Number of days on a ship: 7
Number of ice cream cones eaten on ship: Upwards of 20-25
Number of miles ran on ship: 1/4
Number of pounds gained while on ship: 7
Degrees in Cabo San Lucas on January 10: 82
Degrees in Salt Lake on January 10: 28
Number of miles in the half-marathon I ran in January, a week after gaining seven pounds on a seven day cruise: 13.1
Number of miles I enjoyed running in the half-marathon: 2
Cost of taking the math subject test of the GRE for the fourth time: $130
Number of bananas Mighty Mouse brought to the math subject test of the GRE: 2
Cost of taking one class at the U for having failed the math subject test of the GRE for the fourth time: $984.71
Number of bananas I would've liked to have smashed into Mighty Mouse's face: 100's
Number of softball games we played: 10
Number of softball games I resented: 10
Number of 5ks ran in 2006: 9
Number of 5ks ran in 2008: 1
Number of years we've been married: 7
Number of new furniture items bought since we got married: 2
Number of new furniture items bought in 2008: 2
Number of stores I had to visit before finding an elephant costume for Halloween for a determined three year old: 1
Number of prayers offered in thanks: 1000's
Number of Sundays I looked forward to going to church: 2
Number of Sundays I went to church: 40
Number of months pregnant in 2008: 10 1/2 (I had a miscarriage early on in March and then got pregnant again right away)
Number of weeks I was before I couldn't fit behind the desk in school: 34
Number of weeks I was when I went swimming last: 36
Pounds gained during pregnancy: 28
Weight of baby born 3 weeks early: 8 lbs 4 oz
Days until I was back at prepregnancy weight: 11
Number of days Aunika was in the NICU: 6
Cost of Aunika's NICU stay: Roughly $22,000
Percentage of households in the United States making less than $22,000 a year: 25.24%
Number of diapers we've blown through in a month: 350+
Number of poopie diapers I've changed today: 4
Years since graduated from high school: 9 1/2
Years spent in college: 9 1/2
Tuition cost for two years spent at CEU: $0
Tuition cost for 5 1/2 years at U: $17,422.57
Percentage of households in the United States making less than $17,500 a year: 18.63%
Amount given to us to help with tuition that did not need to be paid back: $0
Amount still owe the U: $0
Number of items on list not completed: 95
Number of items completed in 2008: 5
Here's to a happy 2009!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Chunky Monkey
I can't believe Aunika is already a month old. I remember thinking how long a month was when Josh turned a month old, but with Aunika it has flown by. I've been really busy though, with finishing up school and Christmas, so that's helped.
Here's a picture of Josh when he was a month old. It's eerie how the two look so much alike.
This is a picture of Aunika in her Christmas pajamas. Notice how bowlegged her legs are. That's because she'd outgrown them, but they were so cute, we couldn't resist putting her in them for Christmas. Her feet didn't fit in the bottoms either and her little toes were all scrunched. Good thing Christmas wasn't a week later
Pretty much all Aunika does right now is sleep, so it's hard to get a picture of her awake and dressed. We're not complaining about the sleep though. At least, when she wakes up in the middle of the night to eat, I can put her back down and turn off the light. If she's sleepy, she'll sleep. If not, she'll just lay there until she falls asleep. There have been a couple of times after her feeding at 10:00 or 11:00, we'll peek in at her a good 30 minutes later and she'll just be laying in her crib wide awake. I would imagine with all the noise that her brother makes, it's hard to get a restful sleep. We weighed her this morning at nine and a half pounds. See those chubby cheeks?
I think this might be a hint at a smile. She's trying really hard to smile and I think it will happen sometime this next week.
Santa brought her lots of new clothes including jeans. They're adorable and suppose to fit until she's three months old. She's already starting to grow out of a few things. Girls are really fun to dress even if it's just like a mini-me version. I was dismayed to find that there are ugly things out there for baby girls just like the more grown up version. Why, oh why, do some of these fashions insist on staying around? Though she's built like a little football player (no neck, no hair), there are some things that look really cute.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Christmas Cheer
What's better than opening up presents on Christmas Day? Sitting on the computer Christmas Eve Day and ordering your Christmas present.
Wade and I sorta made the basement count as our Christmas present this year. You know, like a very expensive fireplace was my present and an insanely expensive audio system with big screen televison is Wade's. However...
That's no fun.
So, I emailed Wade a comprehensive list of items I would enjoy getting if he felt in the mood to give me a little something something. Nothing too big. But on the top of the list was an indoor bicycle trainer. These cool dodads allow you to hook up your bike, inside, so you can continue riding it during the cold, wet seasons. Seeming as I'm set to do a triathlon in April and I've just had a baby, I need all the time on the bike I can possibly get and the weather doesn't cooperate this time of the year, usually. And I do have that newborn.
Also, as I was perusing possible 5k races and triathlons for this coming spring and summer, I came across this insane winter triathlon that's held up in Snowbasin. It's not really a triathlon because it technically has four events: Ski mountaineering, snow shoeing, snow running, and snow biking. I really want to do this in 2010. So I need something to keep me in shape on my bike since biking in the snow is not the easiest thing to do.
So today, Wade said to order the bike trainer as my Christmas gift. Awesome. I totally got exactly what I wanted. And since I still have two more weeks before I'm given the go ahead to start exercising again, there's no hard feelings that it's not here in time to open.
I'm reminded that the last three Christmases, my gift from Wade has had a similar theme. I got a treadmill and punching bag one year, a waterproof casing and headphones for my ipod so I could use it to swim laps last year, and a bicycle trainer this year. A lesser woman than me would sense this theme and hold it over her husband's head when tempers flared, but I asked for each of these items and so he's only making my wishes come true.
I still need a road bike. For the summer. Hint. Hint.
Wade and I sorta made the basement count as our Christmas present this year. You know, like a very expensive fireplace was my present and an insanely expensive audio system with big screen televison is Wade's. However...
That's no fun.
So, I emailed Wade a comprehensive list of items I would enjoy getting if he felt in the mood to give me a little something something. Nothing too big. But on the top of the list was an indoor bicycle trainer. These cool dodads allow you to hook up your bike, inside, so you can continue riding it during the cold, wet seasons. Seeming as I'm set to do a triathlon in April and I've just had a baby, I need all the time on the bike I can possibly get and the weather doesn't cooperate this time of the year, usually. And I do have that newborn.
Also, as I was perusing possible 5k races and triathlons for this coming spring and summer, I came across this insane winter triathlon that's held up in Snowbasin. It's not really a triathlon because it technically has four events: Ski mountaineering, snow shoeing, snow running, and snow biking. I really want to do this in 2010. So I need something to keep me in shape on my bike since biking in the snow is not the easiest thing to do.
So today, Wade said to order the bike trainer as my Christmas gift. Awesome. I totally got exactly what I wanted. And since I still have two more weeks before I'm given the go ahead to start exercising again, there's no hard feelings that it's not here in time to open.
