ROFL

I LOOOOVE the Twilight series...I mean seriously love those books. From my conversation with my sister-in-law Dani, I'm not as bad as she is, but pretty damn close.

Still, my love doesn't mean I can't appreciate clever mocking of this franchise. See the link below for an abridged script to New Moon.

http://www.the-editing-room.com/twilight-new-moon.html

Enjoy! I did!!

My First Public Embarassment at Sophie's Hands

Or at least the first one in which I was alone. The other times I had Vic with me to share my shame.

This afternoon I needed to go to the grocery store to pick up a few items--some we needed, some as a treat for Vic's birthday. So, after feeding Sophie and changing her diaper, I decide it is time to head out.

All is well in the beginning. I wrestle the car seat into the cart, and off we go, me cooing at her as I begin to pick up some food. Then, as is inevitable when I am out in public with Sophie, a lady stops me to ask about her. So, I chat with her briefly and she asks to see the baby. See being the operative word. The lady, who was really very nice, gets out of her seated grocery cart, and starts cooing at Sophie. Then, she touches her hand. GRR!! I understand "see" meaning different things at different times, but when the baby is young, and strapped into the seat, see does not mean touch. But it was too late, so I just grit my teeth and say nothing.

As this lady is talking to me, she makes an offhand reference to her son. For some reason, Sophie takes any mention of other people's sons as a cue to start screaming. Her face turns the same odd reddish-orange shade generally reserved for getting shots. Great. The lady apologizes, but I wave it off, telling her Sophie is just fussy and not to worry about it. We part ways. After I round the corner, I surreptitiously rub Purell on Sophie's hand.

So we continue on, Sophie crying. She's not necessarily as loud as she can get, and there are occasional pauses of roughly a second, but it's pretty much constant. I try the pacifier--as usual, no go. I try the pinkie, but it's difficult to keep it in her mouth and push the cart simultaneously, so it's not working too well either. Usually in this situation, I have Vic with me and one of us holds her while the other pushes the cart, as Sophie hates the car seat and this often works. Alas, he is not here and I can't hold her and push the cart, so in the seat she stays. I just start hurrying and telling myself that people will understand.

Next item is evaporated milk. I would think this is in the baking goods aisle...but I am wrong. Fine time to not know where to find something I need. Fortunately an employee points me in the right direction (only off by 8 aisles) and next up is milk. As I head towards the dairy case, suddenly the lights go out! Weather outside is 80 degrees and sunny, so I know that's not the cause. Sophie stops crying for a moment, no doubt startled by the sudden plunge from bright fluorescent lighting into darkness. She then resumes crying. Another customer asks me if she's afraid of the dark, but I reply that no, she just apparently hates the store. As I peer in the dark for the skim milk, they announce the entire plaza is without power and they're getting the generators going. Lovely. I'm having a hard time reading the milk labels (though I finally get it) and am worried about the inevitable delay this will cause at the cash register. Usually this would be no big deal, but I'm trying to move as fast as possible, since Sophie won't stop crying.

The lights come back on as I finish shopping and head toward the register. Then they go out. Then they come back on. I'm hoping this is it, and they'll stay on, so I can get myself and my screaming child out of the store. I get into the express lane, behind 2 other people, figuring I'll be out in no time. Wrong. There's some snafu with a ham and a coupon, that necessitates an employee running all the way back to get a second ham, and the manager coming over to help the cashier. I've been a cashier, so I do understand, but I wish it hadn't happened while I was waiting in line with a crying Sophie.

As I wait in line, I notice many furtive looks. Way to make me feel better, people. There are a few nice people, who give me understanding smiles, though, so that actually does help. One of them tells me her 8th great-grandchild was just born a couple weeks ago. Awww...and she tells me she thinks Sophie is tired, which makes sense since Sophie kept us up half the night last night. Anyway, she was a nice lady to talk to, and quite a contrast to the next lady I talk to.

This new lady is younger....not young, but not a great-grandmother. Anyway, she says, "Oh, is that your baby? You can hear her all over the store!" Thanks, lady. Very helpful. I ruefully reply, "I know, I know." She then proceeds to ask me if I'm breastfeeding. Not that it's any of her business, but I tell her I am. She then looks at my breasts, then back up at my face, and tells me I need to get her out to the car to feed her. WTF?! Nursing in public is something I do proudly, and only nurse in the car if I happen to be there at the time. In any case, I'm in line, about to leave, and she's not even hungry! She's tired! So I am rather irritated, but trying not to be rude when I tell her I am in line and about to leave, otherwise if she needed to nurse, I would nurse her in the store. The lady just nods and returns to her cart, a few feet away. I continue to wait, trying to soothe Sophie as I have been doing the entire time. Suddenly, the sentence "You need to console your baby" floats past my ears. Same damn lady. I briefly fantasize about grabbing her by the hair and throwing her down to the floor so I can run her down with my cart, but figure the high road is at the least more expedient, if not as satisfying.

Finally, the cashier gets to my items. She doesn't say a word to me other than the total--I guess Sophie is irritating her too. The guy bagging my groceries, who is probably 19-20 years old, is surprisingly understanding, and tells me to try to have a good day. LOL. I am touched, especially because I didn't expect a teenage boy to be nicer about a crying baby than grown women. So much for stereotypes, right?

Sophie and I leave the store, and drive off. Maybe one minute into the drive, she stops crying and falls asleep! Sure wish she could've done that a bit earlier.

So that was my lovely trip to the store. I knew this experience would come sooner or later (and will again), and I am glad it wasn't any worse than it was. Still, I certainly would've felt better about it, had it not been for dealing with rudeness as well.

