up a lot of anxiety about these types of situations and the more planning for it, the better. When all is said and done, I like to end up proud of myself and how I handled something. The Very first time I had to take myself to the doctor and consequently have a prescription filled... I'll admit I was terrified and worked up a sweat about it in advance. That may sound like a small, inconsequential thing, But it was a milestone for me. Now I know I can do that, and It's fine. Between you and me, It helps if you give the Pharmacy the correct insurance card, but you learn new things every day.

Now. A few things I can be a little happy about: Through good nutrition and sheer force of will, I've lost 15 pounds. I hate going by numbers, but I was inspired to hop on the scale the other day AFTER dinner (booyah!), and was pleasantly surprised.

Also... I PHOTOGRAPHED THOSE BANNERS!

We're keeping one of every holiday. The Extra Halloween banners will be sold - but first I have to pick which ones to keep! I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the extra Happy Birthday banner, because I like them both so much. On the other hand, I'm a little disappointed with how illegible "Happy New Year" is. Poor choice of felt/fabric I'm afraid. Although, it is a bit easier to read IN PERSON because the felt is sparkly and it's outlined in silver thread which makes it stand out a bit more than in the photograph.

Enjoy!

The Autumn Leaves were from a bag of 50 Silk Leaves sold in the Dollar bin at Target.

This Happy Halloween Features a bat in the middle with alternating embroidery thread colors on the Halloween Letters (Purple, Green, Orange, etc.)

The Eyes in the middle of this banner glow in the dark (I used Glow in the dark Embroidery thread on the eyebrows, eyes, Irises, and center eye "glow"). For best results, Shine a bright light on it before making it dark.

The "Grey" fabric on this banner is actually super sparkly silvery. The Central image is an iron on Skull and bones silver studded applique.

The Letters and the Ghost in this banner Glow in the Dark. All of the Fabrics are Glitter. I particularly love the Spiders and Spiderwebs fabric.

This banner contains one of every single Halloween Fabric I own. The Thread outlining the letters glows in the dark. The letters are black sparkle felt and so are the eyes and mouth of the pumpkin.

This banner also includes every single Halloween Fabric I own, the Letters are outlined in glow in the dark thread using all six strands which make it a thicker more substantial glow. The Letters are not sparkle.

See? Hard to see. Meh.

These letters are white sparkle felt.

This is side one of the first Happy Birthday Banner. Cars, Animals, Numbers and Colors Splotches with the letters outlined in blue.

This is side two of the first Happy Birthday banner, with the letters outlined in Pink. The center image is Balloons.

This is the first side of the Second Happy Birthday Banner. Primary Colors and a White frosted Cupcake.

This is the second side of the Second Happy Birthday Banner. I like this "Girly" side best I think. It involves Pink, but it's not too girly.

Thanks for looking!

And also Booby traps. And a moat.

2009-09-29T10:30:00.001-07:00

I swore to myself that I wouldn't post again until I take photos of the 10+ banners I FINISHED (BOOYAH) over the weekend, but I obviously lied.

Time is passing all too quickly here in our house. Additionally, we seem to be all too popular, and I wish people would just not like us anymore for a while.

This past weekend, Greg's parents drove all the way out to visit. We picked up stuff to fence in the yard and a gratuitous number of outdoor lights so that, if I am so inclined, I'll be able to count the bugs hiding behind the bushes in the very back of the yard when I take Dexter out at night while Greg is away. It rained a lot, but my mother-in-law still cleaned the kitchen, did the laundry, and helped to fence in the back yard. We also watched about 6 hours of Deadliest Catch. Productive.

This coming weekend, my parents are coming all the way out to visit as sort of a last minute thing. What with all the fall plans falling into place (hah - fall plans "falling"-- get it?), we realized that there were only two weekends we could even be available to have them visit before Christmas and they weren't available for one of those! I get my anal-planning-tendencies honestly from my parents so I was a bit stunned when they said that they would come all the way out to visit. It's a seven hour drive. They usually break it up and give themselves plenty of time, but this time they'll drive all the way out on Friday, stay Saturday, and leave early Sunday morning. Crazy. I really appreciate it, and it'll be great to see them. Additionally, my Mom has volunteered to cook a bunch of meals with me that we can freeze so that I won't actually have to resort to eating my own hair while Greg is gone.

The weekend after THAT, we're going to the Lancaster Renaissance fair with some friends - A trip we've been planning for at least 6 months. It's on my dream to-do-list that I'd be able to throw together 3 renaissance-y cloaks for us (Dork that I am, I already have one), but I'm not sure that's entirely feasible.

The week after THAT, a friend of mine from college is coming out to Pittsburgh on Business and will be available to hang out during the weekend with us. She was a bridesmaid in my wedding and I'm very excited to get to spend some time with her.

The weekend after that we have - GASP - free...

The weekend after that we're going to the family cabin with 8 other friends.

THE NEXT DAY GREG LEAVES FOREVER.
If Forever = 2 weeks.

Then we take our 1 week trip to california over thanksgiving.

Then GREG LEAVES AGAIN FOREVER.

Which means I'll be sad, and decorating for Christmas all by myself. Alone.

The sad-alone-dread-anxious-ugly-monster feeling never leaves me. Can you see how well I'm bearing this?

We're making progress on fixing things around the house that will make us feel safer when he leaves. The yard is fenced, which means I can open the back door and let Dexter run down to the yard to do his business while I hover outside the back door and yell encouraging words like "hurry up!".

The back yard lighting will be a slow process, but I'm hopeful.

Today we'll pick up new front and back door knobs, deadbolts and locks.

I was thinking that maybe those metal covers for windows and doors that Will Smith has in "I Am Legend" might be useful. Especially if zombies rise while Greg's in Maryland. I'll have to run that by him tonight.

What makes you feel safe when you're home alone? What improves your comfort level? What would you suggest?

If I had a Rabbit it would be named Mrs. Babbity Wabbity

2009-09-24T11:32:00.001-07:00

So there's a lot going on in Pittsburgh right now, and suffice to say I've had my fair share of being-in-a-building-surrounded-by-state-police, so I think I'll be a bit more relaxed when this week is over.

Our California trip Airfare has officially been booked, and we're getting CRAZY by reserving a "Compact" car rather than an "Economy". This trip is going to be hooked UP for Shizzle. We're going to be flying in to Northern California and in the course of week, we will be going no further south than San Francisco. Although it'd be nice to say I've seen LA and other various aspects of Southern Cal, I'm letting it go in favor of Redwoods, coastal roads, Beds and Breakfasts, and cool crisp air.

Is there anything you know of in Northern California that we simply SHOULD NOT MISS?

(I looked up the beautiful place Jennie recommended - Gorgeous! But it'll have to wait till we can't stand it any longer and leave the kids with Grandma and Grandpa for another vacation a gazillion years from now...)

We're looking forward to upcoming weekend visits from his parents and my parents and an old friend from college. We're heading to the Lancaster Renaissance Faire, and we're going out to the Cabin in the mountains with a ton of other hip young couples and that will be a blast.

Unfortunately, I'm dealing with some personal anxiety demons as a result of another upcoming upheaval. Greg is being sent to the on-site location of something he's been working on for over a year - 5 hours away. For Four Weeks.