I'm reminded that the last three Christmases, my gift from Wade has had a similar theme. I got a treadmill and punching bag one year, a waterproof casing and headphones for my ipod so I could use it to swim laps last year, and a bicycle trainer this year. A lesser woman than me would sense this theme and hold it over her husband's head when tempers flared, but I asked for each of these items and so he's only making my wishes come true.
I still need a road bike. For the summer. Hint. Hint.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
#2 Get a Bachelor's Degree
I told myself I wouldn't obsess over when the professor would post the final grade for the lone class standing between me and my degree. Yet, I found myself checking the internet obsessively.
Lucky for me the grade was posted this afternoon and I'm now the proud owner of a piece of paper signifying that I did indeed jump over enough hurdles and through enough hoops to finally be rewarded my totally useless degree in mathematics.
It's not totally useless. Just the other night, I was asked to rely on it to split the cost of a birthday meal between six of us. We each paid $1.50. (It was a cheap meal).
In any case, it's mine now and I can cross that off my list.
Lucky for me the grade was posted this afternoon and I'm now the proud owner of a piece of paper signifying that I did indeed jump over enough hurdles and through enough hoops to finally be rewarded my totally useless degree in mathematics.
It's not totally useless. Just the other night, I was asked to rely on it to split the cost of a birthday meal between six of us. We each paid $1.50. (It was a cheap meal).
In any case, it's mine now and I can cross that off my list.
He Said That?
Welcome to a new series on my blog. Basically this is a run down of the funny/witty/strange things muttered by my 3 year old. The purpose of this series is to show how much more incredibly smart, witty, and poignant my darling three year old is than yours.
Okay. Not really. The real purpose to to chronicle the funny/witty/strange things that Josh says so that when he becomes famous, I can embarass him with antecdotes from his childhood.
First up is a discussion Josh and I were having about what to get Daddy for Christmas.
Me: Josh, we need to get daddy a present for Christmas. What should we get him.
Josh (after giving it a few seconds of deep thought): I know. A sword.
To the casual observer, this wouldn't come across as all that funny or witty, but for those who know Josh, he's not a big sword kid like other boys his age I've seen. He doesn't turn every long, straight object into a sword. So the very notion that he came up with a sword as a good present for daddy signifies that he actually thinks that is what daddy would want for Christmas. Of course, the rest of the story is that he then ran to tell daddy that he was going to get him a sword for Christmas. So scrap that idea. We need to work on our secret-keeping skills. I was really looking forward to seeing the look on Wade's face when he opened up a sword on Christmas morning.
In the last 8 days, we have seen Santa Claus no less than three times. As a clarifying note, Wade and I sorta like to tease Josh. We think it builds character. So last Saturday morning was the first visit with Santa. We coached Josh the night before, asking him what he was going to ask Santa for for Christmas. A scooter and playdough. Saturday morning, Wade takes Josh over to the church for the annual Ward Christmas Breakfast and subsequent visit with Santa. When they returned, I asked Josh what he had asked Santa for.
Josh: Candy.
Me: Candy?
Josh: Santa only had candy so that's what I asked for.
No gnashing of teeth because there weren't any toys. Just very matter of fact. Santa showed up to the church with candy canes and so that's what Josh asked for.
That night, there was another visit from Santa. We sat Josh down and explained that you had to tell Santa what you wanted so he would know what to bring you on Christmas. After his visit with Santa again, he explained that he wanted a scooter and play dough. We asked Josh if he clarified which kind of scooter he wanted. A look of panic crossed over his face.
Josh: I want a Cars Scooter.
Us: But what if Santa brings you a princess scooter?
Josh: Oh no. I want a Cars Scooter not a princess scooter.
Us: Maybe we'll have to write him and tell him.
Josh (relief washing over): Okay. I write him and tell him.
Friday night, we went to a party at Wade's work where Santa was there again. This time Josh climbed up on his lap, spelled his name for Santa so he would remember and told him exactly what he wanted. A Cars Scooter and playdough.
Disaster averted.
For the record, we wouldn't have planted the Cars Scooter idea in Josh's head if we weren't certain that Santa had a Cars Scooter, despite what my mom may or may not feel towards our teasing our son. Again, it builds character.
Lastly, we went to Wade's parents on Friday night. Wade's brother was asking Josh how old he was.
Josh: I'm three.
Brother: When will you turn four, Josh?
Josh: On my birthday.
Duh.
Stay tuned for the next installment where Josh has an emerging interest in death, church, and stuffed chickens.
Okay. Not really. The real purpose to to chronicle the funny/witty/strange things that Josh says so that when he becomes famous, I can embarass him with antecdotes from his childhood.
First up is a discussion Josh and I were having about what to get Daddy for Christmas.
Me: Josh, we need to get daddy a present for Christmas. What should we get him.
Josh (after giving it a few seconds of deep thought): I know. A sword.
To the casual observer, this wouldn't come across as all that funny or witty, but for those who know Josh, he's not a big sword kid like other boys his age I've seen. He doesn't turn every long, straight object into a sword. So the very notion that he came up with a sword as a good present for daddy signifies that he actually thinks that is what daddy would want for Christmas. Of course, the rest of the story is that he then ran to tell daddy that he was going to get him a sword for Christmas. So scrap that idea. We need to work on our secret-keeping skills. I was really looking forward to seeing the look on Wade's face when he opened up a sword on Christmas morning.
In the last 8 days, we have seen Santa Claus no less than three times. As a clarifying note, Wade and I sorta like to tease Josh. We think it builds character. So last Saturday morning was the first visit with Santa. We coached Josh the night before, asking him what he was going to ask Santa for for Christmas. A scooter and playdough. Saturday morning, Wade takes Josh over to the church for the annual Ward Christmas Breakfast and subsequent visit with Santa. When they returned, I asked Josh what he had asked Santa for.
Josh: Candy.
Me: Candy?
Josh: Santa only had candy so that's what I asked for.
No gnashing of teeth because there weren't any toys. Just very matter of fact. Santa showed up to the church with candy canes and so that's what Josh asked for.
That night, there was another visit from Santa. We sat Josh down and explained that you had to tell Santa what you wanted so he would know what to bring you on Christmas. After his visit with Santa again, he explained that he wanted a scooter and play dough. We asked Josh if he clarified which kind of scooter he wanted. A look of panic crossed over his face.
Josh: I want a Cars Scooter.
Us: But what if Santa brings you a princess scooter?
Josh: Oh no. I want a Cars Scooter not a princess scooter.
Us: Maybe we'll have to write him and tell him.
Josh (relief washing over): Okay. I write him and tell him.
Friday night, we went to a party at Wade's work where Santa was there again. This time Josh climbed up on his lap, spelled his name for Santa so he would remember and told him exactly what he wanted. A Cars Scooter and playdough.