Experiences like this make me really nervous about the plane ride we'll be taking with Sophie in a couple weeks. But hey, at least then I'll have Vic to help support me under the weighty disapproval of fellow passengers.

Creative Writing Exercise

The object of this exercise is to create a short story from a multitude of authors in a semi-fractured style. Write as much or as little as you like to take the original storyline and add your own take on the next events. Copy and Paste the previous chapters and then add your own. Label your chapter number and your name/moniker at the top and then tag 2 people to pass it on to, for them to continue the story and see how it can develop through those different paths. Do NOT tag it back to any previous author of your story’s chapters.


Chapter 1- by Mookie
It is summertime in the middle of the day. Moms and dads are at work, so my friend Jay and I, having nothing better to do, go down into the ravine behind my house. We have decided that today we will build a small fort and a campsite we can call our own. This small stretch of creeks running through the woods in the dead center of our town forms our own wilderness frontier.
We set to the task of grabbing fallen branches and sticks to create the walls of our fort at the base of a hill. While Jay begins construction on these walls, I move to my own little task of creating a dam in the creek that runs through this section of the woods. An older creekbed that is usually dry, except for when the rain comes, has a variety of large rocks and broken concrete. These will be the materials for damming the creek up and creating a small ponding next to our campsite. Back and forth I lug rock after rock and concrete chunks as well. Once I feel I have a sufficient amount of rocks and concrete, I begin to set them into the small and shallow running stream. Soon the water level begins to rise and expand outward away from the bank, as I choke off the streams natural flow. As with any 10 year old, seeing the fruits of my labors, even in the early stages, makes me feel like a god in my own small world. By late afternoon we expect to have a sheltered fort, a bridge over the creek, a pooling of water to soak our feet in, or to use to put out the campfires we set from time to time when our parents don’t realize we’ve stolen a box of matches or a lighter. We even have a designated circle of rocks for our campfire along with some wood, twigs and dead leaves to fuel the fire.
While pushing through some high brush in search for more wood, we spook a doe. She runs off, along the creek, and with a graceful leap she jumps down into a culvert pit, and into the dark tunnel that goes underneath a neighboring road that runs along the top of the east end of the ravine. We followed her to see just where she went. But when we got to the tunnel, we were spooked. Rumors of the tunnel being the spot for Satan Worshippers abound through our heads. This was the one place we had never dared to venture into. Graffiti was scrawled all around the tunnels entrance on the concrete exterior. Older kids had scared us with stories of animal sacrifices, complete with evidence of blood soaked walls that lay within the interior of the tunnel. We look down to one corner and see some scattered small bones, which only further reinforced the validity of these rumors. Then suddenly out of nowhere the doe came running back out the tunnel toward us, veering away as she moved past us, a wild look in her eyes. What had caused her to be so scared and willing to run back in our direction? We had neither heard nor seen anything that might represent danger. The adventure in our little stretch of frontier wilderness was only beginning…
—————————————–
Chapter 2 by Renaissance Guy
“Do you want to go in?” asked Jay with a quiver in his voice.
“Maybe. If you do,” I answered.
“My cousin knew somebody who went in there. He was never heard from again.”
“That’s baloney!” I replied. “It’s just a dumb, ol’ cave.”
“Then you go in first,” Jay suggested.
What to do? Now that I had minimalized the dangers of the cave, I couldn’t show any fear. I’d look like a chicken for sure. Then it dawned on me. “It’s dark in there. We’ll need flashlights. Let’s come back another time with flashlights, so that we can see inside it.”
How could I have known that Jay had come prepared? Out of his pocket he produced not one, but two, flashlights. “Here you go,” he said. “Lead the way.”
I turned on the flashlight and pointed it into the cave. I swirled it around a bit to see if anything hideous was visible. Nothing at all but bare rock walls. Visions of human skeletons and bloody knives zoomed through my mind. I knew that I had to stop thinking and just move forward.
With Jay close at my heels I inched my way in. Drat! Not too far in there was a bend. It was impossible to see around it. My mind went frantic again: Perhaps this is the chamber of death. Perhaps I’ve seen Mom and Dad for the last time. “Hey, Jay,” I said, “I think that I should be heading home. My parents will wonder where I am if I stay gone too long.”
Jay didn’t answer. I turned around and shrieked–almost like a girl. Where was he?



---------------------------

Chapter 3 by Jay Burns


The sound emitting from mouth didn't sound like my own as it echoed through the tunnel. If Jay wanted to scare me his stunt had worked. I was petrified. My mind was racing with the possibilities that could have befallen my friend. Or worse what was about to happen to me. There I stood with the flashlight staring off into the darkness, lighting only a few feet in front of my path until the darkness swallowed it up. Boy these sure are cheap flashlights I thought. Then right on cue as if taking offense to my thought the flashlight flickered and went out.

I was now in full panic. I called out to Jay. I could hear an answer, but the sheer volume of his scream echoing off the concrete walls reverberated the words out of comprehension. I turned on my heels and ran in the direction I had come. I was feeling along the wall as I ran. It was cold and wet against my fingers. Just the feeling sent chills through my already terrified young body. I was running with all my might when suddenly my fingers could no longer feel the wall. Now I was longing for that slimy cold concrete. I felt lost in the middle of this tunnel, but I knew I was moving in the right direction. I must have hit the bend in the tunnel.

