Quarter of a Century ago (warning, boring birth story coming)

This little boy was born. It was a chilly morning at the end of November. We had been doing a lot of walking, because that's what pregnant women like to do along with eating super spicy pizza, in the hopes that one of those old wives tales will actually work for them and get this whole whale episode of life over. Most women, after being pregnant for 9 months or more are REALLY ready to deal with labor, just for the ability to put those baby pounds down in an infant seat for an hour or so. I can't recall anyone that I knew wishing they could stay pregnant "just a little longer".

Anyway, I felt some contractions around noon, but didn't think much of it. They became regular around 6-8 pm and we alerted my sister, who was going to lend some support to this whole process, but we stayed home. And DH went to sleep. I still marvel at that. There was no sleep for me, however, and I just sat there all night timing those crazy sqeezy things happening to me. It took FOREVER for them to get closer than 5 minutes apart.

Went to the hospital finally around 5:30 am, after asking DH to please wake up. Nurse's name was Mony. ("Moan-y") She had a cohort, but all I can remember is that we called her Groan-y. I'm sure she had another name, but I sure don't remember it. We had our sack of important things, and we pulled the backgammon game out to pass some time. Moany and Groany decided that if I was comfortable enough to play backgammon, I was too comfortable to be there. OK - so I'm supposed to make noise or cry, or MOAN and GROAN??? (ha ha...) We were suitably chastised and put the damn game away. One or both of them attached the monitor and decided that I wasn't kidding about having contractions, so they let me stay. Back then, it was the thing to have "natural" childbirth - no drugs, no epidural, just really good lamaze techniques. So I focused on something, did my breathing, whatever and finally decided I would really appreciate one of those pain shots they'd offered me 20 times and my DH had politely and then not-so-politely refused. (at my request made when I was several days or maybe weeks pre-labor, so should never have been listened to, I should add...). Turns out they decided it was too close to delivery now, so no, you can't have anything anymore. What kind of logic is that? Am I going to pass it to my baby MORE right before I give birth than I would have a couple of hours prior?
So, after some pleading on my part, I got "1/2 a shot". Honey, a shot is a shot. But the 1/2 part is probably to be believed, because there was absolutely NO RELIEF from the damn thing. Really totally not worth the pain of the shot.

At 12:35 pm, our firstborn, M, joined the world. Bullet headed, but still obviously the most beautiful baby ever born. We got lucky and got the "family birthing center" so that all of us could stay together all night. (I really loved that part.) And the next day, we all went home. Again, back in the day of 24 hour stays. I liked that part too, I may be a nurse, but I truly hate hospitals and will always opt to go home early. I am a really crappy patient. Because I know best and I know that I know best. I'm quite sure it's mutual - they're pretty happy to see me gone, too.

Thus starts the next 25 years of joy, wonder, and a whole lot more than a few challenging times. But that's another post.

Happy Birthday, M. We love you. Posted by Picasa


Baby Fix

We spent a beautiful week with family in sunny Arizona. With an 8 week old and an 8 month old, even little K got her baby fix.

...and she LOVES babies.

There is so much to be thankful for this year.

My sisters and I have all had an addition to the family in one way or another. Yay for 2005.

Happy Thanksgiving Posted by Picasa


I'm Just Wild About Harry

I am on disc 16 of 17 of the latest HP audio book. Yes, I've already read the book, but this guy reading it - he's incredible! Jim Dale has won a well earned Grammy for his work on this series. They're an enjoyable commute pasttime book after book. Every time a disc ends I groan. I mean, a loud "aaaawwww" (as in "aw shucks" y'know), whether there's someone to hear me or not. I just don't want it to be over because that means I'm one disc closer to being finished. Most books, this is a good thing - it means we're at the exciting part and soon to move on to something else. For some reason, I have a really hard time letting go of Harry. But very soon I will be done with this book. again.

The good news? The #4 movie (Goblet of Fire) opens on Friday! And since #4 is my favorite year/book so far, I am appropriately jazzed. Who knew I'd be a such an ardent fan of a "children's" series at my age? I realize 7 is a LOT of books to write, especially with lengths of 700 pages, but jeez - do you think we can convince Ms. Rowling to just keep on going?


Red paint dots

We all got "pictures" with globs of red acrylic paint on white paper on our nightstands yesterday. It was very sweet - she didn't announce it or anything. The pictures were just there. It wasn't a problem except for Mr. Teen's, whose picture dripped on other papers and the white rug. He has a bit of a pink spot there now. Wish I knew how she found that paint...

btw, regarding last post, big sis has one word for me. Hormones.

jeeez, I wish.


Sweet and Sour

Maybe it's timing, maybe it's my age, but I am a GRUMP today (and yesterday, too. and maybe even the day before that...). Thank heavens there are sweet things in my life (see most recent post from dear, darling, thoughtful, thankgodforjustabouteverythingexceptthatyearshewas15, daughter) because otherwise I'd rival Maxine for attitude.