Disaster averted.
For the record, we wouldn't have planted the Cars Scooter idea in Josh's head if we weren't certain that Santa had a Cars Scooter, despite what my mom may or may not feel towards our teasing our son. Again, it builds character.
Lastly, we went to Wade's parents on Friday night. Wade's brother was asking Josh how old he was.
Josh: I'm three.
Brother: When will you turn four, Josh?
Josh: On my birthday.
Duh.
Stay tuned for the next installment where Josh has an emerging interest in death, church, and stuffed chickens.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
And the Signs Point to...
Some people believe that the only way to assure that you pass a class with the required grade needed to earn your degree is to score well on the assignments and tests. To them I say, where's the fun in that?
In the class I took this last semester, our grade breakdown is as follows: weekly quizzes (8 out of 11) are 20%, two midterms each count for 25% and the final is worth 30% of the final grade. Speadsheet calculations throughout the semester can be used to determine what score you need to achieve to guarantee your success. (Example: If I score 100% on the final and then after the test, the teacher is involved in some multi-car pileup that I happen upon and I administer life-saving CPR, I'll pass).
I've taken math classes where I have flat out failed--and not in a oh-she's-really-close-to-60%-on-the-test-so-I'll-just-bump-her-up-a-few-notches kind of way but more like well-she-did-spell-her-name-correctly-and-if-I-give-her-25-points-for-that-then-she'll-be-just-over-50% kind of way--every test and still pulled a C or B or even an A in one case. This assures me that there really are people who got even less than me on the tests. In some classes, I didn't think it was possible.
I've also taken classes where the teacher has stayed pretty much on route with the traditional grade scale. And it's a lost cause for me.
And then the teachers who never give anyone below a C because they make the class too hard on purpose.
I'm not sure where this particular teacher sits on the grading policy spectrum. The only thing I have is a pretty good idea of how I did on weekly quizzes (not good), how I did on the first midterm (close to average, but then it seemed like everyone who pulled the average down dropped the class immediately after the test), how I did on the second midterm (average for the undergrads, but will the grade depend on the graduates too?). To pass with a C, using the standard grading scale, I would have to score a perfect 100 on the final and still need a miracle.
So, this time, I'm looking to outside signs that point to me either passing the class (I need a C) or not because clearly, the numbers are not adding up to me passing. I prefer to think that these signs are divine intervention.
Possible Signs that I Passed the Class:
In the class I took this last semester, our grade breakdown is as follows: weekly quizzes (8 out of 11) are 20%, two midterms each count for 25% and the final is worth 30% of the final grade. Speadsheet calculations throughout the semester can be used to determine what score you need to achieve to guarantee your success. (Example: If I score 100% on the final and then after the test, the teacher is involved in some multi-car pileup that I happen upon and I administer life-saving CPR, I'll pass).
I've taken math classes where I have flat out failed--and not in a oh-she's-really-close-to-60%-on-the-test-so-I'll-just-bump-her-up-a-few-notches kind of way but more like well-she-did-spell-her-name-correctly-and-if-I-give-her-25-points-for-that-then-she'll-be-just-over-50% kind of way--every test and still pulled a C or B or even an A in one case. This assures me that there really are people who got even less than me on the tests. In some classes, I didn't think it was possible.
I've also taken classes where the teacher has stayed pretty much on route with the traditional grade scale. And it's a lost cause for me.
And then the teachers who never give anyone below a C because they make the class too hard on purpose.
I'm not sure where this particular teacher sits on the grading policy spectrum. The only thing I have is a pretty good idea of how I did on weekly quizzes (not good), how I did on the first midterm (close to average, but then it seemed like everyone who pulled the average down dropped the class immediately after the test), how I did on the second midterm (average for the undergrads, but will the grade depend on the graduates too?). To pass with a C, using the standard grading scale, I would have to score a perfect 100 on the final and still need a miracle.
So, this time, I'm looking to outside signs that point to me either passing the class (I need a C) or not because clearly, the numbers are not adding up to me passing. I prefer to think that these signs are divine intervention.
Possible Signs that I Passed the Class:
- The biggest stress of the semester revolved around the baby. However, she was born on possibly the most perfect day regarding final scheduling. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.
- Despite being "out of school" for a year, I still knew two people in the class. Though their expertise (or lack thereof) didn't afford me much advantage (wait, the guy who is doing a lot worse than me may be to my advantage afterall), I did make sure to answer their questions loudly enough for the professor to hear. Example:
Friend>> How's the baby doing?
Me>> Oh, she's doing great. Even after the ONE WEEK STAY IN NICU, you know Newborn INTENSIVE CARE UNIT, she's been a real champ, though I'M NOT GETTING A LOT OF SLEEP. Studying has been pretty brutal. Basically I've been getting up at 5:30 IN THE MORNING so I can have some peace and quiet.
Friend (slight wide-eyed look from the loudness of my voice)>>Who has your kids today?
Me>> My mom took BOTH KIDS today. It's hard for her, you know, having to take care of both a THREE YEAR OLD and a NEWBORN, with being blind and deaf, but she'll be okay. The neighbors are around to help her.
(My mom isn't blind or deaf. Well, technically. I just threw that in to garner sympathy points from the professor).
- As I was parking the car, I looked down to find $15 wedged between the seat and the console. Imagine your elation when you find a forgotten $1 in your jeans' pocket and multiply that by an exponential factor of 15 (because the elation of finding $15 is more than 15 times the elation of finding $1. See how this math stuff works?)
- The cheat sheet we were allowed to bring into the final actually held some useful information pertaining to the test.
A note on cheat sheets: For every class I've taken that allows a cheat sheet (formulas, theorems, knock-knock jokes that are allowed to be used on the test), the information I so carefully chose to include on my lifeline has never helped me very much. An occassional nugget of information may lead me in the right direction, but I have never had the proverbial experience of glancing down to find the answer staring back at me from my carefully constructed cheat sheet. Usually, they're just an exercise in how small I can write and it actually be legible.
In a stroke of pure geniusness that surprised even myself, this last cheat sheet I included scaled down copies of the solutions to the previous two tests (there was no rule that said they couldn't be on there). On there, I found the outline for 2 of the 5 problems from the final (basically, the problem but with a few minor changes). I was so shocked at my ingenuity, I could only stare in bewilderment for a few minutes before madly scrawling out the (hopefully) correct answer on the test.
Please hold your applause for later.
- On my way to campus, I was conjuring up images of something horrificly embarassing happening during the test. Like springing a leak because I hadn't fed the baby in a long time and hitting the unsuspecting asian kid sitting in front of me with a stream of milk. Or falling asleep because of severe sleep deprivation. Or not being able to find a place to park. Or not being able to answer any questions on the final and having to walk out with my head hung in shame. None of these came to fruition, so clearly that's a sign.
