Keep Austin Weird?

If you're from Texas...or have travelled through Texas at some point...or just seen someone else who's been here before, you might have heard of that slogan before - Keep Austin Weird.  When you live in Austin you either embrace this slogan as your hometown "battle cry" taking all that makes Austin weird into your heart and holding it close...or you can't stand how weird some of what makes Austin weird actually is.  If you're smart, and you want to be happy where you live then you take option number 1...don't fight it.  It's pointless.

After a while, you become somewhat immune to the "sights" of Austin...but every once in a while, something catches your eye that even causes a seasoned veteran to the weird to do a double take.

Remember the day that hated me?  Well, I actually started to feel better on the drive to work (after the meltdown) when I cracked a smile for the first time when I saw this:

Do you see what I see?  What's that?  You need a close up view to REALLY appreciate it...oh, okay - twist my arm!  

If you're asking yourself what exactly it is that you're looking at...let me explain what you're looking at since I took the pictures with my awesome-picture-taking iPhone!  There's an election coming up (maybe you live under a rock and didn't know...) and for the Texas Governor position there is the guy who is currently our Governor running in the Republican slot and then there is his opponent running in the Democratic slot.

Yes, I'm well aware that this is how MOST elections happen...stick with me. 

The campaigns are entering the mud-slinging phase...and all of the political ads that you see on TV or hear on the radio right now are getting pretty dirty.  The Democrat opposing our current Govenor, Rick Perry, is a man named Bill White.  He's the mayor of Houston, I think?  Anyway, apparently the guy driving this car that you see is a Bill White fan...as evidenced by every single square inch of his Geo Prism being covered in Bill White bumper stickers.

And when I say covered...I really mean covered.  Only the windows and lights were left unadorned.  And if that wasn't enough to show his support, the guy built a platform (it's the best word that I can think of at the moment to describe this structure) on TOP of said Geo Prism covered in bumper stickers which stuck up a good 6-8 feet tall, with even MORE Bill White stickers.  And just like the cherry tops the ice cream sundae, he stuck an American flag on top of the platform just for grins.

At least that's my take on the whole situation.  Don't get me started on the trailer that he's pulling with his Geo Prism!  If you drive a Geo Prism, kudos to you...I wanted one of my very own when I was 14 and dreaming about what my future car would be, so I'm not making fun of the Prism itself.  It's the platform that gets me...

I don't know...it put a smile on my face during an otherwise RUFF morning...so I thought that I would share it with you!  Aren't you lucky?  I believe in supporting your chosen candidate as much as the next guy...well, maybe not as much as THAT guy!  LOL!                                                          

Oh, Ya’ll

I don’t even know where to begin. Well, first, I need to finish wiping my eyes off…yes, I was crying. But not from actual sad tears this time…I cried because I was laughing at myself so hard re-telling this story to a co-worker friend of mine. She immediately told me that I HAD to post it…so here I am.

Remember when we talked about how my husband learned his lesson and would never, ever in a million-ba-jillion years forget the Swaddle blanket at daycare again??? Yeah, well apparently men are not only from Mars but they also don’t learn lessons the first time around…yep, he forgot the blanket AGAIN yesterday. I appreciate the help in picking up the kiddo, but we’re really gonna have to rethink the entire situation if this keeps happening, honey. Then again, it was partly my fault as I insinuated that I didn’t take it to daycare yesterday so he didn’t ask them for it…but whatever.

And hey, the night wasn’t a total bust…Jax slept. You know, in 10 and 20 minute increments. Then he slept really good between 2 and 4 am…oh, and I guess that I should be honest and admit that he slept really good from 830pm until 1130 pm. But really, I don’t count that time as good sleeping time since we BOTH weren’t sleeping those three hours…I was washing and sterilizing bottles, laying out clothes for the next day, getting the day care bag ready and taking a much-needed bubble bath for the first two of those hours…so they really don’t count! Turns out I had no idea how “much-needed” that bubble bath was gonna be!

Anyway. I’m operating on about 3-3.5 hours of total sleep right now…I’ll be lucky if anything productive actually goes off of my desk today other than this post…heck, I actually consider it productive that I’m even AT work today! I mean, I didn’t sleep, got up and got ready anyway (regardless that instead of dressing like a fashionista with heels I’m wearing Old Navy t-shirt/jeans and tennis shoes), made it through the heavy traffic all the way to work without falling flat-out asleep during that commute. Please forgive any typos, misspellings or general rambling-ness that might be found in this post, mkay? Thanks!

Back to my story. I had a rough night to say the very least. Followed by a rough morning. Jax didn’t cooperate this morning and stay nice and asleep during our ride to his day care this morning…normally he sleeps the entire time and doesn’t even wake up when I drop him off, I just move him from our crib at home to his crib at day care – easy peasy. Not so much today, but god bless him, he’s got to be as tired as I am! So after an eventful car ride to school filled with screams of an angry infant funny jokes on the radio, we arrive at school and are just all out of sorts. Both of us. I go into his classroom, literally dropping the bottles and diapers that I was bringing with me into one of the ladies’ hands and rush to his cubby to find the baby crack blanket. I figured that’s the cause of his problems, so getting him into it will solve everything, right?

Wrong! He wasn’t having anything - didn’t want the baby crack blanket, didn’t want to be left in his crib, didn’t want to be bounced around the room…just didn’t want whatever. At this point, I’m literally at my wits end. I’m about in tears as I try to figure out how I can nicely just toss him at the day care lady and get the heck out of dodge…so I figure that the least that I can do is re-wrap him again in the baby crack blanket since he’s worked his arms up and almost out. Once he’s nice and wrapped up again, it’s totally okay for me to just leave, right? I mean, I did all that I could do!

Get this mental picture…frazzled mommy finally gives in and lays her kid down to deal with him, using the very last trick in her book. Because he’s been so unhappy, he’s halfway undressed me…my v-neck is pulled WAY low, my white nursing bra is totally sticking out and I’m leaning over him so anyone who cared to look could see straight down my t-shirt…and do I care? Nope. Not one bit. I just want him to be quiet and happy and to go back to sleep.  I lay him down on the foamy, plastic play mat and proceed to unwrap and rewrap him up. I’m fighting flailing arms, kicking legs, my own wardrobe malfunction, and I’m watching his little face turns 14 different shades of these reddish-purple hues and just about to fall apart myself, when out of the blue, I notice that there’s a big puddle of drool right beside where I was wrapping him up. Just as I ask myself where the heck THAT came from, I realize something else…

My bottom lip is wet.

As I reach up to wipe off my mouth without really registering what I’m doing, it hits me. That’s my drool! MY DROOL! I just drooled on my day care’s play mat while I was leaning over dealing with my child (and my own state of undress) and I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE that I was drooling! Much less, drooling so much that it spilled over my lips and fell onto the floor!

At the height of my mortification, I look up and the day care lady is just staring at me. I started laughing and remark that I just drooled on the floor as I frantically try to clean it up…and she just laughs and assures me that they deal with drool all the time so it’s no big deal.  Ummm…I’m gonna have to disagree with you on this one. Sure, you’re a day care worker and I’m 100% certain that you do deal with drool all day long. But it doesn’t normally come from a 34 year old woman! It comes from babies and toddlers…not their Moms! It was at that point that I gave in to the tears. These were sad tears or maybe just exhausted-crying-type-of-tears, and I just couldn’t do anything more at that moment.