The sharp pain in my legs let me know that I had run into something. It was only about knee high, just enough to send me sailing through the air. I was screaming as I flew but I wasn't alone. I could hear Jay's familiar scream too. I couldn't believe it. I had tripped over Jay as he sat cowering in the tunnel. I knew the landing was going to hurt. Instinctively I tried to brace myself with my hands as I hit the ground, but it wasn't enough. My face skidded along the floor of the tunnel, and the water, which runs no more than an inch deep, was rushing into my mouth and up my nose. Close your mouth I thought to myself. During the fall the flashlight had come out of my hand and was clanking along the tunnel. Apparently, the jarring was enough to bring the dying batteries back to life and once again I could see a few feet.

Without missing a beat I was back on my feet running for the entrance which was now visible. I could hear footsteps splashing in the water right behind me. I thought it was Jay, but how could I be certain. All I could think of was that I had to out run whoever was chasing me. It wasn't long before we had reached the safety of the daylight. I could hear Jay laughing behind me, and soon we were both standing outside the tunnel bent over laughing and trying to catch our breath.

Nothing needed to be said. We had both been scared. There was no denying it. I was bent over gasping for air when I saw it. Jay's shoes were covered in something red. There were little drops of red on the bottoms of his jeans. I looked him square in the eye and could see only dread on his face. He was staring at me. Not really me, but my shirt. As I looked down, I understood the look. I was covered head to toe in what ever is on Jays shoes.

Don't let your mind go there I thought. It can't be true, but what else can it be. We didn't talk as we walked the few blocks back to our homes which butted right up against the ravine. How am I going to explain ruining my clothes? What was really going on in that tunnel? If there was something there, are they going to come after me?

The wrath of my father wasn't as bad as anticipated. For some reason I really thought he would one day have enough and kill me. Off to bed without dinner was punishment for ruining nearly new jeans and t-shirt. Not fun, but I knew that my mother would crack at the thought of her son starving to death, and would bring a plate to my room. It didn't matter. I wanted to be alone, and I certainly wasn't hungry.

As I lay in bed that night once again in the darkness I knew that if I lived through the night I was going to have to talk to Jay. I had a plan.
-------------------------------------------------------
Ch 4 by Becky

Never had the night seemed so long and so dark. I trembled at every creak and groan. Sure, it was probably just the house settling, or the tree outside my window, but then again, maybe the tree branches were creaking under the weight of some creature from the tunnel. I shut my eyes, imagining a dark shadow clinging to the limbs and slowly, stealthily inching up towards my window.

Suddenly, there was a rattling sound at my window. My eyes flew open and I cowered in my bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. It was a miracle I didn’t wet the bed. As I strained to see what was coming for me, I discerned a perfectly normal, human hand. After breathing a sigh of relief, I got out of bed and walked to the window to see who had dared the climb. I had a pretty good idea.

“Jay!” I hissed quietly, after opening the window to let him in. “What are you doing here? My mom or dad could come in any moment!”

“We’ll hear them in time and I’ll hide under the bed,” Jay declared, with the easy confidence only an eight-year-old can possess.

“Cool,” I said, though it was probably not going to be cool. If we got caught, who’d be left holding the bag? Certainly not Jay, whose parents tended to be a lot more relaxed about things than mine ever were. I dismissed it from my mind, however, with the usual I’ll-deal-with-it-when-it-happens attitude I generally adopted.

“So I was thinking about the tunnel,” Jay said. “What do you suppose was in there? All that blood…I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about it. Should we tell our parents?”

“I don’t know what it was,” I replied. “But I think we should find out first. Then we tell our parents—or the cops. I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I think we need to go back—but this time with reinforcements. Maybe advance reinforcements,” I suggested casually, hoping Jay couldn’t see how much I didn’t want to go back there.

“Advance reinforcements?” Jay’s brow wrinkled. “I know we can pretty much get Becky and Miah to do whatever we say, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. We still don’t know what is in there.”

Annoyed (though also secretly relieved) at Jay’s note of reason, I waved my hand airily and said, “Oh come on. Whatever’s in there couldn’t take on all four of us. With all of us and better flashlights, we’ll be able to light up the whole tunnel and see each other, even with the bend. We can each stand at one end and send them in partway, so they can still see us and see each other. Then we can see what is actually in there, and fight it, if there’s even anything to actually fight. I’m sure there are more of us.”

I eyed him to see if this would pass, or if he would back down first. Unfortunately for me, Jay’s spirit rose to the challenge. “Sure, and if we do have to fight, since we’ll all be in sight of at least one other person, we can warn each other.”

“Just let me get the flashlights this time,” I suggested. “Yours suck. And bring Miah with you tomorrow--I’ll talk Becky into coming too.”

“OK,” he replied. “Listen, I gotta get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See ya,” I said as I watched him climb out the window and inch back along the tree branch. I laid back down in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking. I couldn’t believe he seemed so eager to go back when I was terrified. Now of course, I could never show him I was scared, but did he have to go along so easily? Once again, I was stuck because he called my bluff. Dreading the prospect of the next day, I was sure I’d never get to sleep, but I guess I did because next thing I knew it was morning. Now all I had to do was find some flashlights and talk my sister into doing something stupid.

I tag Dani & the Black Sentinel.

Breastpump Haikus

So I'm enjoying being a stay at home mom so far. I keep pretty busy, though it doesn't seem like I get anything done lol....just sit on the couch and nurse. Since this is pretty mindless activity, I have to entertain myself somehow--today it's been composing haikus to my breastpump. Weird? Yes. But it's fun. I was inspired by my birth board online--every now and then they have a thread of haikus on one topic or another. Anyway, here are mine. Enjoy!

Oh breastpump, my pump,
You suck at sucking. Output?
Just one lousy ounce.

I pump little milk.
If I were a dairy cow,
Hello slaughterhouse.

I'm Baaaack...........