- The obvious look of relief that passes over the professor's face every time he sees me should give me some bonus points. I didn't make him deliver a baby during lecture. That should be worth something.
Possible Signs I didn't pass the class
- $10 of my newly acquired fortune will have to go to pay for the parking ticket that I received. I had bet on the weather being a deterring factor for the parking militia, but I was wrong. Probability is not an exact science, folks.
- I did technically fail both tests and a host of the quizzes. However, so did at least half of the undergraduates and a fair number of graduate students. I think.
- While I could do two of the five problems, that's only 40% of the test. I still needed 60 more points and a car accident to assure my dipolma.
- Sixteen weeks later, I'm still wondering exactly what I would ever use any of this knowledge for. Not a good sign or a good motivation factor for studying.
The number of signs pointing to passing the class is greater than the number of signs pointing to failing the class, and thus, by this (highly methodical) reasoning, I say I pass.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Book Review Friday 12/12/08
Book: Change of Heart
Author: Jodi Picoult
Pages: 430
Every once in a while I come across a book that starts out fairly benign. I pick it up and read when I have a few minutes here and there and then somewhere in the middle of the book, it becomes unstoppable. I drag it with me in my purse in hopes that I will find a minute--any minute--to continue reading it. Housework goes undone. My life is put on hold until I can finish the book.
That's what Jodi Picoult is doing to me. This is the third book I've read of hers and, like the others, I became entranced somewhere in the middle. Each book is different, yet the same. The material is never the same, but you know that a curve ball will be thrown and out of left field comes the missing piece of the puzzle. Each book picks a controversial subject and builds a story behind it, countering your very own belief system and questioning how'd you react in that same situation.
This book was a little different in that I had guessed what had happened before it was revealed. But I was still as compelled to find out how it all happened.
Shay Bourne is accused of killing one of New Hampshire's finest--a police officer--and his seven year old step daughter. Consequently, he's sentenced to the death penalty, New Hampshire's first in nearly 70 years.
Maggie Bloom is an ACLU lawyer who is trying to overturn the ruling of the death penalty as inhumane. She takes on Bourne's case in hopes of getting the courts to side with her and commute his sentence to life in prison.
Father Michael, in a twist of fate, is reconnected with Bourne as his spiritual guide through the final months of Shay's life. Father Michael is tormented as to whether he should reveal his previous involvement in Bourne's life or let bygones be bygones.
June Neason is left to pick up the pieces after her husband and daughter are killed by the hands of a monster, especially with a newborn daughter to care for. Now, 11 years later, June is grappling with the slow death of this daughter and only a heart transplant will save her.
Told from various viewpoints, this is definitely a page turner that will keep you on your toes as you weave through the story. Intertwined within the story is an interesting religious discussion that was intriguing to read.
Another great read by an author that is quickly becoming one of my favorite writers.
Author: Jodi Picoult
Pages: 430
Every once in a while I come across a book that starts out fairly benign. I pick it up and read when I have a few minutes here and there and then somewhere in the middle of the book, it becomes unstoppable. I drag it with me in my purse in hopes that I will find a minute--any minute--to continue reading it. Housework goes undone. My life is put on hold until I can finish the book.
That's what Jodi Picoult is doing to me. This is the third book I've read of hers and, like the others, I became entranced somewhere in the middle. Each book is different, yet the same. The material is never the same, but you know that a curve ball will be thrown and out of left field comes the missing piece of the puzzle. Each book picks a controversial subject and builds a story behind it, countering your very own belief system and questioning how'd you react in that same situation.
This book was a little different in that I had guessed what had happened before it was revealed. But I was still as compelled to find out how it all happened.
Shay Bourne is accused of killing one of New Hampshire's finest--a police officer--and his seven year old step daughter. Consequently, he's sentenced to the death penalty, New Hampshire's first in nearly 70 years.
Maggie Bloom is an ACLU lawyer who is trying to overturn the ruling of the death penalty as inhumane. She takes on Bourne's case in hopes of getting the courts to side with her and commute his sentence to life in prison.
Father Michael, in a twist of fate, is reconnected with Bourne as his spiritual guide through the final months of Shay's life. Father Michael is tormented as to whether he should reveal his previous involvement in Bourne's life or let bygones be bygones.
June Neason is left to pick up the pieces after her husband and daughter are killed by the hands of a monster, especially with a newborn daughter to care for. Now, 11 years later, June is grappling with the slow death of this daughter and only a heart transplant will save her.
Told from various viewpoints, this is definitely a page turner that will keep you on your toes as you weave through the story. Intertwined within the story is an interesting religious discussion that was intriguing to read.
Another great read by an author that is quickly becoming one of my favorite writers.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Finally...Some Pictures
Finally, Wade has relinquished control of the computer and I can post some pictures.
Unfortunately, it's been so crazy busy that I don't have a lot. But some is better than none, right?
So first up...Josh holding his baby sister for the first time.
Next: Are those ruffles? I found out too late that Aunika only has about 2 pair of pants that fit right now. One of them has ruffles on the bum. They're cute though. I know. I know. I never thought I'd be one to say that the pants with the ruffles on the bum would be cute. And yes, that's a pink shirt she's wearing. I'm sad to report that the color pink is growing on me.
I vow to take more pictures this week. Well, maybe next week since this week I should really be studying for that pesky final on Friday.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Highlights From This Week
- Hello? Got to bring Aunika home from the hospital. Definitely a list topper.
- I can fit in--and zip up--most of my prepregnancy pants. I'm still a ways off from my marathon jeans, but I'll get there.
- I stepped on the scale today to see where I was. I'm only a pound away from my starting weight when I got pregnant. Of course, I did gain those seven pounds on the cruise last January, so technically I'm 8 pounds away from where I was after the marathon, but 10 days postpartum? I'll consider it a very successful pregnancy in terms of weight gain if I'm a pound away from my prepregnancy weight. Woot, woot.
- My ankles have stopped swelling. In fact, I had no idea how much water I was retaining until I noticed my legs have regained some shape to them. Now I'll be able to fit into my shoes.
- Wade is sooooo close to finishing framing the basement. And the electrician came in on Friday and Saturday. He should be finished tomorrow. That means our four-way inspection could be as early as this coming week. How awesome is that?
- Baby has only been waking me up to eat since she got home. Some nights it's every three hours, but the other night she only woke me up once. Of course, I woke every hour wondering if I should go check on her. I know from previous experience this paranoia is normal and eventually you'll get to be so exhausted that you won't wake up every hour wondering if everything is okay. She goes back to sleep immediately. I just wish I could do the same.
- Wade's been home all week and he still has another week off. It's nice to have him home. Helps me so I don't go insane with a three year old that won't stop talking and a newborn that sleeps, eats, and poops. Then does it all again.