Luckily, the day care lady decided at that moment that maybe I was sort-of losing it and she stepped in and took Jax from me and just assured me that they would deal with him. And no, I wasn’t mistaken…there was PITY in her eyes. Although to be fair, I don’t know if the pity was because my child was so upset and could not be comforted or if it was because a grown woman just DROOLED on her play mat right in front of her…I can see it going either way to be perfectly honest!

I said “Thank you” and “I’m sorry” and I nearly ran to my car. Once inside the sanctuary of my own private space, I burst into tears. Just took a moment to cry and let it all out, and then calmly finished my half-eaten breakfast (you know I need the calories to be able to pump milk later!) and drove on down the road to head in to work a 9 hour day.

The life of a working mom sure is glamorous, don’t you think?

Luckily for me, I had some time to relax and calm down a bit during my commute so that by the time that I got to work, I was okay with it all. Okay enough to tell someone else about it, and then I proceeded to laugh so hard about it all while I was telling the story that I cried. Again. But happy tears this time…

And now I’m okay enough to write this out…I just couldn’t wait to post this one until tonight…it had to go up right away!

I hope that you got to chuckle along WITH me…not AT me…but WITH me…Happy Thursday!

Be Wary of the Window-Washer Man

Oh, goodness. Do I have a gem for you today, or what? Well, I found the situation hilarious…let’s see if you agree…

If you’ve been reading for a while, then you know that I’m not just a mother…I also work full-time. That job happens to put me into an office environment, which makes pumping while at work somewhat of a challenge for many reasons. Most of which are probably just an adjustment that needs to be made mentally, and for the most part I’ve made the adjustment. Everyone that works here knows what the “Privacy Please” sign on my door means, and they typically will also avoid the kitchen area for a while after my door’s been closed…big, manly men don’t really want to watch a woman co-worker transfer breast milk into storage bags. LOL!

The office that I work in happens to be one of those high-rise offices and as such, like most other high-rise offices that I’ve worked in, the building requires a bit of upkeep. One of those upkeep items is keeping the windows sparkly and clean…coincidentally ours are never clean (even right after they clean them) but whatever. So we all got the notice the other day from the property management office that the windows would be cleaned over the next few days (it actually started last week) and those of us who are lucky enough to have window offices prepared to sit and watch those brave guys hanging from ropes and discuss with our fellow co-workers if enough money could be paid to us for us to do that job.

But that was last week. This week is a whole new week, and I’ve slept since then. Or haven’t slept since then, as the case may be. Added on top of that, it’s Monday and I’ve pretty much forgotten whatever notices were sent out the previous week. So when 8:30 rolls around and it’s time for my first pumping session, I go about my business like normal.

Do you have a sense for where this is going yet???

Oh, another side note that makes this story all that much more interesting: I like wearing dresses. I love that I work in a place where I can wear dresses with heels and feel all girly-girly. And since most of my dresses I haven’t worn since this time last year, I’m trying to wear all of the summer dresses as much as possible right now as Fall rolls into Central Texas and the weather is nice. On a normal person, wearing a dress isn’t that notable. But for a breast-feeding/pumping-while-at-work-Mom…this becomes somewhat of a possible wardrobe malfunction just waiting to happen. If you’ve put 2 and 2 together at this point, you get where I’m taking this point…when you’re pumping, wearing a dress means baring your upper body completely while pumping.

Back to my story – 8:30 rolls around, and I pull out all of my paraphernalia for pumping and prepare to do the deed. I close my office door, hook everything up and unzip my dress. Now, the first question that many of you might want to ask is if I close my blinds. I’ll bravely (or stupidly?) answer that I do not. I’m on an upper floor, no one could see me unless you’ve got binoculars in the next high rise over (which I’ll grant you could happen) but I ALWAYS sit on the floor below the wall of windows – completely 100% blocked from anyone’s view. That’s just where I’m most comfy and you need to be all comfy when you’re pumping at work.

Just as I get my dress worked down and the pump started up, I hear the THUNK! THUNK! sound that signals the window washer man is working on a section of windows. Vaguely in the back of my brain, I remember the email coming out…and I turn to look at the windows to see if I’m in any danger. I see nothing. He must not be close to my section, I think to myself. So I continue.

Just as I’m really getting into my Zen mindset that I totally thinks make pumping more effective, I hear the THUNK! THUNK! again…this time it sounds a bit closer. I once again look over my shoulder, and imagine my surprise when I see ropes dangling down…no feet, or anything to suggest an actual person is close…just the ropes that signal that somewhere a person is near. Could be 100 feet above or below the section of ropes that I can actually see.

Hmmm…what does a girl do in this situation? If you’ve ever pumped before, you know that it’s not always the easiest thing to stop and start in the middle of a session so I don’t really want to stop and wait for him to move on if he’s nowhere close to my office. I tilt my head up and backwards, trying to angle it so that I can see where the window washer man is. I can’t see him, and make the conscious decision to continue the session…oh yeah, I did just do that.

But now my stride is off. I’ve lost the Zen vibe that I had going on because now I’m worried about the window washer man. How close is he? Would he even be able to see in? The windows are tinted shiny from the outside, so how much could he really see??? And as I start to get nervous about it all (those THUNKS are getting closer!) I realize that my milk has slowed down. And it shouldn’t have slowed down just quite yet…so that means that my anxiety over this situation is affecting the pumping session. But at this point, I can’t stop, I just need to do whatever it is I need to do to finish up before he makes it to my pane of glass.

So I decide to “help the girls out” by massaging them along, encouraging them to empty completely out in a quicker manner because when I say the word massage I really mean squeeze, squish or smash. It really does help things out…even if it looks awkward. And then the thought hits me (as if it wouldn’t have been bad enough before) that there’s a lady halfway undressed in her office all alone with plastic parts attached to some of her lady parts…now I’ve got all of that PLUS I’m touching said lady parts in what could be construed in a sexual manner. Note: you would only think that if you’re a GUY! There’s nothing remotely sexual about pumping milk out of your breasts…see all other posts where I refer to myself as Bessie the Cow.

So now I’ve got the mental image of what I think the window washer man would see if he happened to come to my window…and I’m terrified that I won’t finish in time…I try to think nice milk-flowing thoughts to speed things up…and I continue to “force” the milk out by other means…doing all of this at what I feel is warp speed so that I finish in time. Just as I begin to despair of ever draining myself dry, I realize that I’m all done.

I quickly unhook, tossing the liquid gold on the floor in a manner that doesn’t fit the preciousness that I really feel towards it and struggle to re-attach the cups of my nursing bra in the upright and closed position. I frantically reach around behind myself and drag the zipper up with perhaps a bit more force than was really necessary…and then, and only then, do I relax enough to turn off the breast pump.

As I rise up off of the floor, coming into view of the world fully dressed, I see the window washer man’s legs descend into my line of sight. Sure enough, by the time that I’ve sat myself back down at my desk like any other normal working person, he’s got a full view into my office. Luckily for me, there’s nothing there for him to see anymore…if he can even actually see inside…

Oh but wait, are those breastpump suction cups and vials full of milk on my desk? Why yes, yes they are. What? You mean to tell me that’s not a normal sight in an office building? Oh, I had no idea!

By the skin of my teeth I missed exposing myself to the window washer man. Another 15 or 20 seconds and I would have still been trying to zip up my dress while sitting down on my office floor…a full minute sooner and he would have gotten one heck of a show!

You know, after that first awkward first day of pumping at work, it really hasn’t been uncomfortable.