We don't know too many specific details - probably because He avoids talking about it, and I avoid thinking about it - but it's almost definitely going to happen this fall. So for 2 weeks BEFORE California and 2 weeks AFTER California, I'll be home-alone and totally freaked out.

First of all, I've never done well with separation. I would love to be one of those couples who can look at you, in horror, and say, "No! We haven't been apart for a single night since we've been married!". The stupid king sized bed is just going to emphasize the emptiness. I'll miss him dearly and that's the absolute worst part.

Second of all, I'd be a complete shut-in if it weren't for Greg. It's not that he pushes me to go out and do things - it's just that when he's around, I want to go do things with him. When he's not around, I'm most likely to stay home, watch bad T.V. and not cook anything, ever. Does that mean I'll starve? Order take out every night? Learn to digest my own hair? Who knows.

Third of all, I have an insanely overactive imagination. There are times I can convince myself that there IS a serial killer in the house because of one tiny noise. Back when Greg used to be in the Lab at all hours of the night, I used to spend the majority of my time focusing on breathing slowly and convincing myself that that shadow out the window was NOT in fact a skeletal groping hand. Without him there, there will be no one to check for serial killers, no one to reassure me that shadows are, in fact, only shadows, and no one to stroke my hair and explain for the 18 billionth time that that noise was JUST THE CATS.

Fourth, POOR DEXTER. Greg gets up with the dog at 5:15 a.m. and takes him for a 30 minute walk. If we don't go to the dog park in the evening, he takes him for a 30 minute walk then too. I will not be doing that. I've said it a hundred times that I couldn't have a dog were it not for Greg. I know my limitations. I love dogs, they're great and I KNEW Greg would love having one... But I also know that I'm lazy and when it comes to a canine companion, I wouldn't be a responsible dog owner. Cats? Sure. Cats, I'm good with.

We're going to work on a few things so that I can be an adequate dog owner while Greg is gone which will include, but is not limited to, fencing in the back yard and installing some lights so that I can actually see all four corners of our (small) yard at night. That way I'll be able to take him out back and play with him in the yard if I'm uncomfortable taking him for a walk when it's almost dark out.

Fifth, I have a bad dream about once every 3-5 days. These dreams vary in horrible-ness. There are dreams like the one I had last night in which I found a large orange stray cat on a 20 foot leash that I got bad vibes from and told Greg to take Dexter and run away, but He didn't move fast enough so the evil orange cat scratched Dexter all over his face, and I couldn't reign him in because the leash was so long... and then I wake up, and I'm upset, but it's manageable. And There are dreams like the one when I woke up crying, told Greg the entire thing, and then forgot it during the day. To this day Greg still won't tell me what happened in that dream. Regardless, No one will be there!

And those are just the top five. I'm sorry if I sound whiny - I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment. He'll be gone the majority of November and some of December. I'm sad. I've cried once about it already, and I can't see it getting any easier. And this isn't something we can just DO and get it OVER with already, because time - it creeps slowly when I'm this anxious.

Shows to Go you

2009-09-21T08:05:00.000-07:00

So last week, I was all queued up to write a lengthy post about Dog Park rules and suggestions - pointers and advice. I felt fairly confident that I could write about it with expertise and well-informed knowledge. After all, we got Dexter in March and he's turned out pretty well so far. Despite the deluge of poops in the kitchen that first day, he's perfectly housebroken now. He doesn't bother the cats. He loves the foster kittens. Mostly he just sleeps underneath the coffee table on the floor and the most bothersome thing about it is when he decides my foot makes a good pillow while I'm simultaneously trying to use it with my sewing machine peddle. And he does great at the dog park - he's a fairly gentle player, he loves to be chased, and he particularly enjoys puppies, german shepherds and dobermans.

And then on Saturday we took him to the dog park, like we've been doing literally every day for the last 3 or 4 weeks, and all hell broke loose.

A week or two ago, Dexter finally figured out what fetch is. He FINALLY became interested in actually RETRIEVING the thrown ball. He likes to do it solo, does not enjoy competition, and does not bring it directly back. He'll carry it back and lay down 3 or 4 feet away from us, chewing on the prize. This is an acceptable distance to me, so we'd go over and take the ball - easily - from him and throw it again.

Then, about a week ago, he started to growl at other dogs in his vicinity if he had the ball in his mouth and was trying to chew on it and they had the temerity to come near him.

Our solution was to take the ball away from him, and either place it on a picnic table, out of reach, or throw it over the fence to the 20 lbs or less dog park area.

I admit, it was totally our fault that we just sidled around this behavior. Cesar would be very disappointed.

On Saturday there were like a MILLION tennis balls. Some of them squeaked, which escalates his behavior. We took ball after ball after ball away from him. We got him to run around with other dogs a few times and then after we'd been there for like 45 minutes, we gave in and started throwing a ball for him to fetch. And then he brought it back, laid down, a pit bull came over to sniff him and he FREAKED OUT.

There was growling and biting and loud snarling and lunging and attacking and ugliness and I'm surprised I didn't start crying right then and there.

We like this dog park for many reasons, but one of them is that all the dog owners are vigilant and everyone swooped down and called out their own dog - and the pit bull owner got a hold of his, the poor thing. And we got a hold of our demon, and Greg TOOK HIS SWEET TIME putting dexter's leash on.

Now, Greg's a slow mover - seriously, he'll admit that. But this felt like FOREVER. Probably because I wanted nothing but to sink into the ground and disappear.

We left. I didn't know what else to do.

I wanted so badly to speak to the pitbull owner and tell him we KNEW it wasn't his dog's fault, it was ours, and pitbulls can be awesome dogs. However, I couldn't locate my vocal cords. I think they fell out after I was through hissing at greg to GET DEXTER'S LEASH ON NOW!

On our walk out, ANOTHER dog scuffle broke out over a ball - which was oddly reassuring at the time - but boy was I in shock for hours.

Our adorable little Dexter is a jerk.

On Sunday I sucked it up, and we spent the day throwing, tossing, bouncing, catching, and rolling tennis balls around and every time Dexter even thought about the ball we shook a tupperware container of pistachios at it and he turned the other way.

Now, I know this might engender fear and I'm not entirely comfortable with that. The ideal would be that he's just NOT POSSESSIVE of any stupid balls around other dogs. Unfortunately, we only have the one dog, and he's not possessive of his toys around us.

So we faced our fear - a little - and took him to the dog park again on Sunday afternoon (Not at peak time), and he only picked up one ball and dropped it almost immediately after we shook those pistachios. There was a small scuffle but that was caused by a little jerk of a Jack Russel.

He did just fine on Sunday. The thing is, I'm still scared. I know I'm supposed to be calm and assertive, but I'm all anxiety about taking him back there when all the other dogs we know are there. We would never ask for balls to be banned - that would be dumb. And we can't ask that people not throw balls around. How do we address this issue?

Doodles and Drool

2009-09-16T08:09:00.000-07:00

We're still going to the dog park every day - it takes us half an hour just to get there, but it is definitely worth it. Dexter gets great exercise, I actually go outside and... *gasp*... like it!! And we walk around and hold hands, we meet new people and laugh at the Pomeranian that is some how carrying around a plastic bone that weighs more than he does.