After almost 2 months of silence, I've emerged from the dark and scary place that is the postpartum period. My husband and I are finally able to get 3-4 hours of consecutive sleep twice a night, so the sleep deprivation stage has greatly improved. I also have recovered pretty well from my C-section--only a little residual tenderness and numbness, and I've been told those sensations can last awhile. No biggie.

My beautiful daughter, Sophia, was born on Sept. 20 and is doing well. She is absolutely the cutest and best baby ever, even when she's being a pill. My pride in her is enormous. I can't even be polite when people tell me she's cute; instead of just saying thank you, I enthusiastically agree that she is adorable! I wonder if that annoys anyone--if it does, oh well; I can't help it. She really is wonderful and I love her to pieces. Sophie is not always the easiest baby--gas issues have made her colicky--but then she'll smile, or coo, or just lay her head on my shoulder, and my heart just melts.

It is great that the gas issue has eased a bit, however. It really was pretty bad when she was 3-4 weeks old. That seems a lot longer than just a few weeks ago, lol. Her ceaseless crying every night brought me to tears at least once a day myself! However, once the pediatrician told us it was normal, Vic and I relaxed: not just because she was essentially ok, but also because then we knew we weren't doing anything wrong and we all just had to ride it out. Fortunately, she started to improve long before we really expected it, which has been great for her--and us too, of course.

So, as I mentioned, I ended up needing a C-section. Before giving birth, I was death on C-sections and determined to avoid one. Well, that just worked out great. During labor, particularly after I received an epidural, Sophie's heartrate kept dropping with contractions, and my blood pressure became dangerously low. We found out later that Sophie was at an angle, with her head essentially pointed towards my hip instead of down towards the birth canal. So, even though the doctor tried about a million different things to change the situation, a C-section was pretty much inevitable. Vic told me later it was pretty scary for him--everything got very medical very fast, and he was worried. I was scared too, both for myself and for Sophie, but I didn't have to look at myself hooked up to tons of machines and wearing an oxygen mask, so it makes for a different perspective.

The surgery itself wasn't too bad. I was a bit freaked, but so high that it didn't really matter lol. The recovery was also easier than I had expected--I'd always heard how difficult a C-section recovery is, but you know, I didn't have any issues, and avoided many difficulties women who have vaginal deliveries deal with. It was pretty easy--didn't have to push, for instance--and even if I have the option for vaginal births in the future, I'm not certain I'll take it. I still have some regrets about the C-section though. When I watch baby shows on TV and see the women give birth vaginally, I am a bit jealous that I missed out on being able to do that. It's hard to feel like a "real woman" when you can't even give birth vaginally, something women are biologically supposed to be able to do.

In any case, however, I have Sophie now and that's what's important. It's still a little strange to think of myself as a parent, though it feels more natural to me than it used to. And apparently, becoming a parent means doing things completely differently than you envisioned before giving birth. For instance, I never planned on cosleeping--I felt it was unsafe and unnecessary. WRONG. The three of us sleep a million times better if Sophie is either in bed with us, or in the cosleeper bassinet we just built (we feel it's safer) that is on my side of the bed. Although the pack n play is only a few feet away from the bed, apparently that is too far for Sophie--she only really sleeps well in close proximity, either on our chests or with our hands resting on her. After the gas issue resolves and she can sleep better, we hope she won't need us so near and we can move her back to the pack n play, and then eventually to the crib in her own room, but for now, this works for us. Man, have I had to eat my words on this one--but, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive, that's for sure. Oh, and that prior post complaining about always having to hold the neighbor's baby when I babysit? Guess who ALWAYS holds her baby? Yeah, color me hypocrite. However, I know Sophie needs me and she's too young to spoil at this point. In general, though, I've just found that as I develop my parenting style, I'm much more into attachment parenting than I ever expected to be. It's so weird.

So anyway, bit of a rambling blog entry. But hey, at least it's a new entry, right? And having marginally more free time than I've had lately, I hope inspiration continues to strike and my blog doesn't die the slow death I just rescued it from.

Spider Dreams

I've got to stop having scary spider dreams! If not for my own sake, for Vic's. A couple years ago, I scared ten years off his life by waking up screaming in the dead of night after a spider dream. If only that was the worst that's happened...

Last night around 2 am, I was looking over at him and saw a spider crawling over the top of his head and down his forehead. It was large but with a small body, like a daddy long legs, but as I watched in horror, I saw it get even larger. So, being a good wife, I overcame my instinctive fear and quickly took action by grabbing the blanket and hitting him over the head with it to kill the spider before it could harm him.

From Vic's point of view, I imagine it was disconcerting to wake up to his wife beating him up for no apparent reason. I turned on the light, looking around for the spider while he asked me what the hell I was doing. I quickly explained but there was no live spider, not even a corpse, to back up my story. We finally determined that it must have been a dream, but it still took me awhile to really convince myself enough to lie back down among the bedding and go back to sleep.

Pretty soon, Vic's going to put his foot down and start sleeping separately, I know it. I can't say I'd blame him, as the consequences of my scary spider dreams seem to be escalating for him.

The clock is ticking down...

I'm in my 38th week and have been playing the waiting game for the past couple weeks. I am ready to meet the baby, and to not be pregnant anymore! I am apprehensive about the upcoming life changes, and kinda wish I could have a couple days to just sleep and relax between pregnancy and taking care of a baby, but I am also increasingly excited to meet Sophia.