Let me revise that statement and add an “Until Today” to the end of it!

3rd Grade Memories

I was laying in bed last night…totally exhausted, but not quite able to go to sleep right away…and I started thinking about random things. Things that would not make sense to think about at any other time of the day when your weekend-day is packed full of nursing, cooking, nursing, cleaning and more nursing. Are you noticing a theme here? LOL!

Anyway, when I should have been sleeping or nodding off into la-la land a thought struck me about the similarities between Jenna and myself at this time in her life. She’s in third grade now, and I started thinking about what third grade was like for me and how things are the same or different for her. First off (I think that this is why I was on this train of thought), it was picture day this past Thursday at her school - I dread school picture day because I honestly think that they all stink. No one takes a good school picture. They’re too canned, too posed, and I’m the Mom that normally forgets that it’s school picture day and sends my kid to school with her hair not brushed and a ratty T-shirt on…the trend started with my own 1st grade picture taken with pigtails (the horror!) in my hair because MY mom forgot that it was picture day…I’m just keeping the dream alive.

But I digress. Thinking about her school pictures for the third grade got me thinking about my own 3rd grade portrait, which I’ll have to share with you another day. It’s not a pretty picture, by the way, but it made me remember my third grade year in general…and a funny story to pass along on your dreary Monday evening.

So come on, and jump in the magic time machine with me and we’ll travel back in time to 1983...or 1984…whatever.

Third grade was rough. Mainly because during my 2nd grade year, we were all tested for our smarts and stuff and it was decided that if you scored above a certain level you were given the option to be placed in a program called T.A.G. (Talented and Gifted). Being in TAG was supposed to be a cool thing, but in reality, it meant that you left all the other kids that you’d come to know over the last three years (K-2nd) and got sent off to West Elementary, what had to be the oldest campus in Athens. Not only was it old, but it was far away…and there were not very many white kids in attendance at this school. Other than the 4th grade class of TAG students, we stuck out like sore thumbs and were teased/taunted mercilessly during any breaks or recesses when we were released with the other kids in the school. Which meant that our little 3rd grade class pretty much kept to itself. We played with just each other, we did PE class and all other electives with just each other and this group of 20-25 kids got to be really close, which worked out well since we basically took classes with just those kids for the next few years – until junior high, at least.

But third grade started it all, and was the hardest year for us to adjust. That, and for the first time ever, I had a man teacher. Mr. Carpenter was his name. I was fairly certain that he didn’t know what he was doing…I mean, he was a guy and guys just weren’t elementary school teachers back in those days and I’m also pretty sure that he was a brand new teacher. Interpret that to be that our class ran all over him for the most part. He was a good guy, nice teacher and all, but he was in WAY over his head…luckily we all survived. But I don’t think that he came back that following school year…that should tell you something! Anyway, my grades were good, I was happy with my friends (even if we did go to the bathroom in groups for safety) and my world revolved around me. School came easy for me…I never really thought about if I was smart or not, I just got good grades naturally without having to put forth a lot of effort. So you can imagine my surprise when I got a bad mark on a report card for the first time ever that year. Nope, not in math or science. Not language arts either.

I got a “C” in Conduct.

I was floored. I got marked down for talking in class…and you know that it had to be a lot of talking for it to come home on a report card! I really struggled with this for a little bit – the injustice of it all, you know. I’d never gotten a “bad mark” on a report card before. If I was struggling with a subject in school (which I don’t remember happening) then I worked a little harder or did some extra homework to improve. So how exactly do you improve a conduct grade?

No, smart-asses in the audience, the answer isn’t “talk less!” But thanks for playing!

My answer? I “studied” in the afternoons and “practiced” not talking back. You see, my defense argument to my Mom and Dad (and I stand by it to this day) was that it wasn’t me initiating the talking. It was my friends who were talking to me, and I was just “not being rude” and answering their questions. (Cue innocent face NOW!) Honest. And when my Mom told me to not talk back to them, I just wasn’t sure that I could do it. To my eight-year-old mind, if you’re not sure that you can do something then you should try it out and practice until you get better, right? Made sense to me…

But, Sandy, how does one go about not talking? Or not answering back to your friends? That’s probably what you’re wondering about now…

Well, I’ll tell you. If you’re me, you drag out your CASSETTE RECORDER (show of hands for who still has one!) and you make a tape of yourself trying to make yourself talk during class. You might have to do several different voices to imitate your friends and come up with a plethora of reasons why they’re trying to get you to talk to them and act each one out on said tape. You also have to leave gaps of silence on the tape to give yourself the option to either reply or stay quiet.  Then you play back the tape that you just made and you don’t answer back.

Easy-peasy. And TOTALLY logical!  (Those silences become a bit awkward when you play it back to yourself...) 

Right?

I thought about that tape last night and had a good hard chuckle while laying there trying to go to sleep. I would listen to that tape once or twice an afternoon and “work on” not talking back to my friends until I thought that I had the hang of things. I wish that I still had it because I’m 100% certain that I would laugh until I peed if I could hear it now. And there’s just not many things better in life than laughing so hard that you have to make a run for the bathroom…

And just in case you’re wondering how effective my strategy was? I never brought home a “C” in conduct again!

Hope you had a good Monday!

Kids Say the Darndest Things!

They really do...there are some days that I consider myself to be a fairly funny person, but I kid you not that our kids (one of the three) crack us up on a daily basis. Since we don't have them all the time, I guess it's not really a daily basis, but you know what I mean.

Now Jax doesn't really say all that much yet. He's not saying anything right now, as he's been crying so long that he's starting to sound hoarse...but that's just how some days go, right? He obviously can't talk yet, but I guarantee you that he's the loudest or noisiest baby you've ever met. And I'm not referring to his crying jags. I'm talking about normal, every day baby noises. Grunts, groans, whimpers and squeals...he's got your baby beat hands down! He might not be the brightest, smartest or most ahead of his age group on other things (like some Moms, I'm not all about comparing my baby's progress to the next child's)...but he can out-grunt, out-groan or just flat out make more noise than any other baby that I've ever know. And that's when he's sound asleep! LOL!

Tanner comes up with some good ones too. But Jenna, she's the source of most of our laughter. She says the strangest things. And the funniest part of it all is that she's not even trying to be funny. Of course, once she realizes that we think whatever she did is funny, she continues to ham it up like a good little comedian. Here's a couple of her most recent Jenna-isms...

The other night we were giving ourselves a rare treat by eating out and in typical fashion, Brent and I were getting a good chuckle out of some of the other patrons in the restaurant. (Oh, don't judge, you know that you do it too! I mean, people just make it so easy sometimes!) But I guess that we're going to have to learn to be a little less obvious about it, because Jenna caught on to who we were talking about and what we were making fun of - there was a man in the restaurant that was wearing what had to be the worlds shortest pair of pants that can still be called pants on a man. And he was short to boot, one of the shortest men that I can ever remember seeing, and of course, we were making fun of his pants as we tend to do.

When out of the blue, baby girl pipes up and says "Well, maybe they're just pants for miniatures."

Excuse me, say what? Miniatures? When we asked her what she meant, she said "You know, the little short people. Miniatures." After rolling on the floor in laughter, and getting the image of life-size porcelain figurines moving around life-like, we explained to Jenna that they're not called miniatures, but midgets. Or litte people, not little short people.

We're still laughing over that one...and it's been almost a week ago now.