I get to see Greg - the previously professed not-a-pet-person guy - fawn over all the dogs.

In fact, last night he made out with a boxer. It was purposeful on the boxer's part, but I think Greg was quite surprised. And then his face was covered with slobber, so although I laughed I did feel a little sorry for him. If you didn't know already, dog slobber isn't like human slobber. Human slobber is just saliva-y and wet. Dog slobber is downright viscous.

AND we've been slowly creating a list of breeds of dogs that we would love to have as pets at somepoint in our lives. Well, until two nights ago, it was really on me that was creating that list and I had only OFFICIALLY added "A cute tiny dog" (like a maltipoo?), and a newfoundland. Because newfoundlands are GORGEOUS and HUGE and apparently GREAT family dogs. I would love to own a big doofy dog at some point.

But two nights ago, Greg officially added his own request - A Golden Doodle. (A golden retriever poodle mix).

We met one at the dog park and Greg was immediately enthralled by the hugely long slightly wavy and flowing mop of a dog that was romping everywhere. When he finally successfully sidled up to it, he was delighted to discover that the fur was as soft as airy silk. And of course we struck up a conversation with his owners, and when Greg pointed out that it must be a nightmare of shedding fur in their house and they said No! Actually he doesn't shed at all! That's what you get with the poodle mix! I had to physically stop Greg from grabbing the dog and running for the car.

And what kind of post would this be without SOMETHING random:

We're planning a trip to California. We're a little overwhelmed by how much there is to see there. We will only be there for a week!Any pointers??

Reflective

2009-09-10T13:45:00.000-07:00

I often imagine that if I let my eyes unfocus and allow the world to blur, I'll uncover a hidden doorway to another realm at which point I'll be faced with a terrible dilemma of whether to enter alone, or to find my husband first so that we can go there together.

There are large bugs in black and yellow striped suits guarding my front door. It is no fun to exit and enter my domain. Although I may be prejudiced, their in-my-face greeting as soon as I get out of my car to enter my home seems a bit aggressive and while I would rather not provoke them, it was my home first.

All 3 of our cat boxes are located in one room on our second floor. Consequently, we keep febreeze in the hallway so that we can spritz the air as we pass by. Will it reduce the value of our home if we were to install a cat door in the interior door to the basement in order to put the cat boxes down there, or am I being overly cautious?

Our new king sized bed has made our bedroom grow several feet. Greg thought it would make our bedroom shrink, but he was wrong. The only thing that the king sized bed has shrunk is our pillows. Our pillows used to be overwhelming in our full sized bed. Now, they are like peas lost in an ocean.

We're going to the dog park again tonight, and I'm hoping to run into a couple who have a girl puppy of the same name I hope to use for my future son. They are nice and funny, and although I don't know their names I think we could be friends. I feel a certain amount of guilt and shame when thinking of them because I'm doing my best to secretly stalk them... by going to the dog park... which I would be doing tonight anyway even if they didn't exist... so it doesn't matter, right?

Maggots are ugly and easily haunt me.

The Unexpected

2009-09-08T06:34:00.000-07:00

I'm still coughing. Two and a half weeks after I got sick, I've still got a nice deep phlegmy cough. A week after I got sick, Greg got sick and his temperature went all the way up to 103 degrees. THAT was terrifying. Shouldn't there be a chart somewhere to tell me when to drag an ailing adult into the hospital due to a high fever? Just give me a number. 103? 103.6? 104.2? It would be much easier if someone could just tell me when.

Regardless, he's better. I'm still coughing, but he's better. Last week was an amazing week for Dexter because we took him to a huge dog park every single night. Every single evening it was blue skies and cool and crisp air. We wore sweatshirts and walked in the dew and saw more dogs at the dog park than we've ever seen before.

Because we'd traveled several weekends in a row, we decided to stay home for the long Labor Day weekend. I decided that we would do amazing Pittsburgh things and be busy and happy and have fun. We would NOT just stay home and watch DVDs. Then the Rhoomba came in the mail and things got even MORE pleasant at home with the addition of super clean floors. I still haven't actually seen it in action because Greg only turns it on at night and early in the morning, but there is no animal fur on the floors which is quite a feat with 3 cats, a dog, and two foster kittens.

For Friday the 4th, we planned to go to a concert in Frick park of the Mediaeval Baebes a group of women and a couple of musicians who sing Medieval music. We had a picnic dinner and I got bitten by mosquitos through my jeans. I was reminded how much trouble my Music Theory Professor had taken to drill an intense disdain of parallel chords into our brains - and how effective those drills had apparently been. But I was glad to get out to do something different with Greg.

On Saturday morning we got a special diet-violating breakfast from our local diner-lady who knows us from our order on the phone, because she's trying to sell her place and may then go away for ever.

Here I pause to tell you something important that I'm still coming to grips with.

A few days earlier I finally read a message on Etsy that had been sent to me weeks ago. It was from a young woman in Seattle who had fallen in love with the rainbow patchwork skirt that I made.

She wanted to know if I would consider making another one for her to purchase. I wrote back, skeptical. I asked her if she was serious. She wrote back the very next day to assure me that she was serious. She included links to other patchwork skirts on Etsy that were going for $500 and asked how much I would want for one.

And I read that, and nearly fell over.

Then I really sat down and thought about it. The original skirt took me 5 months to make. Five months of grueling measuring and cutting and sewing square after square together. Five months of calculations and counting and then ruffling with a foot that doesn't QUITE fit on my sewing machine and makes a BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG noise whilst I'm sewing ruffles. Did I really want to consider making ANOTHER one?

Also - what about the original one! It was in my closet in a black bag. I hadn't even looked at it for over a year. I certainly hadn't worn it more than once. After it was mocked, it just wasn't quite the same. It's an intensely crazy skirt and I just wasn't as eager to find ways and situations in which to wear it after I felt such heartbreak about it - so it stayed in a bag in the back of my closet. Did I want to put myself through creating a new one (with the exact same colors) and remind myself of all the work that went into the first and all the disappointment I felt afterwards?

The answer was a resounding no.

And then I thought further... What if I offered to sell her the original? The original skirt was banished to exile. I wasn't wearing it, I had no intentions to wear it. It offended me, even though it was innocent. She wanted one just like it-- what about offering the original??

I thought about it for two days, almost constantly, because the next question was the most discomfiting of all. What the hell would I ask for it? What price? What was its worth?

I looked up other patch work skirts online and on Etsy - nothing really compared to the detail and intensity of my rainbow skirt. The skirt that's up for sale for $500 has 6 tiers and large patches, mine has 10 tiers and 4 inch squares. So I asked Greg for help. He came up with numerative logic. If I worked on it for 10 hours a week (Probably a conservative number) for 5 months (exactly as recorded in my recollections of the craft on craftster) at minimum wage ($5.00 an hour) it comes out to $1070. When considering the materials (Fabric and Thread), the value comes out to $1220 total.

I decided I would explain all of that in detail and knock off $220, because I'm not a professional and there would probably need to be some professional assistance with the reinforcement of seams (because the skirt is heavy and, with use, would strain seams of the higher tiers).

I asked for her to cover shipping, I stated I would retain the rights to all photos taken of the skirt prior to sending it to her. I asked her to send me a photo of herself wearing the skirt - because I'm a sentimental fool.