- All of Josh's Christmas is done and here at the house. Hopefully he doesn't sniff out the presents beforehand, but I think he'll be pleasantly surprised come Christmas morning. I wish I could say all of Christmas is done, but alas, that's not my style. Besides, I don't know what to get Wade (a basement?) and that's always my biggest hang-up every year.
Book Review Friday, December 5
It's been a while since I've reviewed a book. More so because I was too lazy/miserable to sit down and write something and then the baby and everything. However, I read a great book this week:
Book: The Hunger Games
Author: Suzanne Collins
Pages: 384
Wade's cousin showed up to a fellow cousin's wedding reception with this book in hand. At the time, I thought it was kind of weird that she'd drag it along, but after reading it, I can see why she did.
My sister-in-law dropped this off at the hospital after I had the baby. Since Aunika was in the NICU, I had a lot of free time to read. Especially for the week after she was born and I was just holding her at the hospital.
At first, I was a little skeptical of the book from the synopsis inside the front cover. It definitely was not my usual fare of reading material, but since Beva did stop and buy it for me, I figured I should probably at least give it a chance.
The premise behind the story is morbid at best. Two teenage delegates from each of the twelve districts of Panem--what was once North America--are thrown into an arena and duke it out until one person emerges the sole survivor and victor. Some of the more prosperous districts handpick their delegates almost from birth, rearing them to be winners at all costs. The district that Katniss is from, District 12, dreads the annual reaping ceremony that picks the two "lucky" contenders. These two are almost guaranteed a ticket to the losing ceremony.
The ultimate in reality-based television, the entire country is forced to watch the proceedings on television every night. As each contestant falls to their death, their faces are illuminated over the sky for the remaining contenders to see.
The Capital--the controllers of the game--are in for a surprise when Katniss and her counterpart from District 12 arrive on scene, bent to making it home again. Though the have to overcome their own ethics and morals, they find ways to beat the Capital at their own game.
I liken this book to the Lord of the Flies, though much more interesting since I wasn't forced to read it. I thought it was excellently written and agree with my sister-in-law's declaration that it was better than Stephenie Meyer's sagas. Certainly not as altruistic. And shorter. Only 400ish pages instead of 750.
I wasn't impressed with the ending. I thought there were a lot of loose ends, but come to find out, it's part of a series. I have to wait until next year to get the next installment, but I can see the direction it's headed and I'm pleased with that outcome. I'd definitely recommend this one to most everyone.
Book: The Hunger Games
Author: Suzanne Collins
Pages: 384
Wade's cousin showed up to a fellow cousin's wedding reception with this book in hand. At the time, I thought it was kind of weird that she'd drag it along, but after reading it, I can see why she did.
My sister-in-law dropped this off at the hospital after I had the baby. Since Aunika was in the NICU, I had a lot of free time to read. Especially for the week after she was born and I was just holding her at the hospital.
At first, I was a little skeptical of the book from the synopsis inside the front cover. It definitely was not my usual fare of reading material, but since Beva did stop and buy it for me, I figured I should probably at least give it a chance.
The premise behind the story is morbid at best. Two teenage delegates from each of the twelve districts of Panem--what was once North America--are thrown into an arena and duke it out until one person emerges the sole survivor and victor. Some of the more prosperous districts handpick their delegates almost from birth, rearing them to be winners at all costs. The district that Katniss is from, District 12, dreads the annual reaping ceremony that picks the two "lucky" contenders. These two are almost guaranteed a ticket to the losing ceremony.
The ultimate in reality-based television, the entire country is forced to watch the proceedings on television every night. As each contestant falls to their death, their faces are illuminated over the sky for the remaining contenders to see.
The Capital--the controllers of the game--are in for a surprise when Katniss and her counterpart from District 12 arrive on scene, bent to making it home again. Though the have to overcome their own ethics and morals, they find ways to beat the Capital at their own game.
I liken this book to the Lord of the Flies, though much more interesting since I wasn't forced to read it. I thought it was excellently written and agree with my sister-in-law's declaration that it was better than Stephenie Meyer's sagas. Certainly not as altruistic. And shorter. Only 400ish pages instead of 750.
I wasn't impressed with the ending. I thought there were a lot of loose ends, but come to find out, it's part of a series. I have to wait until next year to get the next installment, but I can see the direction it's headed and I'm pleased with that outcome. I'd definitely recommend this one to most everyone.
Friday, December 5, 2008
The NICU Saga Continued
There are a few things you notice about the NICU right off the bat. For starters, your 8 lb 4 oz butterball turkey is the largest living thing in there. Everything else is miniature in comparison. Secondly, as parents in our late 20's, early 30's, we were the third to oldest parents we saw the entire time Aunika was incarcerated. Lastly, we may have been one of three married couples (the other couples being the two older than us).
Friday morning, I awoke at about 6:30, unable to sleep anymore. The NICU is closed every day from 6:30-7:30 both in the morning and at night. This allows the nurses time to chart everything and then update the new shift. I figured this gave me an hour to get ready and eat breakfast and then I could be down in the NICU when they reopened for the morning.
I thought through the logistics of getting down to the NICU, an elevator ride and slight walk away. Thursday, Wade and my parents wheeled me down in a wheelchair in my sexy hospital gown that conveniently opened in the back. However, today, no one was there to help me. I figured I'd be okay just walking down. And sice I was going to be in all my glory, I should probably dress in something less revealing than a hospital gown. So, I showered and got dressed, consumed a semi-edible breakfast, and preceded to make my way down to the NICU. I was feeling much better than I did with Josh at this stage in the game, grateful for at least that small reprieve.
In the NICU, the doctor proceeded to throw out a lot of acronyms that meant nothing to me. He thought maybe there was some sort of infection, so he had put her on antibiotics the day before. She wasn't struggling to breathe nearly as hard as she was Thursday, so that was a blessing. I spent some time down there and then went back to the room to pump and make phone calls.
Both my brothers and their families, as well as a good friend from high school, came to visit, but the visits were sporadic and it was pretty boring with no baby to occupy my time. I told Josh to bring his favorite book so I could read it to Aunika when he came to visit with daddy. When he showed up, he proudly showed me the book he'd chosen. "Small Talk: Understanding Your Baby" a book that shows the developmental stages of a baby's first year, as well as how to teach your baby sign language. Not exactly what I had in mind. Luckily, Wade packed some "baby" friendlier books.
I was finally able to hold her, and spent some time reading to her and talking to her. Her breathing rates came down a lot when either Wade or I were holding her. She seemed to be making progress and inside, I secretly hoped she'd be coming home with us on Saturday. However, my hopes were dashed when the nurse informed me that she was on a seven day antibiotic course and would have to stay there until she'd finished them.
That night wasn't nearly as peaceful as the night before. The lady next door to me had decided to keep her baby with her that night, and it cried the entire night. At some point, I wanted to go over there and tell her to just call the nursery. I'm all for rooming in with your baby if that's your perogative, but they have a nursery staffed with nurses for the very reason that you will be spending a lot of nights at home awake, so you might as well get a few nights rest while you're in the hospital. But whatever. In any case, I spent a lot of the night, despite being on pain killers, wishing she'd just let the nursery deal with the crying baby.