Or when the other day we were driving somewhere and Jax was in his car seat a bit upset about being confined, or in the car, or just upset to be upset. Who knows? Anyway, we were discussing his crying and how to soothe him, when Jenna pipes up from the back seat and says "Well, I don't know about you, but I just rub his nose and he gets real quiet. Maybe you should try that." And she just said it so matter-of-factly, like it was common sense to rub a crying baby's nose to get him to stop.

We had a good laugh at her over that one. Until later that evening when we were at home and Jax was upset about something else and sure enough, Jenna walked right over after Brent and I had both tried every trick up our sleeves to make him quit crying (to no avail) and started gently stroking his nose - top to bottom and over again. Wouldn't you know that he not only stopped crying but WENT TO SLEEP?!??!?

Yeah, turns out that she had the last laugh on that Jenna-ism! And the really funny part? It only works for Jenna. Brent and I have both tried it, and although it sometimes helps him stop crying for me, it doesn't work as well as when Jenna does it. And it doesn't seem to work at all when Brent does it. Jenna's offered him some advice on how to do it better...but that didn't help matters either!

So for all the times that they might drive you to drink...at least they provide laughter right along with it! Children are truly a blessing...

Random Brain Dump

I know that I don’t normally do this, but this post is one of those brain dump posts – just too much on my mind, I suppose. So enjoy the randomness that is MY brain! LOL!

Right now, I’m obsessed with these that I saw here. Just started following both blogs (one is embedded in the other) and I love the idea of homemade Christmas presents and a whole month of Christmas in July ideas! But really, I’m just in love with those coasters! I think that I’ve got some funky scraps of material left over from various projects that would make super cute coasters for around our house. In fact, I KNOW that I’ve got scrap material to make these, so the only cost would be the batting – SCORE! And double score, it would replace the ratty beer coasters that somehow seem to double in number every time I turn around – does that happen at your house? Not to mention that each coaster would only take like 5 minutes to sew together, so this project would be quick, easy AND cheap! Even if it does re-engage my PWA status into the active category since I was on "hiatus."

I’ve decided that this baby is going to be JUST AS STUBBORN as my first child. Love her though I do, she was unwilling to move down into the birth canal until SHE was good and ready to make that move. Looks like her little brother is going to be the same way. HIS time table, not mine. So I’m not expecting to hear much change from last week. No dilation, no effacement, no nothing. And still floating around in there instead of being a good boy and deciding to come on out. By the way, on his way to work this morning, Brent told me that if I wanted to go ahead and have Jax today that would work for him so that it would make today his Friday. I told him not to hold his breath because in this one instance – I’m not the one in charge. He was totally shocked to hear those words come out of my mouth. Truly.

I’ve passed into the stage of not sleeping "just because." You know before, I was not sleeping because I was getting up every hour and a half to pee. Or I was not sleeping because he was moving so much that I couldn’t sleep. Or there were those times when I was not sleeping because I was so unbelievably thirsty that it woke me up. Yeah, last night, I woke up "just because" and couldn’t sleep. Yes, I went ahead and peed, got a glass of water and repositioned myself in case I couldn’t sleep because of all of the normal things, but then I realized that NONE of those reasons were why I woke up in the first place. Go figure.

I’m already in maternity leave mode as far as work is concerned. Having been told that you might possibly deliver as early as last Thursday tends to light a fire under your ass for all those little things that need to be tied up and dispersed to someone else at your office. So then when you go PAST that early date, you figure out that you don’t have that much to do anymore! LOL! Which is really kind of nice, except that you still have to come to work. To do not that much. When you could be sleeping in your bed still. Making up for those hours that you were awake “just because.” You get where I’m going with this? I thought you might.

I realized yesterday evening that I haven’t written any letters to baby. You know, that really popular trend on blogs? Yeah, I didn’t do any. And it’s not like they’re secret or personal to me or us and I just don’t want to share them. I just flat out didn’t do them. Now, I could be bold and say that I purposely didn’t do them because they’re so in and trendy and the thing to do right now if you’re prego. Or I could be totally honest and just say that I was lazy. That’s ok. I bet I still have two weeks to knock some out before he puts in his appearance!

(Yes, I’ve started making comments like that. I figure that if you can jinx yourself in a bad way, then you can also jinx yourself in a good way. For instance, I jinxed myself last week when someone asked me how I was sleeping and I answered “Great!” and then this week I’m sleeping like poop. So therefore, maybe by saying that I don’t think he’s coming for another two weeks, I’ll jinx myself and he’ll come this week!)

Don’t shoot holes in my theory. It’s my theory, and I like it!

Ok – that’s enough random stuff for today. I’ll let you know what I DON’T find out (that backwards jinxing attempt again!) at the doctor’s office today!

The Day That I Nearly Killed an Old, Elderly Man

Well, I promised you this story the other day, so I figured that I'd better follow through. So here goes...

One day, when I was only 83 weeks pregnant (that's about 34-35 weeks for regular people) we decided to stop at one of our favorite sandwich shops in San Marcos, Alvin Ords. They have the BEST sandwiches...really. If you're in the area, and you haven't eaten there, you're missing out! Anyway, I get the same sandwich every time we go there, as does Brent. Not that him getting the same thing really matters to this story.

Anyway, Alvin Ord's is a college place. It's run by old hippies who smoked a lot of dope back in the day (and more than likely still do!) and most of the employees that work there are college kids. They're all sort of hippy-ish, if you know what I mean. I think that they all hug trees, care about the environment and the girls probably don't shave. Now, saying all of that, I have nothing wrong with the employees or those beliefs, I'm just trying to paint an accurate picture for you all.

There are also a few older employees. Like maybe they worked there when Alvin Ord's first opened many, many moons ago. Keep that in mind...

So, back to the story. I went up to the counter along with Brent and Tanner and we all placed our order. They ordered the Salvation - a yummy treat for their tummies, and I placed my order. I ordered a turkey sandwich on French, with no cheese. Not that hard, right? I mean, it's not like it comes with a bunch of things that I cut this and that and added the other...I just didn't want cheese on my sandwich.

We sat down and waited for our food. Shortly, since the service is so great, our food was delivered and it was hot and smelled so yummy. The boys immediately dug into their sandwiches and I proceeded to scrape a little of the extra lettuce off of my sandwich first. That's when I noticed the cheese. I mean, how hard is it to leave off the cheese when I specifically ordered it that way? It shouldn't have been too hard, since that was the only change that I had made to the sandwich. I calmly got up, took my sandwich back to the counter and waited my turn.

Was I going to ask them to re-make my sandwich? You better bet I was. I mean, all I wanted was NO CHEESE. Not that hard, and I wasn't even mad about it. Just 83 weeks pregnany and hungry, which thinking about it in those terms makes for a dangerous combination. There was a pretty good line at the counter, and the younger (read smarter looking) employee was busy, so he asked the older gentleman behind the counter if he could help me. I mean, I'm standing there holding an uneaten sandwich - there was obviously something wrong with my order.

Here's how our conversation went down:

Me: Yes sir, I asked for no cheese on my sandwich and it was made with cheese.
Old Man: just stares at me blankly, obviously not comprehending
Me: You see, I ordered a turkey sandwich on French with NO CHEESE...and there's cheese on this sandwich...
Old Man: But it IS French bread.
Me: Yes, I know that it's French bread. And that's fine. But it had cheese on it. I didn't want cheese, and I ordered it without cheese.
Old Man: So you want Wheat Bread? Not French.
Me: (at this point starting to get "testy" and lose my temper) No, sir. I wanted a turkey sandwich on FRENCH but with NO CHEESE. I would like for you to re-make the sandwich.
Old Man: But you still want the cheese, right?