I find myself getting a bit short-tempered lately, a state probably brought on by hormones, the suspense of waiting, and the tendency of people to ask me "So have you had that baby yet?" and "How ARE you?" every day. I'm still good at smiling and answering politely but I can feel the strain! Vic has even commented on it as he is asked the same questions at work. The first thoughts that tend to pop into our heads are generally along the lines of "Yes, we had the baby and didn't tell anyone!" (especially when it's his MOM who asks) and "Still freakin pregnant, how do you think I am?" My impatience is pretty sad when I'm still a week and a half from my due date, but it doesn't help when everyone else reminds me daily that I'm still waiting. Vic has said that maybe he should start making stuff up, just to give a different answer when asked how I am. It's either that or discuss dilation and mucus plug status, both of which are a bit TMI for most people :b

Anyway, I am excited to see Sophia. It will be nice to be able to meet her, see her, and make sure she's ok. She scared me a bit this past week by reducing movement, and it's not like I can do a visual check on her. It'd be pretty sweet if I could--pregnant women need an abdominal window with a light, like an oven! The doctor said she was fine but sent me to labor & delivery at the hospital for a nonstress test, where they monitored her heart rate and my contractions for about 40 minutes, and of course everything was fine. I was a bit embarrassed at even being there and told the nurse I was mostly there for my own peace of mind, to which she very kindly replied that it was a great reason to come in :) So that was nice. It was pretty exciting being at L&D too, and a lot more comfortable than it will be in the near future lol. I saw a girl checking in due to labor who was in my childbirth education class. She was eerily calm. It's not that I expected her to be constantly screaming or anything, but she did not visibly show any contractions in the five minutes or so that I saw her. I hope I have her calm when it's my time, but knowing myself, I doubt it.

Speaking of contractions, prodromal labor sucks. I've been contracting on and off for over 2 weeks now and in the past week they've definitely gotten more intense. They still aren't terribly painful or anything, but they are uncomfortable, annoying, and increase the suspense of waiting. Last night I woke up at 2:30 am due to a contraction that stretched all the way around my lower front, hips, and back. Then I couldn't fall back asleep because I was having more of them--still far apart, but more frequent than in the past. Just about the time I was getting excited, however, they grew further apart again--so frustrating! I was awake until about 5 am anyway though. I spent part of the time running through the few last minute items I'd like to accomplish before she shows up, and the rest of the time just trying to get back to sleep. Sleep has been frequently interrupted for the past several months but this week, insomnia is definitely getting worse. Yesterday I woke up at 5 am and couldn't get back to sleep. So the difficulty sleeping doesn't help me remain patient with these contractions. I know they are helping me progress, but it is a very slooooow process.

I may be pregnant, but I'm not made of freakin' glass!

Yesterday Vic's grandfather was giving me crap....he only speaks Spanish, but I got the gist of it. He was upset because I had the effrontery to stand on a chair while pregnant and he thought I would fall and injure myself and/or the baby. Now, I get that he was just concerned, but it pissed me off. I told him in my crappy broken Spanish that I was being careful and it was fine. (As an FYI, the chair was very sturdy, my feet were flat on it the entire time, and I was paying close attention to my balance as I cleaned the bookshelf.)

So two minutes later, I'm off the chair but he comes back to tell me once again I shouldn't do stuff like that. Once again, I tell him it's fine! I didn't have the vocabulary to fully express my feelings but I'm sure the angry, impatient look on my face tipped him off.

Then, yesterday evening when Vic's mom calls him, she starts telling him what happened and that I need to be more careful. I knew this would happen! No incident is too small for drama, with people pushing in where they don't need to. Vic has already listened to me grumble about this incident, and is on my side (or at least so he tells me) so he just starts telling her "Bye" on the phone. This is apparently his way of telling her he doesn't agree and doesn't want to discuss the topic at hand.

Of course, this call just pissed me off a second time and he had to listen to me rant about everything all over again....though I could tell he wasn't really listening to my repeated vent--just "uh huh"ing at appropriate moments :b

Next time I see his mom, no doubt I will hear about it for a third time. And I will go off! It'll make her mad, but I do not care. After 9 months, I am just soooo tired of being treated like I am a child, too stupid to be able to make decisions about what is safe for myself and my daughter and what is not. I'm pregnant, not broken!

Stupidity and S***

Last night I thought my head was going to explode.

It started off innocently enough, with an experiment in roasting a whole chicken. That process, while easy enough, set off a chain reaction of events, the first of which was getting tomato sauce on my white shirt. Last week it was ink on the same damn shirt....so I'm learning a lot about stain removal lol. Anyway, I changed clothes, pretreated the shirt, and threw it in the washer.

As the washer is running, Vic and I hear some odd gurgling in pipes and a few other strange noises. The gurgling appeared to be coming from the kitchen sink pipes, but there was nothing there. We also checked the washer hoses and they were fine too. So, we shrugged it off.

Fast forward about half an hour. I happen to walk into the master bathroom and find the toilet bowl full of water....and stuff (the smelly kind). Water is also on the floor. YAY! I immediately retreat from the stench, to the other toilet in the guest bathroom, where I find the toilet full of water and possibly urine. Great. Just great.

Now, perhaps we should have seen this coming. After all, the toilet in our master bathroom has been acting up for a couple months--not always flushing fully, even for just urine. But, blithely assuming all would be well and that eventually we would just pour some Rid-X down the toilet, we procrastinated and that worked out about as well as it usually does.

Vic calls the septic service, which apparently has an after-hours message service, so we have to wait for a call back. In the meantime, I pull the chicken out of the oven and set it on top of the stove. Being the genius I am, I attempt to take the metal lid off the roasting pan.....with my bare hands! Hastily replacing the lid, I yell in shocked surprise. I mean, who would've thought a metal handle would get hot after being in the oven for 90 minutes? Vic asks what's wrong and I have to confess my idiocy. I don't know where the hell my brain went. As my fingers begin to stiffen (they don't hurt much....yet), I decide to open the carrots and put them in the microwave before bothering to run my hand under cold water.....yet another genius move. After all, why NOT delay first aid? Now I am essentially one handed. Either my hand is soaking in water or (once I remember we have them) sitting on an ice pack for the remainder of the evening.