Saturday morning, I got ready to check out. When I went down to the NICU, the doctor said that he had taken her off the antibiotics. I thought that was a good sign, that maybe she'd be able to leave on Sunday. I'd already resigned myself to having to leave the hospital without her. But I wanted her home as soon as possible. He was also starting to feed her through a nasal tube. She'd been on an IV for food since she arrived. He was going to see how well she did and then move on from there.
When it came time to leave, the situation finally hit home. I was going to have to leave the hospital with my baby girl in it. For some insane reason, although I'd been already walking around most of Friday and Saturday, a nurse had to escort us to the front doors. Some poor CNA got the lovely task of making sure we got down there safely. I broke down in the elevator and the ride down was pretty awkward. But the situation was not at all what I had envistioned for nine months. I was tired and sore and hormonal.
We went to Wade's parents for leftovers and then they watched Josh while we went to fill my prescriptions and back to the NICU. We were becoming regulars, though we felt out of place. Everyone else was so young. And their babies were so tiny. I was able to nurse her once and everything went well. However, when it was time to eat again, I couldn't get her to wake up and it was nearing 6:30, so I had to pump instead. We were told we wouldn't be able to take her home until she was getting full feedings.
At 6:30, we bid goodbye and left. It was sad to be going home without her, but I knew that she needed to sort out all these problems or we'd be sorry.
Sunday, my parents graciously took Josh for the day and we spent all day at the NICU. It's very tiring to sit there, holding a baby and not doing anything. She was weaned off the oxygen and I had a little bit more success in feeding her, though there were some bumps in the road. She still had her nasal tube in.
Monday, I went up to the hospital at around 10:30. She was breathing too fast for the nurse to try bottle feeding her, so they had to use the nasal tube again. She was also under the bilirubin lights because of jaundice. She could only come out for about 30 minutes every three hours. Wade came up after Josh got out of preschool and I took Josh to see Madagascar 2. I fell asleep, but Josh really enjoyed the show. If you would've told me I would be sitting in a movie theater four days after giving birth, I would've laughed at you.
After the movie, I tried feeding her again and we were successful. I hung around for the evening feeding and that didn't go as well. I ended up having to pump. I was really frustrated by the time I left.
Tuesday, I vowed I was going to spend the entire day at the hospital getting this baby to eat. I got there at about 8:00. She was off the bilirubin lights. The last major hurdle we had were the feedings. It was a really long day. Wade came up and we took turns watching Josh out in the hall. After taking my mom out to lunch, she took Josh with her and we were able to sit with Aunika for the rest of the afternoon. We changed every diaper and I was able to nurse her for every feeding. I felt much better than I had the night before. I left to run errands while the NICU was closed for it's required hour and then came back for one more feeding.
Wednesday, we were finally given the okay to take her home. It was nice to finally have her at home. She's adjusted well, though the cats seem bent out of shape. We had to get after Josh for acting like a baby, but other than that, he's been really helpful, getting me diapers and helping me dress her. I think he enjoys having her around. Of course, that could all change next week when he realizes she's not going back to where she came from.
The official diagnosis came back as aspirated amniotic fluid which caused a pnuemothorax--air in the cavity surrounding the lung. She did an amazing job of correcting these problems on her own and it looks like she has the same stubborness that her mom has been shouldered with.
And this concludes our NICU saga. While the experience did have some silver-lining moments--like a week of sleep that only got interrupted to pump once during the nights--overall, it was a stressful time that I wouldn't wish on anyone.
Friday morning, I awoke at about 6:30, unable to sleep anymore. The NICU is closed every day from 6:30-7:30 both in the morning and at night. This allows the nurses time to chart everything and then update the new shift. I figured this gave me an hour to get ready and eat breakfast and then I could be down in the NICU when they reopened for the morning.
I thought through the logistics of getting down to the NICU, an elevator ride and slight walk away. Thursday, Wade and my parents wheeled me down in a wheelchair in my sexy hospital gown that conveniently opened in the back. However, today, no one was there to help me. I figured I'd be okay just walking down. And sice I was going to be in all my glory, I should probably dress in something less revealing than a hospital gown. So, I showered and got dressed, consumed a semi-edible breakfast, and preceded to make my way down to the NICU. I was feeling much better than I did with Josh at this stage in the game, grateful for at least that small reprieve.
In the NICU, the doctor proceeded to throw out a lot of acronyms that meant nothing to me. He thought maybe there was some sort of infection, so he had put her on antibiotics the day before. She wasn't struggling to breathe nearly as hard as she was Thursday, so that was a blessing. I spent some time down there and then went back to the room to pump and make phone calls.
Both my brothers and their families, as well as a good friend from high school, came to visit, but the visits were sporadic and it was pretty boring with no baby to occupy my time. I told Josh to bring his favorite book so I could read it to Aunika when he came to visit with daddy. When he showed up, he proudly showed me the book he'd chosen. "Small Talk: Understanding Your Baby" a book that shows the developmental stages of a baby's first year, as well as how to teach your baby sign language. Not exactly what I had in mind. Luckily, Wade packed some "baby" friendlier books.
I was finally able to hold her, and spent some time reading to her and talking to her. Her breathing rates came down a lot when either Wade or I were holding her. She seemed to be making progress and inside, I secretly hoped she'd be coming home with us on Saturday. However, my hopes were dashed when the nurse informed me that she was on a seven day antibiotic course and would have to stay there until she'd finished them.
That night wasn't nearly as peaceful as the night before. The lady next door to me had decided to keep her baby with her that night, and it cried the entire night. At some point, I wanted to go over there and tell her to just call the nursery. I'm all for rooming in with your baby if that's your perogative, but they have a nursery staffed with nurses for the very reason that you will be spending a lot of nights at home awake, so you might as well get a few nights rest while you're in the hospital. But whatever. In any case, I spent a lot of the night, despite being on pain killers, wishing she'd just let the nursery deal with the crying baby.
Saturday morning, I got ready to check out. When I went down to the NICU, the doctor said that he had taken her off the antibiotics. I thought that was a good sign, that maybe she'd be able to leave on Sunday. I'd already resigned myself to having to leave the hospital without her. But I wanted her home as soon as possible. He was also starting to feed her through a nasal tube. She'd been on an IV for food since she arrived. He was going to see how well she did and then move on from there.
When it came time to leave, the situation finally hit home. I was going to have to leave the hospital with my baby girl in it. For some insane reason, although I'd been already walking around most of Friday and Saturday, a nurse had to escort us to the front doors. Some poor CNA got the lovely task of making sure we got down there safely. I broke down in the elevator and the ride down was pretty awkward. But the situation was not at all what I had envistioned for nine months. I was tired and sore and hormonal.