Yesterday was an election day. My DH and I actually do NOT speak of whether or not we voted. It is the biggest secret ever - why? BECAUSE WE WANT THE OTHER ONE TO FORGET!! If we both vote, we pretty much always cancel each others' votes out. So it's 7 pm-ish when I vote, polls close at 8. I sign in and think "Yay - he hasn't signed yet, so he's probably forgotten". I do this sneakily when I know he's busily occupied elsewhere. There is no, "Bye, honey, I'm going to go vote." in this house.

Feeling smart and maybe even a little cocky, I exercise my right to tell our guv where to shove...well that's another story, or rhyme, maybe. Maybe even a country song... Anyway, I stick that little ballot into this tricky little machine that looks a hell of a lot like a scanner to me and beat it out of there like a bat out of hell. No thank you, I do NOT want a sticker saying "I voted" because that just might REMIND a certain someone that it is an election day and I. DO. NOT. WANT. TO. DO. THAT.

Later that evening, we've picked up a couple of pizzas to share at K's hockey playoffs and are lamenting the lack of parking places at the community center parking lot because, Hello, this is a polling place!, and I asked if he voted (knowing there is NO way on this earth he'll miss the hockey game to go run off and vote). But the answer is Yes. AAAAARRRGH! And I was SO CAREFUL! I told him I did, too. But he already knew, because of course, he has to sign in right below me.... I knew I should have kept my maiden name.

So we cancelled each others' votes out again. But the beauty is our dear guv got told where to shove it anyway. phew. Take that, you vote canceller, you!

Back to the grumpy stuff -

1. Why does every piece of clothing in the house HAVE to be freshly laundered and ready to wear EVERY DAY??? I think if you have enough clothes for a week, then you should only need to run the washer/dryer combo once a week. Daily laundering, besides being on the obsessive/compulsive side of normal, is a waste of water, soap and ecological resources. Weekly or even semi-weekly laundry - sensible, I think.

2. If you want to teach your child to do something, what SHOULDN'T you do? That which you want them to learn, right? Well, I've been on a campaign for a couple of months to get the teenager to learn that it takes just about 20 seconds to make a bed, and that he CAN, in fact, launder his own clothes in a satisfactory way. Two very good skills for a college bound kid to have. Sounds good, except that the bed frequently gets made in the teenager's absence (which is quite convenient if you're the kid), or if said teen has taken only 10 seconds on it and it looks a little shifty, sometime in the minute or two after child leaves for school, the bed transforms itself and looks amazingly nice. And strangely, the laundry basket for same teen is almost always mysteriously empty! Not that he doesn't contribute to the dirty laundry in this house because, oh my GOD the amount of laundry a teenager can produce is mind boggling - but these things fall into category of grump#1, where all dirty clothes MUST BE LAUNDERED IMMEDIATELY AND AVAILABLE TO WEAR AGAIN THE NEXT MINUTE BECAUSE I JUST DON'T KNOW WHY. I *swear* to you, we all have plenty of clean underwear.

3. The barking dog CANNOT get the hang of this move back to Standard Time. Why in the world do we have to monkey around with our clocks anyway? Off the subject... It's been a week or so now, and dog wakes up every morning between 5:30 and 6 and barks.
Dog: BARK! 5 second wait.
Dog: BARK! 5 second wait.
5 minutes of quiet (just enough to get that dozing going)
Dog: BARK! 5 second wait.
Me: "That *&^^%# dog - I'm gonna kill her."
DH: "Go ahead. I won't tell anyone."
Me: "SNICKERS, ***SHUT UP***! (can you tell I keep yelling louder - thereby waking not only me, but everyone in the house up)
Dog: BARK!
and I get up, mutter a lot, and go let the stupid animals outside. Meanwhile, I play a game or two of solitaire so that getting up so frikken early isn't a total loss.

I used to like dogs. I'm looking for someone to rescue a couple of beagles right now.

See - I'm grumpy. Leave me alone.


Wanna know how to

make your mother cry?

Call her and leave this message:

"Hi Mom. I've had a huge urge today to call you and tell you I love you. So I'm calling to tell you I love you! Love ya, B"

yep. sniffled all the way home.


Someone stole my idea!

Got this link from Amalah's blog -
I have oft lamented the look of the not-so-trim young things in those just-a-little-too-snug low-rise jeans, and have said the girls look a little like cupcakes or muffins spilling out over the jeans.


Two people couldn't have come up with the same thing, could they?

Just for the record, I dislike the pants hanging off the boxered-butt a whole lot more. It amazes me to see a kid running across the street hanging onto his pants around his crotch so they don't fall down while he runs... Wait till they grow up and think back on THAT one! Parents, are you taking pictures??? Your grandchildren will LOVE you for it!


Glam up the breasts

Who knew? I've been doing it wrong all these years...