Vic's parents show up--to help, ostensibly, but really just to listen to our septic story and further distract us as we finish cooking. However, by now, I have to pee....which, being 9 months pregnant, is never a remote concern. I ask Vic to drive me to his grandfather's house so I can use the toilet, leaving his parents at our house without so much as telling them we are leaving. He and I walk outside, and right then, the septic service calls back. So he stands there, talking on the phone, while I am shifting from foot to foot, and blowing on my burnt fingers, which are stinging like mad due to lack of cold water (I hadn't yet remembered the ice packs). So I'm making faces like "let's get in the DAMN CAR!!!" and Vic, who is just trying to concentrate on the phone call, is waving me off with a harassed look on his face. This did not go over well, to say the least. Finally he gets in the car and drives me over to the other house while still talking on the phone. Aaaahhhh....sweet relief!

After we return to the house (septic guy will arrive in an hour), Vic talks to his parents for awhile as I sit inside and nurse my hand. Finally, he comes inside and says he excused himself. Translation: he told them to go away. We decide we might as well eat the food we cooked. Vic carves the chicken on a cutting board. Tomato sauce is EVERYWHERE...it's the recipe's fault, he says. Can we clean it up? Not easily, as we can't run any water! So we use several trees in paper towel form to mop up the tomato sauce and clean the counter, which would stain otherwise.

It's now about an hour after we finished cooking, so thank god for microwaves!! Vic ends up cutting up my meat for me, since I can't use my left hand and it's not quite tender enough for just a fork. Poor guy--as if he isn't stressed enough, I require dinner service :b

The septic guy arrives in due course, pumps the tank, which wasn't full, btw, and cleans out the portion of the main line that he can reach with the hose he has on hand. He tells us if we have any more issues, it's a clog further up in the main line and we'll have to call a plumber. After then relieving us of $250, he's on his way.

Clean up time. I had just cleaned the bathrooms the DAY BEFORE. Grrrrr.....but at least it made it quick and easy to wipe down the toilets, tubs, and mop the floors. Not fun, but easy. By now, I have to use the bathroom again (I'd already taken a 2nd trip to his grandfather's house), but thankfully, we have the joy of working toilets again! This is a convenience you never fully appreciate until it's gone.

After doing my business, I flush the master bath toilet....and it doesn't fully flush. Just like it'd been doing the past few months. So, while the immediate crisis is past, the problem is not resolved!! I have been able to run the washing machine without incident, but I know it's just a matter of time before I lose my toilets again.

Today, after much research, Vic has decided he will rent an electric sewer eel so he can clear the clog himself. I have grave reservations, but if it works, at least we won't have to pay a plumber! And if it doesn't, I'll have inspiration for another post ;)

New Blog

So, I just found a new blog to follow in my free time...it's about a woman's attempt to breastfeed her child. It's a pretty niche audience, I admit, but I'm in that niche, so it works out :) I am very nervous about breastfeeding my baby and I hope by reading her stories, I can a) relate and b) see how she overcomes the challenges that can arise.

Should you happen to be interested, you can find her on my blog list further down on this page, with the apt title of Milk Machine.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Wow, I didn't realize it'd been so long since I last posted anything....guess I haven't had much to say :)

Anyway, for those of you who miss "Choose Your Own Adventure", here's an updated (if morbid) version: http://www.slate.com/id/2223285/. I linked to the article so you can read it if interested before clicking on the link to launch the game.

It's fun, and gives people yet another way to waste time on the Internet, because there aren't enough of those!

Penne Pasta with Creamy Tomato Sauce

A very yummy recipe that I just tried tonight....it originally came from the Cook Yourself Thin show I guess. My neighbor tried it and passed it on to me.

Ingredients
2 tsp olive oil, plus extra
3 cloves garlic
1/2 cp chopped red onion
3/4 tsp salt
1 (14 oz) can diced tomatoes
Pinch red pepper
8 oz penne
1/4 cp heavy cream
2.5 oz evaporated nonfat milk
1/3 cp grated Parmesan
1/4 cp shredded fresh basil
1/8 tsp black pepper

Directions

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to boil for the penne.
2. In a large saucepan, heat the 2 tsp oil with the garlic over low heat until the garlic begins to brown, about 3 minutes.
3. Add the onion and 1/4 tsp salt, cover, and cook until the onion is softened, about 2 more minutes.
4. Add the tomato, 1/2 tsp salt, and the red pepper.
5. Bring to a simmer, reduce the heat, and simmer very gently for 10 minutes.
6. After the sauce has simmered for 5 minutes, add the penne to the boiling water and cook until just shy of al dente, about 6 minutes.
7. After the sauce has simmered for 10 minutes, stir in the cream and evaporated milk and simmer 1 more minute.
8. Drain the penne, reserving about 1/2 cp pasta water.
9. Add the drained penne to the sauce and simmer until the penne is al dente, about 1-2 more minutes. Add a little of the pasta cooking water if the mixture is dry.
10. Stir in 1/4 cp of the Parmesan, along with the basil and black pepper.
11. Sprinkle additional olive oil and Parmesan over the food if desired. Serve.

This yields 4 servings.

When we made the dish, we just used minced garlic instead of whole cloves, since that is what we had on hand. For the same reason, we substituted shredded Colby-Monterey Jack cheese for the Parmesan. It turned out really good!