I'm not sure whether or not I expected that she would accept. One thousand dollars is a lot of money. Regardless, I didn't feel much of anything. I wasn't leery of selling the skirt, I wasn't feeling any emotional pull either way. It just made sense - I wasn't wearing the skirt, I wasn't using it for anything... Here was someone who wanted it and if they wanted to pay what I thought it was worth... Great.

And then she accepted.

She purchased and paid for it almost immediately after I posted it on Etsy. That was on Saturday.

So on Saturday (the 5th), After our illicit diet-violating breakfast, we ventured out to a big furniture store that was having big Labor Day sales to look for a KING SIZED BED.

It was a bit of a debate in my head. I knew I should probably just put the skirt money in savings and forget about it. Or put it towards the trip to California that we want to take before we start trying to get pregnant. Or put it towards future baby stuff. Or put it towards rennovations. Or put it towards a new furnace!!

But I really wanted something solid. And Greg put it into words for me before I realized it myself. I wanted something I could point to and say "I made a skirt, sold it, and we were able to buy THIS." And a King Sized Bed? Boy Oh Boy.

Somehow the whole idea of being able to fit it up our stairs escaped BOTH of our minds whilst we were deciding. In the end, Greg, while originally skeptical, came around to the concept of a king sized bed. I think it was because of my amazing reasoning skillz. First of all, I complain alot about our full sized bed. Yes - it has beautiful carvings. That is its only virtue. It is HIGH. I have to hop up into bed. If I get pregnant, Greg would have to build me stairs to get up into it. It is SMALL. I can't tell you how many times I've kneed Greg in his man parts because I am a crazy limbs-flung-out-to the-edges-of-the-universe sleeper. Also, because I sleep best while imitating a starfish, I don't sleep well in the full sized bed - there's just not enough room. Fourth, when we have babies I want to cuddle them on Sunday Mornings just like I did with my parents when I was little, and they won't even be able to get up INTO the full sized bed, let alone fit in there with us.

And last, but not least, I finally admitted something we'd both been thinking for a long time. The mattress we specially purchased for our full-sized bed is just too soft. It's too soft for both of us. As comfortable and nice as it is when you first climb into bed and lay down, actually sleeping on it gave us both neck cricks and unsound nights of sleep. It wasn't terrible - it was better than our previous antique mattress... but it wasn't right for us. We both needed something firmer.

After a little mental thrashing, Greg came around to the idea and then threw himself into it and fully committed. So we headed out, on Saturday morning, to a furniture store.

And we bought a mattress. It was maybe the third king sized mattress/box spring that we tried out. They were liquidating their inventory because they were moving to a different location, so we were laying down on mattresses in a room full of plastic covered mattresses that were discounted 50-80%. The third one we tried, we laid down just relaxed. Greg made me get up and try a few more (always the voice of reason)... but I was sold already. As it turns out I have great taste because the one I fell in love with was solid Latex. It doesn't have to be rotated, it doesn't age the same way a normal mattress does, it came with a low-profile split box spring, it is GREAT for allergy sufferers because it doesn't host dust mites etc., and it was going for less than what we paid for our full sized mattress.

Greg picked it up on Sunday after renting a truck from Lowe's (delivery was NOT included), and a friend came over and we got it up the stairs and into our bedroom. It was quite the process and we were finally reminded of why we hadn't seriously considered a King sized bed --- because it SHOULDN'T HAVE FIT. But because we bought a Latex mattress we could fold it and bend it and roll it together and squeeze it on up the stairs. It didn't take that long, but it took a lot of sweaty effort.

And now, we have a king sized bed. We've stored our former frame in our closet, which works fairly well. And we've taken the full sized mattress and box spring to our dining room in hopes that we can figure out what to do with it without getting rid of it.

We have a King Sized Bed.

Saturday night we saw a Pittsburgh Pirate's game for fun, and on Sunday we did a bunch of stuff around the house and took Dexter to the dog park again. Monday we did some clothes shopping and had lunch at a place where you can get all-you-can-eat Alaskan King Crab legs for $24, and we took Dexter to a town pool where you could pay $2 to go in with your dog for one hour after they had closed the pool for the season for everyone else. The moral of the story there is that Dexter DOES NOT ENJOY WATER.

When we got home we settled down for dinner and some crafting and some kitten-holding... and at around 10:00 p.m., I finally focused on the fact that now I actually had to pack up the rainbow skirt to send to the young lady in Seattle. Because she bought it. And paid for it.

And then I started to understand, emotionally, what was happening.

I got this bed for this skirt with enough money left over for season four of Friends which seems very much worth it.

There was no way in the world that I was going to back out of sending it, but I would be lying if I told you I wasn't heartbroken.

Because I was heartbroken.

There were some very quiet tears that I think almost escaped Greg's notice. There was some very quiet mourning for what I was giving up - for the effort I had put into that. There was sadness for how much I loved... Love that skirt, and how very pretty it actually is. There was appreciation for how much it really does reflect ME - There are Strawberry Shortcake fabrics and butterfly fabrics and button fabrics and swirly fabrics and every kind of fabric that I could possibly love. I touched every square inch on that skirt, I stitched every stitch.

I cried.

And then I put it in a box, and wrapped it in rainbow and iridescent tissue paper.

I put a note in with it and I taped it up.

I drew all over the box and made it beautiful - no where near as beautiful as what was inside, but good enough.

And I set it in the hallway, out of sight.

And I couldn't relax for a long time.

I crafted and sewed... and Greg knew something was wrong, but I couldn't talk about it. I just needed time. So the poor man stayed up late with me. And then forgot to set his alarm. And we woke up at 8:00 a.m. when my inner alarm clock said "WARNING". FYI, Greg is supposed to be AT work at 8:00 a.m.

So he scrambled out the door, package in hand so that he can mail it at the post office today.

And it's done.

I feel a little empty, and I feel a little proud.

This has been a very strange weekend.

It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see.

2009-08-28T06:40:00.000-07:00

Daydreaming is a problem for me. In addition to my bizarrely fantastic nighttime dreams, I also have the ability to have intense daydreams. I think it might be a side effect of how my brain never stops. My husband has come to realize that when I'm staring off into the distance, I'm not taking a break from thinking, I'm probably thinking 18 million things at once, and if you ask what I was thinking in that 30 seconds, it'll take me 30 minutes to explain it all to you.

I do a lot of stupid things to encourage said day dreaming.

I've shared our realistic near-future plans with all of you: rennovation, family, staying in our house because we've already bought it and although it's small, it's a very low mortgage payment.

The Job market is bad, so we can keep our jobs if we stay here a while longer.

The housing market is bad, so we don't have to try to sell the house if we stay here a while longer.

And so forth, and so on.

And after obsessing about all of those details for a couple of weeks, my brain finally relaxed because I had reached the logical conclusion that sticking it out for a while longer can mean a more comfortable transition later, during a better time for the country, with possibly more money saved than there would be otherwise. And for a minute there, I thought "that's that!", and dusted off my mental hands and thought I'd get to work on something else like - what's next for rennovation? How are we going to decorate the office? And how next can I keep myself from spending money in a craft store?

But no.