It was at this point that I decided that it was safer for all involved for me to just walk away. You know, to take a step back. I gave him the death glare with evil ojos, which several other employees witnessed, and then I walked (or maybe stomped) back to our table and sat back down. Brent, who had witnessed the rising temperature to my temper was honestly worried for the safety of the old man. Our table wasn't actually close enough to the counter for him to have overheard the conversation, but he knew that it didn't go well. As I related the story back to him, he immiediately got up to take care of the situation.

Luckily, about that time what I can only assume was a supervisor or manager came over to the table to ask what the problem was. I literally had to let Brent do the talking because I was so mad. I know that I probably didn't have a reason to be that mad, but hormones take over your body at this point during your pregnancy and I was hungry. That's really the only excuse that I have. The younger guy was very nice, and understood the problem and went off to re-make my sandwich...correctly this time.

Was I worried about the old man spitting in my food? Yeah, a little bit. But the good news is that we had a clear shot of where they prepare the food and Brent watched them like a hawk on my behalf. Me? I just sat there and ate the rest of my Fritos while I waited. Lucky for them I didn't have to wait for long. My sandwich came out hot and fresh...and right...and oh, so yummy.

After the demons inside me had settled and my hunger was abated, I was slightly embarrassed about the way that I had acted. Brent assured me that I hadn't overreacted or caused a scene in any way, but I still felt bad that I nearly took off the head of an innocent, if somewhat hardof-hearing, older man. I was raised to respect the elderly, even when they can't hear you. But oh well. Brent went up to get a refill on his soda before we left, and the younger guy was up at the counter again and asked if everything had worked out right the second time. Brent sort of apologized for me and told the guy that it was really the best thing for me to just walk away from the old man, being 35 weeks pregnant at the time. The young guy laughed and said not to worry about it, and gave us the impression that things like this happened all the time with that old man.

What's the moral to this story? Well, it could be twofold. #1 - when you're 35 weeks pregnant (or more than 35 weeks along) you don't always have control of your emotions. You WILL go off on perfect strangers for the craziest of things, if not your own loved ons. It's a fact of life. Accept it, embrace it, and deal with it. You're not the first one to do it, and you probably won't be the last either. #2 - you CAN control your emotions, to an extent. You can choose to walk away. Instead of tearing a stranger's head off. You DO have options. LOL!

Have you had a meltdown on a total stranger yet? Or do you know someone that did? I'd LOVE to hear that I'm not the only one...

Why Didn’t Anyone Warn Me About the Hormones???

This is what MUST go through my husband’s head sometimes...really and truly. He’s been great, he tells me all the time that I’m not that hormonal and other than a few times have been acting totally normal and not crazy-hormonal-pregnant all the time. I think that he’s forgetting about this incident. Or the weekend of my baby shower, which yes, I still need to post about. Or the time that I almost assaulted the old guy in Alvin Ord’s in San Marcos…oh wait, I haven’t shared that story yet. Well, that’s a story for ANOTHER day, I promise!

Yeah, and if you believe that I’ll remember to post that one later, you must be smoking crack too! I mean, did I mention that I still haven’t posted about my awesome shower that was two weekends ago? Yeah…keep holding your breath.

Anyway. Back to my post about hormones. No one tells you how bad it is or how irrational you’re being. Well, strangers might tell you, because they can always run away. But your friends and family and especially those that have to live in the same household with you don’t really like to talk about it. It’s like that dark, family secret that great-Aunt Bertha doesn’t talk about, you know? They lie to your face and tell you that you haven’t been that bad, when you know that they’re lying to your face because they have to live with you, and you probably prepare some or most of their meals so their scared that they might get spit in their food if they speak ill of you. It could happen. Especially when you’re 37 weeks pregnant.

And you love hearing the lie. Even knowing it’s a lie, it makes me feel better to hear it. They’re only lying out of love for me, right? Let’s hope so. And he must love me lots…because I’m 100% hormonal right now. I could cry at the drop of a hat and not know why. And that’s a for real not know why, not the whole I’m telling you that I don’t know why I’m crying when I really do know and I’m too pissed off at you because you don’t know why I’m crying to tell you why I’m crying. Did you follow that? It made sense to me!

If it’s not tears that are afflicting me, it’s the darn heat. No, not the heat OUTSIDE – I mean, I know that I live in Central Texas and July is usually spent with days reaching into the 100’s each and every day. No, I’m talking about the heat that is roasting my body from the inside out. I’m literally H-O-T all the time. All. The. Time. As in, my husband obviously thinks that we own a portion of the electric company (which it turns out that it’s a Co-op so we kinda do!) and he likes to keep the house at a chilly 70 degrees year round. And since installing the tile in the whole downstairs of our house that makes for a CHILLY downstairs. And I love it right now. On any normal-not-pregnant-day you would find me wrapped up in a throw or quilt trying to stay warm and sneaking up the stairs to turn the thermostat up “just a little bit” without him catching me. These days? You’re lucky to find me fully clothed during the middle of the day, let alone not laying on the tile floor just to transfer the coolness to my body.

And another weird hormonal thing that MUST be related, I cannot drink enough water to quench my thirst. I figure that it’s related to those hormones that are making my temperature gauge all freaky right now too, since I figure that the water is cooling me off from the inside out, while the A/C helps cool off my outsides. I seriously consume at least 10-12 glasses of water each day. And three of those are drunk between the hours of midnight and 4 am, which does lead to more peeing. But I’m up in the middle of the night peeing whether I drink the water or not, so I might as well try to make myself nice and hydrated. And it has to be water. Not vanilla cokes from Sonic – although they still taste divine, they do NOTHING to quench the thirst. Kool-Aid is a close second to water, or sweet tea, but there are times that I can’t even do those – it HAS to be water.

And this is all BEFORE I give birth. From what I remember, it gets WAY WORSE after the birth process is over and you’re back at home. I remember friends coming over to bring us dinner or to visit and finding me all curled up in a little ball crying my eyes out while my baby was snuggled up nice and tight in my arms. I remember it being MUCH worse afterwards. But shhhh…that’s my little secret. I haven’t told that to Brent or the kids yet. I figure it’s just better experienced without forewarning. Or maybe I can pull it off that I “didn’t know” that it was going to be that way afterwards? Probably not, I’m a horrible liar. But I can still try!

Anyway, I guess it’s true what they say about another person controlling your thoughts, body and actions when you’re pregnant and the period immediately following giving birth. There are times that you don’t know why you do what you do, why you eat what you’re eating and so on. There are moments that you’ll be so aggravating to be around, or maybe I should phrase that to say you’ll be so aggrevated to be around anyone else, that you just won’t know what to do. And then there are times that your limits of self-restraint and control will amaze even you. And it’s those times that I try to keep in the fore-front of my mind…and my husband’s. A little positive reinforcement never hurt, right? LOL!

**And just in case you’re wondering – none of the above counts as me complaining or whining. I’m still holding to my pledge to minimize the complaints, and the above post was written purely for educational purposes…not to vent or complain!

Hmmm...What to Do?!?

OK, so I have a little problem. Except that maybe it's not a little problem. My doctor certainly wasn't worried about it, so maybe the part where it freaks me out is really just me over-reacting.