Getting nervous....

You'd think someone who's wanted a baby for years and totally planned her pregnancy would be more excited than scared at this point. Sophia is due Sept 14 and I am just terrified. I don't have all the stuff I need yet, which makes me very anxious. The bigger issue, however, is I'm just not sure I'm going to be a good mom. I don't have the patience I think I should, nor do I particularly enjoy playing games with little kids. But I don't want to be one of those moms who resents their kids and parks them in the playpen in front of the TV all day either.

It probably doesn't help that I've been watching my neighbor's baby this week. He's a good baby, and a cute one, but needy. I don't mean he needs food or diaper changes or things like that, because those are normal and no big deal. It's that you can't put him down for a more than a minute before he starts crying to be picked up again. His mom carries him around all day apparently, and so he expects the same from me. I love holding and cuddling with him, but when he's crying because I have to put him down on the floor for 2 minutes so I can pee, it becomes a bit of an issue. Especially when I have to pee about every 25-30 minutes. Vic told me maybe I should try to break him of this habit, but I'm not sure it's worth it for only 2 more days of watching him. I don't think he'll learn that quickly and will just cry the entire time. If I were watching him for a longer period of time, I'd put up with that so he would learn, but it's hard to undo 11 mths of training in just a few hours. In any case, I feel a sense of relief when his mom comes to pick him up--which really scares me, as soon I'll have my own and no one will be coming to pick her up.

So, I'm just starting to wonder if having my daughter is going to be like this too. I'm hoping the whole maternal love thing will kick in so I enjoy being a mom. I feel a bond with her, but it's still more abstract in some ways than I expect it to be when she's actually here. At least I hope the bond will get stronger. And I enjoy being pregnant so much--rubbing my belly and feeling her kick in particular--but I'm not sure I'm ready for the actual child herself. I know that, ready or not, Sophia's coming in 2 months but it's just freaking me out!

A Rough Week

Last week my husband Vic and I flew up to Iowa to visit my parents. We needed this vacation, and were excited about seeing my family again. People in Florida often ask me what we do when we go to Iowa--no doubt they imagine cow-tipping and other stereotypical pastimes. And NO, I have never in my life tipped a cow! In any case, we go to Iowa to relax, so we spend most of our time sitting around and visiting. It may sound boring, but we always have a lovely time. This time we got to see my brother and his entire family, as well as an aunt I hadn't seen in 11 years, so it was pretty neat.

Unfortunately, this particular trip was cut short by a day, as we received some very bad news from Florida. Vic's grandmother, a lovely woman named Ofelia, passed away. This was a nasty shock, as you can imagine. She had been in the hospital while we were gone, due to a cold, swollen, painful foot. Obviously a circulatory issue, though we were (and still are) unsure as to the underlying cause. Vic was on the phone with his family every day to get updates on her condition, and as far as we could tell, the worst-case scenario would be amputation. Now, she was 86 years old, so that would've been hard on her and possibly the beginning of a decline, but we certainly did not expect her to die. The day before she died, the doctors were even discussing discharging her. Of course, the doctors and the quality of their medical care is a whole other angry story that I won't be posting, in case legal action is taken.

So, Sunday night, Vic got the call. I was outside talking to some friends until my mom came and told me I was needed in the house. When I came in, Vic was sitting at the table. He just looked up at me and told me she had passed. The look of anguish on his face...oh my god...it just broke my heart. Completely wrung it out...and that image has been haunting me all week. I can't get it out of my head. It makes me cry every time. I wish I could erase that memory instead of seeing it over and over in an exhausting mental loop.

Vic, naturally, cried himself that evening. I have never seen him cry before. He's held it together ever since, and truth be told, seems to be in better emotional shape than I am at the moment. How stupid is that? It's his grandmother, that he's known and loved all his life. I didn't even know his grandmother that well, as she spoke only Spanish and I know very little. But I have grieved for his grief and that of his family. Vic's mother and his grandfather have been the most visibly affected. I found out at the funeral that his grandparents had been married for 67 years--an amazingly long time, and I cannot imagine the loneliness his grandfather is feeling now. Vic told me later he was talking to his grandfather at the viewing and could see in his eyes just how lost he felt.

The viewing and funeral service was held in Miami on Wednesday. Nobody likes funerals, of course, but there is an undeniable feeling of closure afterwards. Not that we don't all still grieve, but it's a first step towards learning to adjust to life without the one we love.

Descanse en paz, Ofelia. Te extranaremos y estaras siempre en nuestros corazones.

Root Beer Pork

So, my husband and I enjoy cooking together, particularly on the weekends. We also like to periodically try out new recipes, a fact which undoubtedly would shock my mother, who was used to hearing me moan and groan on "new recipe night" when I was growing up. However, now Vic and I find we both get bored of having the same dinners all the time--unless of course they consist of pizza or Taco Bell. Mmmmm....yummy! Anyway, we came across a recipe for root beer pork and were intrigued enough to try it. My thought was, it'd either be really good or absolutely terrible. If the latter, we had a backup frozen pizza :) Turns out it fell on the side of really good! So, in case anyone is interested, the recipe is below.