We went to Wade's parents for leftovers and then they watched Josh while we went to fill my prescriptions and back to the NICU. We were becoming regulars, though we felt out of place. Everyone else was so young. And their babies were so tiny. I was able to nurse her once and everything went well. However, when it was time to eat again, I couldn't get her to wake up and it was nearing 6:30, so I had to pump instead. We were told we wouldn't be able to take her home until she was getting full feedings.
At 6:30, we bid goodbye and left. It was sad to be going home without her, but I knew that she needed to sort out all these problems or we'd be sorry.
Sunday, my parents graciously took Josh for the day and we spent all day at the NICU. It's very tiring to sit there, holding a baby and not doing anything. She was weaned off the oxygen and I had a little bit more success in feeding her, though there were some bumps in the road. She still had her nasal tube in.
Monday, I went up to the hospital at around 10:30. She was breathing too fast for the nurse to try bottle feeding her, so they had to use the nasal tube again. She was also under the bilirubin lights because of jaundice. She could only come out for about 30 minutes every three hours. Wade came up after Josh got out of preschool and I took Josh to see Madagascar 2. I fell asleep, but Josh really enjoyed the show. If you would've told me I would be sitting in a movie theater four days after giving birth, I would've laughed at you.
After the movie, I tried feeding her again and we were successful. I hung around for the evening feeding and that didn't go as well. I ended up having to pump. I was really frustrated by the time I left.
Tuesday, I vowed I was going to spend the entire day at the hospital getting this baby to eat. I got there at about 8:00. She was off the bilirubin lights. The last major hurdle we had were the feedings. It was a really long day. Wade came up and we took turns watching Josh out in the hall. After taking my mom out to lunch, she took Josh with her and we were able to sit with Aunika for the rest of the afternoon. We changed every diaper and I was able to nurse her for every feeding. I felt much better than I had the night before. I left to run errands while the NICU was closed for it's required hour and then came back for one more feeding.
Wednesday, we were finally given the okay to take her home. It was nice to finally have her at home. She's adjusted well, though the cats seem bent out of shape. We had to get after Josh for acting like a baby, but other than that, he's been really helpful, getting me diapers and helping me dress her. I think he enjoys having her around. Of course, that could all change next week when he realizes she's not going back to where she came from.
The official diagnosis came back as aspirated amniotic fluid which caused a pnuemothorax--air in the cavity surrounding the lung. She did an amazing job of correcting these problems on her own and it looks like she has the same stubborness that her mom has been shouldered with.
And this concludes our NICU saga. While the experience did have some silver-lining moments--like a week of sleep that only got interrupted to pump once during the nights--overall, it was a stressful time that I wouldn't wish on anyone.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
My 8 lb 4 oz Thanksgiving Turkey
After my 36 week check up when I found out that I was already dilated and ready to pop, I had initally thought that the perfect day to have the baby would be the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. That way, Wade wouldn't have to use as much vacation time since he had Thursday and Friday off for the holiday and we'd all be home snug in bed by Saturday at the latest.
After my 37 week check up and the doctor was extremely optimistic that I would go into labor in the next few days, the chances of having the baby on Wednesday looked like a real possibility. So I had to kick it into gear to get everything done I wanted to get done. Josh and I got haircuts on Tuesday afternoon. And then I needed to update the computer at the church since our ward is about to split any day now and I was the only one with a lot of the updated phone numbers. After Josh and I got home from that, I was too tired to do anything more.
Wednesday, I dropped Josh off at my in-laws and headed to class. Then to Toys R Us to finish Josh's Christmas shopping. I got home about 2:00, took a bath and a nap and preceded to work on my to-do list. I got the nursery ready (finally!) and cleaned the house. I was feeling pretty good. Even cooked dinner.
Wade left at about 7:30 to go get his haircut. At 8:00, I started feeling some contractions, but they weren't painful, so I didn't start timing them or anything. I had some chicken in the fridge I needed to cook up so it wouldn't go bad and then I continued cleaning the house. At 8:30, I started timing the contractions--still not painful--and found them to be about 10 minutes apart. I was surprised Wade was gone for so long, so I called him and informed him that this might be it. He asked if he had time to stop by Home Depot really fast. Sure. Why not?
When he got home, around 9 pm, the contractions were coming a little bit faster, but weren't painful, so I continued on with my night. Wade was getting things ready in the car--you know, like wrapping the passenger seat in garbage bags and bath towels. Making sure that my bag and Josh's bag were in there. Pacing around and asking if we should go yet. Things like that.
At 10:00, the contractions were about 8 minutes apart and Wade was talking to his parents on the phone. The conversation went something like this:
Wade: I know. But she doesn't want to go.
Person on phone: Tell her to go.
Wade: I can't. She won't listen.
Finally, I said, let's go. More so that I didn't have to listen to them try to conjole me into going in to the hospital than because I thought I was ready to have the baby. So we left for the hospital at 10:15.
On a side note, my parents were going to be the ones to watch Josh when I went into labor. However, for Thanksgiving, they had gone up to my grandma's. This Thanksgiving trip had turned into a mini-family reunion that I've had to hear about for the last month from my mom. She was less than thrilled that a three-person Thanksgiving meal had turned into a 29-person Thanksgiving feast overnight. And that she would be the one to host it. Never mind that all the dishes--except for the turkey, stuffing and gravy--were doled out to other family members. Since my parents were already up in Idaho, Wade's parents graciously accepted responsibility of Josh while we went to the hospital.
So on the way to the hospital, we were joking around and having a good ole time. Much different than how it was on the way to the hospital with Josh. When we walked in, I was smiling and laughing. It was nearing 11:00 and the nurses on duty thought I was crazy. They dutifully hooked me up to the machines to monitor my contractions.
After checking me and declaring that the doctor was a bit generous in her last assessment the day before, I was told they'd recheck me in an hour and if I hadn't dilated at least a centimeter they were going to send me home.
This is exactly why I wasn't so keen in going in the first place. It's practically the middle of the night and I did not want to have to leave the hospital and come home, just to go back again. So I made Wade walk around with me for 30 minutes. I was going into labor if it killed me.
We hooked ourselves back up and I did progress a centimeter, so it turned into the real deal. The doctor was coming in to deliver twins and so they went ahead and broke my water to speed things up a bit.
It's a good thing that my water did not break in public. There was a lot of it, even some splashing up on the resident doctor who was sitting on the edge of the bed. I had always thought that it was a Hollywood interpretation of a woman in labor when her water breaks and it goes everywhere. Apparently, it does happen. So grateful I wasn't in class or Toys R Us when that happened.
The contractions still weren't very painful and when asked if I wanted an epidural, I said nah. Both Wade and the nurse looked at me like I was nuts. Wade even tried to talk me into one. I got up to use the restroom and could hear them outside the bathroom door debating the use of the epidural and the nurse trying to console Wade that it was okay.