I know, I know. Those of you that know me are thinking to yourself, "What do you mean freak out? Where is our level-headed friend Sandy? She NEVER freaks out!"

Now that you're all finished laughing your ass off, I'll continue with details about my problem. So I mentioned yesterday that I've started experiencing swelling this past week. At first I really thought it was just when I get hot, but over the last few days I've noticed that it happens every day. Every. Single. Day. And it's starting earlier and earlier during the day.

Which makes it all that more important that I got home right after lunch and put my feet up. Right? Right. And that does help the situation, but my feet are starting to swell no matter what I do. Or rather I should say that my RIGHT foot is starting to swell no matter what I do.

Did you catch that? Yeah, that's no typo. It's mainly just my right foot. I mean, there's some swelling in my left foot, but it's mainly just my right foot. My left foot is a little bit bigger than normal, but my right foot is LOTS bigger than normal. Like at least twice the size, if not bigger around the ankle. To the point where it hurts for me to bend my toes sometimes.

Yeah.

So, here's where I need your help. Have you ever heard of this happening? Or do you know of anyone that this has happened to? Where just one side of your body swells during pregnancy? My only guess is that it has to do with him favoring the right side of my belly - but that's just a guess.

I'd love to hear from you if you've got any thoughts about this! Thanks!

Happy Birthday to ME!!!

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Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday to SANDY

Happy Birthday to me!

Yeah, I often sing myself the "Happy Birthday" song - makes my office feel a little less lonely. LOL!



So, as you might have guessed - today is my birthday. I'm 34 today, officially entering the mid-30s range of age, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. To be perfectly honest, I hadn't even thought about my upcoming birthday (which is rare for me!) until my Mom brought my bday card to my shower this past weekend - with strict instructions to NOT open it until my birthday. I guess that I looked at her with confusion on my face, because SHE had to remind ME that my birthday was the next Friday! Too much other things going on, I suppose.



I don't know what's in store for me today. My husband is typically lavish with the gifts, and we don't have any of our children this weekend (except for the one that's still baking) so a nice, relaxing weekend might be just what the doctor ordered!



On a sort-of related side-note: while perusing Google images for a picture of a cool-looking birthday cake to include with this post, I came across some VERY disturbing pictures of birthday cakes. There were a lot of children's birthday cakes, which was expected. And there were plenty of cool looking cakes made into things that aren't cakes:

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But then there were several on the first 10 or so pages of images that would not be completely appropriate to post here on the blog for those readers that might be reading while at work. An unusual amount. And then there was this one:

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I don't know that I have words for someone who wants a Tom Selleck birthday cake. Maybe I would just say "to each his/her own" or "good luck!" I don't know. What's the oddest birthday cake that you've ever seen? Just for my own curiousity.

A Wicked Sense of Humor?

Well...after the rough night that was my life last night, I think that I received definitive proof that God actually might be a woman with a wicked sense of humor...

I went to the bathroom today while at work (nothing new there) and we all know from here that it's a habit of mine to check out the grey hairs that might/might not be present each time I go pee.

Yeah, well, this morning, I did my normal check and do you know what I found? Yep, gray hairs.

Nope, not short ones right at my roots. You know, some that might have grown in to replace all of those that I viciously yank out...

Oh no, no, no. That would be too simple. These were LONG. Like back in my normal hair length (I wore my hair down today, that's how I saw them!)...and they are PURE WHITE.

So you see...definitive proof that God might actually be a woman with a wicked sense of humor!

Holy Cow!

Well...I'm sorta embarrassed to admit that it took me almost two WHOLE afternoons to figure out what the hey was wrong with my wireless network at home. I gave up on Friday, and then thought that maybe it was something with my work laptop...so when our IT guy stopped by today to install a new program on my station, I asked him about it.

Then I came home and got ALL kinds of excited to see the home network show up...and then it took another TWO HOURS to get it to stay connected and not continue to drop the connection every 5 minutes.

I'm usually smarter than this...honest, I am. But I'm glad that it's fixed now. At least for these 5 minutes.

Because if I couldn't figure this out, I was going to go nuts with a capital N at home all afternoon with only daytime TV to keep me "entertained" while I lay in bed doing nothing...

HELLO!!

I think that the little man thinks that he can punch his way out of my tummy through either my belly button or just, you know, down there.

I swear on a stack of Bibles that he punched me a few hours ago so hard “down there” that I was shocked to not see a hand sticking out and waving at me. And all of that was done while I was having an important conversation with someone at work. Nice, Jax. Real nice timing there, buddy! Not only did you hurt Mommy, but you made me jump so hard and make such a painful face that they thought that I was having really bad contractions…

I don’t know what he’s doing, or what’s going on in there, but the punches are getting sharp. And they have lots of force behind them now.

I’ve read somewhere that they can sense light and dark now, so maybe he’s thinking that because my belly is stretched almost to its limit (which logically in my mind makes my skin thinner therefore making it lighter to him in there) that he can just reach out and touch the lightness that he “sees.” I hate to tell you this buddy, but that’s not really the way that it works…maybe someone else could clue him in for me?

If so, can you also explain to him that he’s supposed to sleep between the hours of 11pm-6am…not throw parties in my belly between the hours of 2:30-4:30am? Thanks ever so much, that would REALLY help me out!

A Mom’s Logic

Do you think that since I’m buying these for Jenna’s bday dinner celebration tonight that I shouldn’t buy these? Yeah, I didn’t think so either. They both went home (back to work) with me…yum yum!

What?!?! I’m EIGHT MONTHS PREGNANT…do you really think that there was a moment’s hesitation in the middle of Target?

If you answered “yes” to that question, then it’s obvious that you don’t know me that well…LOL!!!

Who cares if I’m having cupcakes after dinner tonight and a cookie (or two) during the afternoon between lunch and dinner? We’ll use Brent’s famous excuse that I’m supposed to use right now for everything… “Dude. I’m pregnant!”

Because that one just covers all our bases…at least I did share the cookies with my co-workers...

Just Because...

An excerpt from a text conversation that I had with The Hubs the other day…maybe you’ll see what I see that he TOTALLY does NOT see!

Backgrond info: I had stopped to pick up Jenna from her last day of 2nd grade and we were headed home before our doctor’s appt. And I was trying to decide between snow cones or ice cream…

Me: Does the snow cone lady open at 3 or 4?
Him: 4
Me: You want a scoop of ice cream? (Since the snow cone lady opened at 4pm and our appt was at 4:15pm, then ice cream was the obvious choice, right?)
Him: No. Ya’ll better hurry up if ya’ll are coming home.
Me: Still have an hour and 15, babe.
Him: Why are ya’ll getting ice cream?
Me: Last day of school?
Me: Pre-birthday?
Me: Do we NEED a reason?!?!?

I swear that we don’t use “ya’ll” this much in regular conversations…he must have just been feeling the “ya’ll” that day.

Yeah, he still doesn’t get it…do you?

Can't you just stop at Baskin Robbins "just because?" Or do you have to have a reason? I'm curious...

Our Day Yesterday...

Well, I have to say that yesterday was…interesting. There are actually a lot of words that I could use to encompass some of my feelings yesterday. Stressful. Anxious. Thankful. Honored. Humbled. Proud. Worried. And finally, embarrassed.