Root Beer Pork

Ingredients

• 4 (1 inch thick) pork chops, or 1 pork tenderloin, cut into medallions
• 3 (12 fl oz) cans root beer
• 1 cp beef stock
• 2 tbsp brown sugar
• 1/2 tsp chipotle-flavored hot sauce (we substituted 1/4 tsp liquid smoke & 1/3 tsp Taco Bell hot sauce)
• 2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
• Salt
• Pepper

Directions

1. Place the pork into a dish and cover with 2 cans of root beer. Place in refrigerator to marinate for at least 2 hours. We marinated for 5 hours.
2. In a saucepan, combine the remaining can of root beer, beef stock, brown sugar, hot sauce (and liquid smoke if desired), and Worcestershire sauce. I added a pinch of salt (omit if you follow the cooking instructions for the chops below). Simmer the mixture over medium heat until it reduces to about 3/4 cup. This took us roughly 45 minutes. Set mixture aside.
3. Lightly oil the grill and preheat for medium-high heat.
4. Take the pork out of the marinade and season with salt and pepper to taste. Discard the marinade.
5. Cooking instructions for the chops: Grill the pork until no longer pink in the center or until the thermometer reads 160 deg. F. According to the recipe, this takes 8 minutes per side. Baste the chops generously with the reduction sauce and continue cooking for about 2 minutes more per side. Remove from grill and baste with any remaining sauce. Season with salt to taste before serving.
6. Cooking instructions for the medallions: Vic said he cooked the medallions for 6 minutes on one side. After flipping, he began basting the medallions continuously and cooked them for 4-5 more minutes. He then flipped the medallions back to the first side and cooked for an additional minute, basting continuously. (By this time, the thermometer said well over 160 deg F). Remove from grill and baste again. There will be leftover sauce; discard.

Enjoy!

Venting & Advice

OK, so this will be a generalization, but I've noticed some major differences when a woman confides in a man instead of another woman. Many times, I have found that when confiding in a male friend about some issue I'm having, he will start offering possible solutions. Shortly after my husband and I met and became friends, I finally had to tell him "STOP. I'm just venting! I don't need you to tell me how to solve it; I just need you to listen!" Women often intuitively understand this. Not that we don't offer advice sometimes, but women know that many times just by unburdening ourselves, we feel better about the problem. So, in the end, we walk away humming in satisfaction, while the solution-oriented male is left scratching his head, as the problem, whatever it is, is not actually resolved.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, as I have a new female friend who confides in me, and I find myself giving her endless advice on possible solutions. I try to remember that she may just need to vent and to keep my mouth shut and just listen. Then, to my internal horror, my mouth opens and advice falls out. Endlessly. Apparently the sound of my own voice is WAAY too pleasing to me. What happened to me? Did I turn into a guy? I sure as hell don't look like one! When did I become so solution-oriented? Or was I always this way and never realized it? God, I hope not. I hate the thought that I might have been a hypocrite all along.

All I can do, I guess, is try to control myself and be a better listener, before my friend turns on me and tells me to shut the hell up. I'm sure that day is coming!

Yes, I am this bored

Rather than do any of the housework which so desperately needs to be done, I decided instead to yield to the siren song of the blog....I've resisted for a long time now, figuring there was enough spewing of thoughts to keep people entertained, but finally figured, why not spew my own? They are just as valuable. Besides, if my brother can do it, why can't I?

What's weird is that I even feel the need to post why I decided to start blogging....like some half-ass manifesto. Not enough that I simply want to do it....no, I have to explain why. One of my neuroses, I guess.

Anyway, so setting things up has been interesting. My feminist side came roaring to the forefront when I couldn't find "Homemaker" or something comparable in the "Industry" portion of the profile. Now it's possible that it's there and I am just blind, but I looked. Twice. So wtf is that about? I feel insecure enough about staying at home while my husband works without feeling like I don't have a "real job". I don't need a website reinforcing that view. Staying at home is nice in many ways, but there's no denying that it's an undervalued role in our society. What's worse is that it is often undervalued by ME.

Now, this could be counteracted to a certain extent if I were more vigilant about the housework, but frankly, it's difficult to motivate myself to clean. Susie Homemaker I'm not. Usually, I leave it until it's just driving me crazy and I feel I have to clean. Fortunately, my husband is even less likely to notice messes than I am and so he doesn't come home from work and ask "Why didn't you clean today?" While I complain for 2 weeks about how dirty the kitchen is and how I really need to clean it (yet never do), he listens very patiently....or, more likely, tunes me out. He's admitted freely that he tunes me out when I complain about something repeatedly. I should be mad about that, but really, it seems like a sound coping strategy. I know if I had to listen to that from someone else, repeatedly, I'd get pretty tired of it too.

One aspect of staying home that really does suck is feeling unimportant and like I dropped off the face of the planet. I do spend some time with my neighbor, who is also at home, but I miss having more friends, like I used to. I see old friends maybe every few months, which is weird for me since I used to see them every day at work. Then when I do see them, I don't have much to say for myself, as it's hard to come up with life stories when you spend your day with the cat. So I feel boring....I've found the best thing to do is let them talk and respond to that. I spend a lot of time on the internet as well, so it's easy enough to keep up on current events; the trick is to mention them without necessarily getting into religion/politics subjects as that can be touchy.

I often feel guilty, too, since my poor husband is solely supporting us financially. I keep telling him I feel like a leech....at which point he responds, "Well, I don't think you're a leech! That's YOUR issue. Stay home as long as you like." This is pretty reassuring to hear, even if it's said in an impatient tone lol. Still, it's very strange to lean completely on another person when I have been used to making my own money since I was 14. Thank god we have a strong relationship and I'm not worried about him running off with some 20-year-old named Bambi.

The good thing is, soon I will be forced to become more productive at the house. We're expecting our first child in September and that will keep me a lot busier throughout the day. My hope is that this will make me feel that I contribute more (because I will be!). I just hope I can continue to stay home. Despite the boredom, the isolation, and the financial factor, I do not want to return to work once that baby is here, if at all possible.