I have a weekly obsession with checking certain housing websites - coldwellbanker.com, oldhouses.com, trulia.com, etc. I check them just to check. I check to see if there are any gorgeous victorians with turrets and porches and slate roofs etc., that have just gone on the market or have slipped past me before that are in our price range and in a good area for us to move to in the future.

Up until this point I honestly have had no luck. Oh I've found GORGEOUS victorians for sale - Even breathtaking ones that are in our price range. But they're usually located in Minnesota, or Wyoming, Or North Carolina. If they're in Pennsylvania or New York, they're even farther away from our families than we already are in Pittsburgh, and also consequently in an area with no jobs.

I found an amazing 5 bedroom victorian with everything we wanted AND a carriage house for $130,000 in an area that has an extremely high unemployment rate and they just shut down their fire department because of budget cuts and problems.

Suffice to say, these finds have always been plenty to fire up my imagination and even trigger dreams of living in those beauties with my husband, my future three beautiful genius children and our doofy newfoundland, but they've never been good enough to inspire anything more than an afternoon of sighing.

Yesterday I found the motherload. The Motherload is still not perfect. The motherload is listed about $100,000 out of our price range. But this Lady has a slate roof, several porches, two turrets, a big backyard, a driveway, a new waterheater, a dry basement, A/C, a jacuzzi, a steam shower, 5 bedrooms and original tiffany windows. To add to the mystique, they mention in the description that it is also where John Luther Long penned the short story that lead to the Libretto - Madame Butterfly. She's 20 minutes outside of Philadelphia, almost immediately between our two families. She's 5 minutes from a beautiful dog park and 5 minutes from the local high school. Crime's low and the next door neighbor has a pool.

Ever since I found her I've been swept into gut twisting highs of the most amazing stomach butterflies as I imagine the very real possibility of living in a beautiful place steeped in history with plenty of space for our new family and much closer to our parents. Near to a city that actually does have a lot of opportunities for Greg. She almost looks like the house in Spiderwick.

She's amazing. I'm in love.

And now I've infected Greg. Apparently that's what he was doing this morning - checking zillow and trulia and coldwellbanker for more drips of information about this house. This house that will probably never be ours. This house that is ever so slightly and yet so far out of our price range. This house that makes no sense to get nutty about because WE HAVE A PLAN.

We have a plan.

And then the day dream twists into somehow getting in touch with the people who own the house (who've apparently owned it since 1988), and having a heartfelt conversation with them. Telling them that we would love and cherish this place, we would give her all the love and work she needs to keep her beautiful. We would have our family there and fill her walls with love and precious memories. And they would cry and say that's all they wanted!! And they would say, we can wait! We can wait for you! And they would take the house off the market, and in another year when we were ready, we buy the house for a reduced price and it would be like a dream...

When will I stop torturing myself?

I shall name him Moe.

2009-08-27T07:16:00.001-07:00

I'm sick. It started Saturday, and it was so bad that my boss ordered me to stay home Monday and Tuesday.

In lieu of not having much to say at the moment, other than to make that disgusting sucky mucus sound through my nose, I'm going to distract you with something shiny:

www.woot.com

Often I am behind the times when it comes to finding new and awesome websites and being dully amazed by them. Yesterday, a friend of mine sent me a link to this site with a note that they were having a sale on Roombas. As you may know, a Roomba is an automatic vacuume cleaner robot that docks itself to recharge, navigates itself around your floor, and vacuumes it's little heart out all the time.

I've been drooling over Roombas for a long time, but have never been able to justify a $200-$300 price tag which has left me Roomba-less... Until yesterday when woot.com had a one day sale on Roombas for about $130.

With three cats, a dog, and foster kittens, I think $130 is downright affordable for an automatic vacuume. We ordered one immediately.

Apparently this Woot site has ONE item for sale every day at a discount. Yesterday was Roombas, Today is a Sansa Fuze 4GB Media Player for $32.99. I think that's a pretty good idea for a Christmas Present at a pretty decent price. So go! Enjoy yourself! Woot it up! I hope you find something for cheap that You need!!

FYI: Raja and Abu

2009-08-20T06:03:00.000-07:00

Last night I was having a civilized conversation with my husband when I'm sure he said something fascinating and thought provoking so I paused just for a moment in my bedroom doorway.

And then I promptly crumpled to the ground shocked and eventually a weeping mass of pathetic after the door that I'd swung towards closing, closed on my fingers.

At first I was in awe at how much pain my ring finger was experiencing. Then I was in shock at how it didn't go away. Then I started crying because the pain sensation desperately needed to be acknowledged. My ring fingernail has a faint tinge of blue and I still can't really feel the tip of it. Several fingers are stolidly unhappy, but I am thrilled my finger didn't swell up to the size of a hot dog and then need to be punctured through the nail with a hot needle like in one episode of Deadliest Catch.

I go through life with a lot of pain - I experience it everyday, mainly due to my feet/ankles/legs/sciatica. I thought I was good at pain. I can handle the pain.

I knooooow childbirth is unlike anything ever before and no one can truly be prepared.

But seriously, if I fall to the ground sobbing because of one smashed finger....

I'm doomed.

What are the names of the cucumber and tomatoe in veggie tales?

2009-08-18T10:39:00.000-07:00

I'm not carrying an umbrella in hopes that this will cause thunderstorms to occur.

As demonstrated in the previous post's photo, we are currently fostering kittens. Two, twelve-week old, male kittens to be exact. We are keeping them in a 4 foot high metal pen, with a quilt on one side to keep the air conditioning from blowing directly on them, and a fitted sheet draped over the top in hopes of keeping the little acrobats inside the pen.

Our cats waffle between outrage and indifference in regards to these alien creatures. Dexter has taken to constantly checking on them. If they're making noise, he runs over to check on them. If they're rough housing, he paces, worried, in front of the pen. If they're out of the pen and cuddling with us, he sniffs each of them every few minutes as though worried they'll disappear. He also licks their ears occasionally. One of them grabbed his nose with extended razor-like claws, and he barely reacted - so I'm encouraged when comparing this behavior to his eventual behavior around a baby.

By the way, we're allowed to name the brother kittens, and we're coming up short. Any suggestions are welcome. We've considered "Fred and George Weasley", "Meri and Pippin", "Pinky and The Brain", and a few others. Nothing has stuck yet.

The Kittens have also inspired a new fashion accessory that I think everyone would benefit from. Kitten Ear Muffs.

Think about it. They're soft, warm, and they purr. You'd never need an ipod, and everyone would comment on how cute your ear muffs are! The compliments would be never ending!

They go back to the shelter on Friday for their shots, and then I think we keep them for another week or so and then they go up for adoption.

Actually getting them was a bit of a trip, literally and figuratively.

Greg and I had resolved to try to foster about a month ago. We would go to a wedding, go to the beach, pick up a metal pen that my mom doesn't use anymore, go home, get kittens from an ohio shelter that we love, care for them, and see how the experience goes. After getting the kittens we would start a strict diet so that I can become healthier before putting my body through pregnancy. The kittens would assist the diet because everytime I have a craving for something at home, I could just pick up a kitten.

The plan was almost completely ruined.