Let me back up and explain. I’ve mentioned before that I have a thing with needles, blood and hospitals. You know, all of those things that I’m going to be facing myself in less than 10 weeks…but I digress. So I have this thing. On a normal, everyday basis it doesn’t cause me any major problems…except the time that I passed out while trying to drive my daughter (who had cracked her head open) to the emergency room. Once again, I’m off topic. When Brent met with his normal VA doctor a few weeks back, and she wanted to order some tests before trying to diagnose the symptoms that he was describing, we knew that he would have to go to the closest VA hospital, which happens to be in Temple. I offered to try to get the time off so that I could be there with him during the tests, and he was grateful for my offer and only asked me to do it if it didn’t cause any problems for me at work.

I arranged to have the day off, and away we went. I was really anxious and nervous. #1 because I’m headed to a place that I don’t like to go – the hospital. There’s just too many things going on there that I don’t want to know about or see face-to-face. #2 because I’m worried about what the test results might show. It could be something really minor, or it could go the other route and lean towards something more major. #3 because I’ve never been to a VA hospital, but logic tells me that I’m about to see some serious stuff. And since I don’t do well with regular hospitals…well, you can imagine my state of mind.

Imagine my surprise when I discover that the VA Hospital was no different than other hospitals that I’ve been to. Many of the Veterans there were probably Veterans from WWII, which made some of them quite old, and interesting to sit and visit with to say the least. I struck up a very pleasant conversation with a lady from a few towns over that drives Veterans to their appointments from her local hometown – what a great way to spend part of your retired days! She was QUITE a character, and helped keep my mind off of what was going on back in the exam room, which I wasn’t allowed to go into due to it being an X-ray room and my current condition of being almost 8 months pregnant.

Once he was finished with his tests, the first order of business was food. He had been slightly grouchy all day long because his appt was scheduled for 10:30am and was not allowed to eat anything after 6pm the previous night. I felt horrible for eating in front of him, but being pregnant, I really didn’t have a choice. We immediately left the VA and headed for one of our favorite restaurants – BJ’s. They have great beer, wonderfully delicious pizzas and the most sinful dessert on the face of the planet – the pizzookie. Yummy, yummy, yummy.

Off we headed, and since we were after the lunch rush (yes, the VA hospital operates on its own schedule!) we were seated right away. After a few minutes our waitress came up and introduced herself and took our drink orders. Brent also ordered an appetizer (a man’s got to eat!) and we settled down to decide on our main course. Our waitress came back and dropped off our drinks and took our order. When she left, Brent commented on the fact that she was friendly. Like really friendly. Like more flirty than friendly.

Since he’s a good-looking guy, I’m used to this and commented something to the effect that I must not even notice anymore when girls hit on him…to which he started laughing. He was laughing because apparently she was flirting with ME.

Me. The one who’s 30 weeks pregnant. And sitting with her husband in a booth. And we’re sitting close, not on opposite sides.

I immediately tell him that the barium that they made him drink at the hospital must be affecting his brain and brush him off. But over the course of the next few trips that she made back to our table, I had to admit that he was right. She was hitting on me. HITTING on ME. And not like just a little bit, but being all out in the open about things.

We watched how she was with her other two tables, thinking maybe she was just really friendly (yes, that was my suggestion). But nope. She wasn’t being like this with anyone else. Just me.

It was all little things, but glaringly obvious once I was attuned to it. She only really spoke to me. She gave me the “look” more than once, and I’m not talking about that look that I give to Brent when he’s in trouble…you know the look that I’m talking about! And she did it over and over and over. To the point where I had to admit that he was right and reluctantly admit that she was hitting on me. Much to his delight.

So here’s my question for you: How would you have handled this?

I mean, I’m almost 8 months pregnant…clearly showing…I’m sitting with my husband at lunch (where we’ve smooched a few times since sitting down)…I’m wearing a wedding ring, as is he…I don’t know how to more clearly state that I’m not looking. For a man or a woman, just to be clear.

I don’t know about you, but I just kept my head down and tried my hardest to not look at her. I mean, I didn’t want to encourage her any more, right? When she came over, I wouldn’t look up, I let Brent answer all of her questions, and I did my best to scoot a bit closer to him just to be extra clear.

But by the end of the meal, she still hadn’t gotten the message. When she asked if she could box up our leftovers, Brent told her yes. She asked if we wanted to also take our leftover mozzarella sticks and I immediately answered “Yes, please. Our kids love them.” while silently congratulating myself and patting myself on the back all at the same time for the stroke of genius to let her know that I wasn’t interested. Yeah, she didn’t get that hint either.

When she brought our leftovers back, all boxed up, she asked us about dessert and by that point I was just ready to leave. (Yes, Brandi, I didn’t even WANT a pizzookie at that point!) She asked us about dessert while clearing off our plates, and Brent politely told her that we didn’t have room for anything else.

She was stacking up her tray when he capped off that response with a remark about how the appetizer had ruined our dessert appetite. She picked up her tray and began to walk away right when he mentioned that he must have been having a sympathy pregnancy craving over the mozzarella sticks.

She was already several steps away from our table when what he said really sunk in. I kid you not – she stopped in her tracks and waited a moment while obviously processing what he’d just said. Then she came BACK to our table and said “You’re pregnant?!?!?” in the most depressed and shocked voice you can imagine.

I leaned back and rubbed my belly to show it off…and it’s not that big some days, I’ll give you that, but it’s pretty obvious that I’m pregnant. Well, I have to admit that I was wearing a black t-shirt and the booth was also black, so I guess that she might not be able to see as clearly as if I were standing or something.

I told her that I was due at the end of July and she went on and on about how she couldn’t even tell that I was pregnant. (Which was just further proof for Brent how hard she’d been checking me out!) Then she sealed the deal and came around to the side of the booth to look at me from the side…it was easier to see that way.

Then her whole face fell into a mask of disappointment. She told me congratulations, but the joy in her eyes (or the “I’d like to buy you a drink” look) was gone. Her shoulders literally sank in a defeated pose…and it would have been funny if I hadn’t been so mortified.

Of course, my husband is just laughing away…literally rolling in the aisle with laughter. She picked up the check to go and run our card and said in the saddest voice ever that she’d be right back. Brent really tried to get me to leave my phone number or an “I’m sorry but I think that you’re still hot!” message on the ticket where we signed, but I am happy to admit that he did not get his wish.

Nor did I let him go back to the table to get whatever he “forgot” on our way out the door…I knew that he would have totally written my cell phone number down.

This was a first for me. I don’t think that I’ve been hit on before by a girl. At least not while in a restaurant with my husband while being almost 8 months pregnant. On one hand, I know that I should be flattered. And on some small scale, I am. I mean, getting hit on no matter by boy or girl should always be a compliment, right? Right. But really I was WAY more embarrassed than anything.

Like really embarrassed.

My “Reset” Button?!?!

Yep, it’s official…my belly button, which has been on the verge of being an “outie” for the past few weeks is all the way out. I can no longer protest that it’s not all the way out yet…and my reasoning for this was because you couldn’t totally see it with EVERY shirt that I wore, just some of them. Yeah, not anymore. Now, it’s showing through every single shirt/dress that I own and wear.

Insert sad face here…

What? You don’t believe me, check it out! So you see, it’s official. I have an “outie” again. I remember this phase of pregnancy well…as my belly button did this the last time that I was pregnant too. So embarrassing…

But what makes this worse is that Brent has “affectionately” nicknamed the belly button my “reset” button. You know, like when your hair dryer overheats and you can press the red button to reset it? Apparently I am now in possession of one of those on my belly. To make it somewhat cuter, when he talks about it being my “reset” button, he pushes it in (like you would the button) and makes this “whoop” sound. Like checking groceries at the store. Whoop. Reset button. Whoop.

All of this I think that I could forgive…but to add insult to injury, Jenna has picked up on this “cute” thing that Dad does…and now she walks around pushing in my outie and going “whoop!”

Hmmm…Mama is NOT too happy…Mama shoots Dad “the look”…Dad says “I love you!” and grins…

Like that’s gonna make it all okay. Yeah.

Grey, Grey…Go Away!

Question for the masses (or my readers!): what do you do about your grey hair?

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This question comes up because a few weeks back when spending the weekend with my gal pals, the youngest one of us admitted to finding a grey hair a few days before. That would have been Maid Britney admitting to that. And the eyes that rolled in response came from MOH and myself – we shared a look that literally told Maid Britney to just wait! (I really need new nicknames for you girls!) So the subject’s been on my mind ever since.

Come on, I know that it’s no fun to admit that you have them, but we all do…so it’s ok! I’m wondering (as I find more and more of them each and every day) what other people do with their grey hair. I’ve asked a few people in person, and this is the short list that I’ve come up with:

Leave them alone – this is impossible for me to do. I’ve tried, really I have tried to leave them alone in fear that the old wives tale about three growing back in their place will actually happen. Note to self, the old wives tale maybe came true and THAT’S why there are SO many now!
Pull them out – curse and damn the old wives tale, those babies are coming out now.
Color them – hiding the evidence is just as good as them not existing, right?

And since I’ve already admitted to you guys that I can’t leave them there…and most of you actually know me and understand that I don’t visit a salon regularly so that rules out option #3…I should just go ahead and admit that I pull them out.

You see, the bathroom at my office has the mirror in front of the sink and they’ve conveniently placed a mirror directly to the left and right of the counters as well. Really cool if you’re goofing off and want to see 3500 images of yourself at the same time…and also really good at finding grey hairs apparently. It seems like once a day (or more often since I pee approximately 3,417 times a day) I find another grey/white hair sticking out courtesy of these kind mirrors. (That statement was dripping with sarcasm, in case you missed it!)

And I defiantly pluck them out. One little yank…and the problem is gone.

Until the next time I have to pee and I find another one. Or the next day, whatever. But maybe I’m making more grow…hmmm, and it wouldn’t kill me to visit the salon more often, but I think that I could color my own hair if I so desired. I used to do it. I could do it again.

I think that I was just so amused at the shock and horror that Maid Britney displayed over finding her first (mine was traumatic too, so I’m NOT making fun!) reminded me of how frequently I now find them in my hairline. If I see so many, I wonder how many other people are seeing them? And do they want to ask me why I don’t “do something” about that? Maybe they do…or maybe they don’t give a crap. I mean, come on, my hair’s in a ponytail on most days…does it really matter?!?!

All I’m saying is that maybe it should matter. And it’s something that’s been on my mind, so I thought I’d poll the audience, so to speak, and see what you do about your grey hair…if you’ll admit to having any!

Lessons I've Learned...

...or maybe I should say SHOULD have learned!

These are things that I'm slightly embarrassed to share, but they're pretty funny so...you get to laugh along WITH me! I've mentioned before that I'm 33 years old (almost 34) and I would think that at some point along my journey of life that I would have learned these things:

1. Never attempt to cook bacon while wearing a sleeveless shirt...or a lowcut shirt...or flip flops. Yes, bacon can pop and splatter down to the floor and burn your toe. It happened just the other night!

2. Walk AROUND cars/trucks that are parked in parking lots. They don't move for you...even when they're big duley trucks with tow wenches on the front...you still need to go around them and not attempt to walk through them. Yes, I saw it there...but still walked right into the front bumper/tow hitch thingy...

3. Never expect to attend a family function and not hear just one negative comment about you from some well-meaing soul also in attendance. Your hair, your weight, your clothes, your choice of lifestyle, the fact that you do/don't discipline your children. Pick one.

4. People can be generous. With most people though, it comes with strings or provisions. Read all fine print.

5. You're never too old to giggle at the jokes that are printed on the backs of Laffy Taffy...I know that they're corny - but they're so stupid that it makes them all that much funnier. Besides, each and every day you need something to laugh at, right?

6. And lastly, this is pregnancy related - listen to your body. If it's telling you that you're doing too much, take a break. If it tells you that you're being a fat, lazy bum - then get up and take a walk. If you're craving cereal, then maybe you need more milk (even if you're like me and HATE the taste of milk!). I'm trying to do better and listen to my body...but what happens when you're craving a glass of red wine? I mean, like seriously can't stop thinking about just one glass of wine...can you still get away with the logical argument that there's something in red wine that my body needs right now? I'm just asking...

It’ll Be A Miracle...

...if this child isn’t born addicted to Benadryl! Seriously, people, I have NEVER in my whole life had this many problems with allergies! I know that I have said it before, but I do NOT remember having these problems while pregnant with my daughter...at all.

And I know that there might be people out there reading this thinking to themselves what a bad mother I’m being by taking drugs while pregnant. This is something that my doctor has encouraged me to do all through this pregnancy, and sometimes you just need help. She tells me to take a whole one each night, and if things haven’t been too bad that day then I just take a half of a pill, but I gave up months ago trying to fight this on my own. I couldn’t function at work on a daily basis with the itchy eyes, scratchy throat and stopped-up nose...and then I couldn’t sleep at night due to my nasal passageways being completely swollen shut and not allowing me to breathe.

I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking that on the “bad mommy scale” not being able to breathe and provided much needed oxygen to your baby ranks much worse than taking half a Benadryl...I’m just saying.

And the good news is that I don’t have to take it each night. I can skip some nights. And then I might have to take it for a solid week straight. It varies, so I buy in bulk...but a new problem cropped up this morning. I took my half a pill last night, and woke up this morning with one side of my nose being all clogged. Can’t blow it – tried to and nothing happened. Oh well. So I get up, get dressed, brush my teeth and decide that my eyes are too bad to actually try putting contracts in today, so I go to get my glasses. This whole time I’ve noticed that I feel a little “off” but nothing that I can put my finger on...

Until I go to the closet to put on my shoes. I literally nearly feel down in the closet in a heap because I lost my balance trying to slip my shoes on. I know that you might be thinking that’s nothing normal – I’m not exactly Miss Grace and I’m pretty vocal and open about my lack of grace. But when this has happened before, it’s been when I was putting on heels and I had gotten one on and was trying to slip into the other one while balanced on one heel...that wasn’t the case this morning. These were flats. And I literally stumbled sideways and fell against the dresser that’s in our closet.

Hmmm...vertigo problems? Could that be why I feel off. I would have to say yep, that’s it. By the time that I got to work about an hour later, I felt like I was drunk. Stumbling while walking, bumping into walls, and don’t even get me started on what it felt like while I was sitting stationary at my desk – merry-go-round, anyone? I can’t explain it. Just the weirdest thing.

I tell you, if it doesn’t get better then I might have to resort to taking the second half of my Benadryl pill at lunchtime...which might make things better or worse. Better in that my eyes might cease the burning sensation...and worse because I could fall asleep while at my desk – this stuff packs a punch with me! I figure since I’m already doing things on the “bad mommy list” then I might as well wash it down with a Coke...

Have you had to take medication while being pregnant? Do you worry about doing it or do you put faith in your doctor and trust what he/she tells you is fine?