We got home from vacation on Wednesday, metal pen in hand. We set up a piece of vinyl flooring that Greg's parents gifted us when it was left over from their kitchen remodel. We put the Metal pen over the vinyl flooring. We bought two tiny litter boxes. We got out little ceramic food and water dishes. We got out the cat bed that the cats never use.

We were setting out on our journey to pick up kittens to foster on Saturday morning when we realized we did not have an exact address for the shelter to input into our GPS.

Greg pulled out his cell phone to call.

Greg: Hi - I was wondering if I could get your address?
Shelter: Oh Sure! Actually, I could give you directions. Where are you coming from?
Greg: Pittsburgh.
Shelter: Oh.... Pittsburgh?
Greg: Yea, so we'll be on the Turnpike.
Shelter: Are you coming in to adopt a cat or a dog or something?
Greg: Actually, we're interested in fostering kittens.
Shelter: Oh. You're really too far. Pittsburgh is too far. That's not feasible. You'd have to make many trips back. Pittsburgh won't work. Our foster program is full anyway. You're too far if you're coming from Pittsburgh.
Greg: ... oh...
Shelter: Yes. Pittsburgh is just too far, so it just won't work. It's not feasible.
Greg: uh... okay.
Shelter: Bye!
Greg: ...

We pulled over on the side of the road and sat in silence, staring ahead.

It sounds ridiculous now, but we were both crushed. We just didn't understand. It did not compute. We had sat down with a shelter worker when we were there before and discussed it and they were practically begging us to take home kittens then - even whilst knowing we were from Pittsburgh.

For goodness sakes, we called for their address and they wouldn't even give it to us!

I think what hurt most is that we were so caught off guard. Every previous interaction with this shelter had been so good - they were so welcoming and so kind. Their facility was clean and their volunteers were enthusiastic. There was none of the snootiness that we had encountered at some other rescues and shelters.

We were there, we wanted to help and previously, they'd been grateful.

After 15 minutes of silence we started talking quietly, and with a surge of sheer willpower I forced myself to pick up the phone and call again:

Megan: Hi, I'd like to speak with someone about Fostering Kittens?
Shelter: One moment...
Kitten Person: Hello, how can I help you?
Megan: Hi, My husband and I have been to your facility several times. We loved it every time we've been. Although we adopted our dog elsewhere, we were interested in helping your shelter by fostering kittens. When we were there last, we sat down with someone and we were practically pre-approved to taken home kittens right then and there. Unfortunately we were unable to foster until now. This morning, my husband called to get your address and the person whom he spoke with told him that the foster program was full, and Pittsburgh was too far anyway. We were incredibly discouraged, and I'm not sure what to do at this point.
Kitten Person: I understand why you'd be discouraged. I'm so sorry. I don't know who you spoke with, but my foster program is never full. I was actually the person you spoke with the last time you were here and I remember you. We would love to have you foster. I have kittens that need to go home with someone as soon as possible, so you'd be welcome to come in today or tomorrow. And here is our address ___.
Megan: That's a big relief. We set up for fostering and everything at home. We realize Pittsburgh is fairly far from your facility...
Kitten Person: Look... If you are willing to make the drive, then who am I to tell you what you can do?
Megan: Thank you so much. We'll be there in an hour.

I can't describe the slow drain of tension from my body as we drove to Ohio. It took me a full hour to relax.

When we got there, the Shelter Manager came in to personally apologize to us about what was said. She said that volunteers answer the phone and sometimes they don't have the right information. It was very reassuring, and helped us to get back to being a little more excited to foster.

It went smoothly from there and in less than half an hour we were headed back out the door with a crate full of kitten.

Now, the boys need a name, so speak up if you have suggestions!

Mrow?

2009-08-17T06:46:00.000-07:00

we're fostering kittens. :)

I can't stop.

2009-08-06T11:05:00.000-07:00

I have a serious confession:

I can't be trusted to employ a reasonable rate of intake of tic tacs.

ALSO: Greg would like to thank those who responded to the query about craftroom vs. front office for quashing my premature hysteria. It gave him the strength to take the measuring tape away from me and tell me I should go do something else other than measure invisible cribs and obsess about whether or not 17 inch wide dressers actually exist.

Lastly - A Recession tip. I'm pretty good at the money thing, but my moments of weakness and my forays off the budgeted path exist because I have the wrong mindset about certain things. Shouldn't you eat special food to celebrate? Doesn't shopping at the mall/ikea/joann's fulfill the need to get out of the house and go DO something?

I am proud to say that for the last 2 weeks, Greg and I have been indulging in a completely FREE activity, courtesy of Dexter.

We have been going to REAL dog parks.

It turns out that there are a couple of completely fenced in dog parks in our area. Unfortunately, one of them is half an hour away - and it seems to be the nicest (so far). He loves other dogs. He loves running. He plays nice - no biting, no growling. And I'd say he has an 80% success rate of coming whenever called. We LOVE it. It is free. It is outdoors. It is free!

Then afterwards, yesterday, we stopped by Brusters Ice Cream and inquired about something I'd overheard - and YES they DO have ice cream for dogs. It's a tiny little scoop of vanilla with a dog treat on it - and again, IT IS FREE!

SO COOL.

I'm obsessed. We're probably headed there AGAIN tonight, despite the fact that we're driving 7 hours to nj for a wedding tomorrow, and then to cape may, for vacation AND WE'RE NOT YET PACKED.

woo hoo to living on the edge.

Jeopardy Theme

2009-08-04T12:05:00.000-07:00

Okay, I promise that I will post craftiness soon.

I have other things to discuss.

Important things.

Let me preface this conversation with the following: I am terrified of being infertile. I am excited that Greg and I have a long-discussed plan of action in terms of a timeline for starting our family - but I am terrified something will be wrong with me and it won't happen. I'm sure this is a normal concern - but I'm also scared that even DISCUSSING what I'm about to discuss some how jinxes me. So pardon me while I knock on wood. I want you to mentally insert "If we are lucky enough to conceive a baby" and "if we are fortunate enough to start a family when we desire to do so" before each and every sentence. It'll save me a significant amount of typing.

Here goes.

We've had several life plans. First it was - Greg was going to finish his PhD, then we move closer to family, then we start a family. Then it was, Greg was going to work for a few years, we would make the house sell-able, sell the house, move closer to family, then start a family. Then the job market plummeted so the plan changed. Greg would maintain his stable good job with insurance, I would maintain my stable job with my insurance, we make our house sell-able, sell our house, buy ANOTHER slightly larger house in Pittsburgh, start phase one of the family (baby numero uno), and then we would move closer to family.

Then we realized that there are numerous, affordable, large houses in pittsburgh all over the city and the prospect of moving to another place that would NOT be our forever home was daunting and stressful.

Then we realized that we could stay in our current home.

I mean - yea, sure, it's kind of a two bedroom house and one of the bedrooms is ours and one of the bedrooms is my craftroom...

And we have it set up just so with a lot of stuff already, and don't babies have a lot of stuff?

...

But we do have another room in the house. It's our "front office". It's big enough for a little walking space and a queen sized air mattress. It had a rickety shaking ceiling fan. We haven't finished the electric work for it. It has old-school flooring, and a bay window. It doesn't have a direct heating source - and it has a door we got basically from a thrift store that has a window in it, but it was too big so Greg had to cut it down on one side and now the window is off-center.

So... As I see it, we have one of two options now that we've resolved to stay in this house to start phase 1: FAMILY, and stay here till the job market bounces back.

1) We could put the Crib, Changing table, two 17 inch dressers on either side of the crib, and possibly a glider rocker in the small front office, making it a very cozy nursery.

or

2) We could move my entire craftroom (or make our best effort to do so) into the "front office" and have a much roomier nursery.

This all becomes moot if something catastrophic ( like twins !) happens.

I don't know why this issue (out of the many issues potentially associated with bringing a human being into the world) is something I obsess about.

So, what do you think?

Nursery Vs. Craftroom: Should I relocate the craftroom in favor of a roomier nursery in a million years when we have a baby?

Answer A:

NEVER! Long Live the Craft room!! Babies are Teeny! (S)He'll be fine!

Answer B:

Don't be selfish - Of course you should move your stuff.

This is a BABY we're talking about!

A Banner Day... er... Week... er... Month...

2009-07-30T06:41:00.000-07:00

This:

Is a Banner.

I loved making this banner. Although Greg was kind enough to cut the flags and the felt letters, I loved the blanket stitching, the machine stitching, cutting the snow flake. I love the fabric.

It was a lot of fun to make.

(If I'm totally honest, it's not finished yet. I pinned it to the binding and haven't yet sewn a line down the binding to anchor it so it's still dangerously pin-filled)

It fits perfectly in my craft room - but why should my craft room be the only room to have a holiday banner?

What about the living room and the dining room?

What about other holidays!

WAIT!

This is the PERFECT handmade decoration. You get it out for the holiday, it will last years, you can hand wash it, because it lasts so long it is environmentally friendly, and its a decoration that can be passed through family! Even to children!

COOL!

That was the thinking that lead me to cut out 8 billion letters and to be working on banners for the rememberable past.

I've done Happy Fourth of July, Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy St. Patrick's Day, Happy Valentine's Day, Happy Easter, and 2 sets of double sided Happy Birthday. I haven't mentioned Happy Halloween, because I did one... and then I found better fabric, so I did another... And then I figured out I had sparkly black felt for letters, so I cut out another 2 sets, but I couldn't waste the first set. And then I had just enough fabric for ANOTHER banner...

So All in all, I will have done 6 Happy Halloween banners.

Some are Glittery, some are glow in the dark, some are classic purple and orange and neon green.

Now. I know I haven't photographed any of this process yet. I also haven't photographed the leather bottomed booties I whipped up the other day, or the 6 other pairs of baby booties I finished a while ago. So, my friends... What's wrong with you?

You're supposed to nag me for craftiness and photos of said craftiness so that I can prove I'm staying crafty. You can't just trust that I'll eventually get around to it. I'm not trustworthy!

Where's the tough love? WHERE'S THE FIRE!?

Teeny Tiny Stitches

2009-07-23T07:36:00.001-07:00

Have you ever had a moment where you realize what you should really be doing with your life?

Let me first state that I find it utterly depressing that the majority of my conscience thinks I'm set. That this is the path I ought to take and anything off of it is beyond me now. I'm only 25 years old.

I want to be a stay-at-home mom. I'm probably going to cackle at the mere notion of those words in about 5 years - but that's what I think I want to do. Greg and I have a plan and it's going to go into action in a mere few months. Scary.

But that's not what I'm going to do with my life. I mean. I had the thought the other day that even if I'm a stay at home mom - it's only going to be that way for 20 years or so. Then what? I'm particularly talented at sitting on the couch and doing endless crafts - tentacle cupcakes, tiny christmas decorations, baby booties, holiday banners, etc... But what's my purpose?

Am I really saying to myself that my only purpose is to birth and guide my children?

I don't consider myself all that feminist. And I don't mean that question to come across as that wouldn't be a worthy purpose. I just felt an overwhelming void - as though when my 20 years of mothering is up, I'm going to be useless.

I don't want to be useless.

All through high school I loved art. I loved music - singing in particular. Love for piano didn't really kick in until right before college and then I was in college and barely played for years. I still barely play. But I was never a prodigy in any of those areas. I was talented - but only enough to get me into college.

Unfortunately, my freshman year I served as a TA for sculpture and the Professor I was working for was a misogynistic jerk. I found him mean spirited and snotty. I worked for a print making studio for a couple years - but THAT professor turned out to be slimily self-serving. I didn't even realize I'd been taken advantage of until my senior year when I wanted to take a REAL Independent Study with a REAL painter and then I found out I used up the only 2 I was allowed to take for "Drawing" when really I spent my time calling museums to find out if they'd put this guy's work up.

I wanted to do a double honors thesis in Music and art -but they wouldn't let me. So I satisfied myself by doing an Honors Studio art thesis. I cast all of my women friends -

And I cast myself many times. I'm not going to lie, there were awkward moments. How can there not be when the process is basically - I'm going to cover you with vasoline, and then lay plaster all over your boobs.

I was proud of that wall of bodies, and the paintings I did:

But I never deluded myself ONCE by thinking "Man, I can't wait to make a living by making art".

There was one moment, senior year, whilst fulfilling a requirement to graduate that I realized I would have loved studying to be a Cultural Anthropologist. I would have loved it. I ate up that class. I read everything she handed us and couldn't stop talking about it. But I was a senior in college. It was second semester. The inertia of my Art and Music majoring wasn't about to cease.

When we moved to Pittsburgh it took me a couple of months to find a job. It's an ordinary cubicle job. I've been given about 3 tons more work and responsibilities than I was hired for including all of the job responsibilities of someone who was "relocated". It's work. I get paid. That's all it is for me.

When I go home, I can craft. But often my crafting is with little purpose. And often, afterwards, I'm left with the notion of "I like this. But it's going to take up space. Where do I put it?"

Last night Greg and I were watching Coraline's special features and there was segment after segment about these people working on these teensy tiny little costumes for the dolls, or the animators taking 5 months to shoot a 14 second scene... And then there was one vignette about a woman who took 66 days to shoot a dreamy mouse sequence where these fluttering winding mice appear and disappear.

She hand animated all of it. She took one photo at a time after hand manipulating every little wire.

Greg had a normal-people reaction basically expressing how absolutely insane the notion of that is. He was awed, but in a "I would die if I did that" sort of way.

Simultaneously, I felt a pull behind my navel and a yearning burning desire. That is just about the coolest thing EVER. I think I'm in love. I think I know what I want to be when I grow up. How the HELL do you get into that?!?!?

Then I examined my reaction.

Would I really like doing that? Um... Hells to the yes. I obsess over the details all the time. I don't mind spending months and months obsessively working on the same mind twisting hateable loveable project.

I site this:

I love the teeny tiny details. I site the baby booties:

I could do that.

I could be an animator.
Or a costume designer/maker.

Something engrossing for a larger project. Working with a team of eccentric people who are like minded.

I bet they'd even let me wear my lacy skirts to work.

My heart aches.

Maybe this is a phase. Maybe not.

How is it possible to feel such uplifting hope and exhilaration while simultaneously feeling utter hopelessness.

I'm 25. I knew that stop animation was out there, but I didn't really understand till now. How do I do that?

FAIL

2009-07-22T09:35:00.001-07:00

So last night, I was well and truly heartbroken.

Some of you may recall the first kitten that Greg and I saved from the freezing cold outside. She was living in a rusted pipe at the side of our house. She cried at night, and when we finally got her indoors, her little toes were bleeding and raw. We were gentle with her, we gave her a bath and clipped her nails. We held her and talked to her. She was definitely fearful and timid, but was small and sweet - she never tried to hurt us.

It made me incredibly anxious to consider finding a home for her - but find a home we did, and almost immediately too. Greg's coworker was thinking of getting a kitten - what better opportunity would there be?

He showed up with a plastic box to collect her and we gave him our blessing. He agreed to take her to the Vet and, when the time came, to have her spayed.

Except he didn't have her spayed.

Whenever Greg inquired, he claimed he was going to and he had an appointment. This went on for months.

And then one day, Greg came home and told me a story. His coworker had decided it would be a good idea to train this previously feral cat to not go outdoors by leaving his apartment window open during a rainstorm - because obviously she wouldn't go outside during a rainstorm - and then he left the room. He even had the temerity to act surprised when he found she'd gone.

Suffice to say that I was pissed, and suprised - how could anyone be so naive or stupid?

The antics to get her back were equally idiotic - he left food at the window to entice her back. But he left the window closed.

When questioned why he left the window closed, he said he didn't want to leave it open while he was gone.

Yea.

Well, suffice to say she came back, seemingly no worse for the wear, and that was that. I thought.

Yesterday, Greg and I ventured out to pick up the "Collector's Edition" of Coraline (awesome!), and I was in fairly high spirits. I even snuck in a reason to stop at petco and admire the kittens. While we were watching their antics - Greg says, "So Ralph showed me photos."

"huh?" The kittens were attacking each others tails in one big furry adorable fight.

"He showed me pictures of Moggie's kittens."

I stopped and looked at him.

That was the beginning of a meltdown on my part.

Greg had known for weeks and hadn't told me - which damaged our trust. He knew I'd be upset. What I think he didn't know was that I blame myself.

You know, I was trying to do something good. Taking the kitten out of the pipe, cleaning her up, putting her in a home. Preventing an increase in the stray population.

9.6 million animals are put to sleep every year in the U.S.

64% of all animals that go to shelters are euthanized.

71% of those are cats.

I thought I was helping to do my part. I adopted three. I took two off the street and found them homes. Homes with people who promised to spay and neuter.

And my trust was violated.

I didn't help. I hurt.

I contributed to 6 more kittens in this overcrowed world.

You may think I'm being ridiculous - there are a lot of serious issues out there. This just happens to be one that really strikes my inner core. This one really stirs me.

I cried for most of last night. My eyelids are still puffy and I still have a headache more than 12 hours later. Even if he finds homes for these 6 new kittens, they will take the place of what could have been homes for 6 cats or kittens who were already in need BEFORE he decided to let Moggie out on whim.

I'm furious, and I let him know it in a particularly scathing email.

I'm also in the hole. I've adopted three... saved 2 from the street... and added 6 to the world in my stupidity.

I'm really having a rough time with this. I feel like an utter failure.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

2009-07-16T05:41:00.000-07:00

Do you know who has a strong, loud front-door knocking ability?

The police.

Last night I woke up in a haze to a barrage of knocking on our front door. I did what anyone would do and I poked Greg awake and hissed at him that "Someone's at the door".

Greg stumbled out of the bedroom, and then back into the bedroom (to put on pants) and then back out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

I heard him press the high pitched alarm buttons to turn it off, and then it occurred to me...

Who the hell knocks on your door at 3:57 a.m.?

Serial Killers. Rapists. People hopped up on red bull. That's who.

My extremely active imagination leapt forward with ample fuel, for the following minute and a half, of extremely bloody and violent scenarios whilst simultaneously allowing me to wonder what I would use as a weapon. Our new alarm clock? A light fixture?

I'm pretty sure there were footsteps in the house during this time, but I was too busy watching my overly trusting husband open the front door to some psycho in my mind's eye.

Then I heard the real front door close, and I heard the alarm being activated again, and I heard someone trudging up the stairs.

I was pretty sure a stranger wouldn't have set the alarm again so I felt relatively safe, and when Greg walked into the bedroom I said,

"What the hell was that?"

And he hesitated, and said "Everything's fine... But that was the police."

"The police?"

"Yea.. I must have left the basement door unlocked when I was working on the garden this evening, and sometime after I set the alarm tonight something opened the basement door so the alarm went off and 911 was called. They sent the police over, and that was them. They wanted to check the basement."

"Oh."

"But everything's fine..."

right.

never a dull moment.

Tentacles and Cupcakes

2009-07-09T07:13:00.000-07:00

And now that I've finally gotten the bedroom post out of the way, I can finally share a few of the crafts I've been working on lately. Here's one:

Aren't they cute?

Crafty Intentions

Happy Halloween!

No I haven't disappeared.

Drastic

Official.

EXPLOSION.

Seuss.

Seriously?

Wait.... I'm still married?

Merry Christmas :)

Once a month.

Teddy Bear

And then there was one....

Brendan --- if you're reading this, STOP

Some thoughts:

A Craft...

August 13. 3:28 p.m. 8 pounds 7 ounces. 20.5 inches.

At least that makes one of us

Anybody else's partner act like this?

I am not writing because I fold under pressure.

That which they do not tell you.

Waiting for the World to Change

Doula

Photo Update:

Send in the clowns

Peaches and Cream and Alzheimers

Over the Hump.

Establishing A Pattern

Genital Diabetes

Life.

To Retro or Not to Retro.

you're a shining star!

This is a Prize Puzzle

Incoming Collect call from: "Weehadabebe

Baby booties are taking over my life.

Somebody Restrain that Woman!!!!

I feel like:

The Crazy...

France probably has government mandated Paternity Leave too.

Better Spirits

The Olympics are Killing Me

A B AB...

I will not eat Green Eggs and Ham

A Fragile State

I even pressed play on Itunes! Oh Michael, I do miss you.

Blizzards and Uselessness

How can I love another man?

Pneumonia

In case you were wondering...

It's all been done before...

My <3 belongs to Eureka

Mish Mash

Everybody In Unison: "Awwwww"

g-r-o-s-s

Also - My husband tells me my belief that "The more fabric softener sheets you add to the dryer, the Better!" is disappointingly false.

Day 2:

you've been hit by... you've been struck by...

These are not the Droids you're looking for...

A few wittle booties for your consideration

M... Mrs...Jo.... You there!

A Good Weekend

"The Scholarship for People Who Want to Move to their Dream Home"

Let our Powers Combine: Earth! Fire! Wind! Water! Heart(h)!!

I'm wearing Glow-in-the-dark Underwear.

Photos and Thanks

And also Booby traps. And a moat.

If I had a Rabbit it would be named Mrs. Babbity Wabbity

Shows to Go you

Doodles and Drool

Reflective

The Unexpected

It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see.

I shall name him Moe.

FYI: Raja and Abu

What are the names of the cucumber and tomatoe in veggie tales?

Mrow?

I can't stop.

*Jeopardy Theme*

A Banner Day... er... Week... er... Month...

Teeny Tiny Stitches

Jeopardy Theme