The doctor peeked in to see how I was and just laughed when she saw me sitting there reading a book in between contractions. "What are you doing?" She asked incredulous. "Um, reading my book?" I answered. It was nearing 1:00 and I was on my way to having my baby.
Roughly 30 minutes later, the contractions became really intense. I turned to Wade and said "It's too late to try to do this unmedicated. I'm tired and they really hurt. Go get the nurse." It was that first look of relief that passed over his face that made me happy for my decision. The nurse came in and hooked me up to the IV and finally, the anesthisologist wandered in to give me the epidural. What a relief. My conclusion is that if you're going to go unmedicated, both you and your partner have to be 100% determined to do it. If either one of you is wavering, then it can't be done. I probably should've talked to Wade a little bit more about a natural child birth, but I didn't. I don't feel bad about getting an epidural though, so I guess there's no losers in the situation.
Meanwhile, the doctor was in delivering the twins via c-section so I was told to hold off on pushing by the nurse. There was a lot of pressure, more so than I ever felt with Josh, and I was afraid Wade would have to catch the baby as she swam out. Luckily, the doctor made it back in time. At about 2:30, it was time to push.
Four contractions later--and I'm so happy I had that epidural--Aunika Lyn was born, at 3:02 am. The minute she came out, my entire body felt this huge sigh of relief. I felt better 10 seconds after delivering her than I had felt for nearly 9 months. Of course, I did have that nifty epidural that probably skewed my vision. Everything seemed ordinary. She cried as they lifted her up to me and then they hurried to take her away. I didn't detect anything wrong. Two NICU nurses came in and attempted to clean out her lungs, syphoning up a lot of liquid. She still hadn't given that newly born scream that everyone seemed intent on getting and so they worked at it some more.
Forty minutes later, they weighed her at a whooping 8 pounds 4 oz. and then whisked her off to the nursery. Wade left with them while I--obviously--stayed behind.
The rest of the morning was kind of a blur. I called my parents to let them know Aunika was here and then they moved me to the maternity ward. At about 5:30, they let Wade and I go into the nursery to look at her. She was struggling so hard to breathe, it was heartbreaking to watch. They had her hooked up to oxygen trying to get her to help herself expel the remaining fluid from her lungs. Her chest caved in on every breath in and then she grunted on every breath out. I likened it to when your baby has a runny nose and all you want for them to do is to learn how to sniffle it up or blow it out into a kleenex and you find yourself sniffling for them.
"Just cough" I kept chanting to Aunika. Of course, she didn't and so for 45 minutes we watched her take every breath, willing the fluid to just evaporate.
Wade and I decided to go back to the room and take a little nap, since we had been up all night. I wasn't that tired, but Wade was dragging. Almost as soon as we were asleep, the pediatrician stopped in to give us an update. She was still holding steady in the nursery, but if she'd didn't stabilize out quickly, they'd have to move her to the NICU (Newborn Intensive Care Unit). About 45 minutes later, he popped back in to say that they were going to go ahead and send her down to the NICU since she wasn't getting any better. It was about 7:30 and I figured she'd be back by afternoon at the latest. The nurse stopped by as they were taking the baby down to the NICU and let me hold Aunika for about a minute. That's the longest I'd been able to hold her thus far. She looked so sweet and innocent and neither one of us knew the long ride we'd be in for. The nurse made the parting comment "she'll be okay in a day or two." A day or two?!? I thought maybe this afternoon. I wasn't prepared for a day or two. Or six.
Meanwhile, since it was so early in the morning, the only person I felt like I could call was my mom. I didn't want to worry her unnecessarily, but with Wade gone with the nurse to the NICU, I needed someone to talk to. I told her that everything was okay, but that they took Aunika down to the NICU just in case. She was a bit unnerved, considering the luck we've had in our family involving babies and the NICU, but I reassured her that Aunika was perfectly healthy and just needed some help getting rid of some amniotic fluid she'd inhaled.
Down in the NICU they hooked her up to some high flow oxygen, trying to help her body. Basically, it was up to her as to when everything would happen. The doctor kept reassuring us that this was actually quite normal and that she'd be fine in a couple of hours.
We went back to our room and made phone calls to everyone in the family, letting them know that Aunika was finally here. And then I had to pump to start building my milk reserve for when she'd be able to eat. Pumping was not a pleasant experience.
At about 10:30, my mom called to say they were headed on their way home. They had put the turkey in grandma's oven and then told everyone they were leaving. I felt bad because I didn't expect them to leave Thanksgiving dinner, but my mom was too worried and frantic and was probably driving everyone insane. All that worrying about this dinner, and she wouldn't even be around to enjoy it coming to fruition.
We had few visitors and because of RSV season, we couldn't take Josh in to see the baby in the NICU. Wade caught a few minutes of sleep here and there, but I couldn't really sleep. My parents showed up, right in time to save me from a subpar Thanksgiving Hospital Meal (entitled to it's own blog post...stay tuned), with some leftover pizza and Wade went off to his parents house for the traditional Thanksgiving feast. He even snuck some back in for me later.
Wade headed home with Josh fairly early and my parents came back for another hour or so. Then I headed up to bed. I had to pump, but was out nearly as soon as I was done with that. I slept the best that I'd slept since getting pregnant nearly 9 months before. It was nice to have an entire night of uninterrupted sleep (shhh...I didn't wake up and pump like I was suppose to in the middle of the night.).
Since this post is so long, I'll continue our NICU saga in another post...
After my 37 week check up and the doctor was extremely optimistic that I would go into labor in the next few days, the chances of having the baby on Wednesday looked like a real possibility. So I had to kick it into gear to get everything done I wanted to get done. Josh and I got haircuts on Tuesday afternoon. And then I needed to update the computer at the church since our ward is about to split any day now and I was the only one with a lot of the updated phone numbers. After Josh and I got home from that, I was too tired to do anything more.
Wednesday, I dropped Josh off at my in-laws and headed to class. Then to Toys R Us to finish Josh's Christmas shopping. I got home about 2:00, took a bath and a nap and preceded to work on my to-do list. I got the nursery ready (finally!) and cleaned the house. I was feeling pretty good. Even cooked dinner.
Wade left at about 7:30 to go get his haircut. At 8:00, I started feeling some contractions, but they weren't painful, so I didn't start timing them or anything. I had some chicken in the fridge I needed to cook up so it wouldn't go bad and then I continued cleaning the house. At 8:30, I started timing the contractions--still not painful--and found them to be about 10 minutes apart. I was surprised Wade was gone for so long, so I called him and informed him that this might be it. He asked if he had time to stop by Home Depot really fast. Sure. Why not?
When he got home, around 9 pm, the contractions were coming a little bit faster, but weren't painful, so I continued on with my night. Wade was getting things ready in the car--you know, like wrapping the passenger seat in garbage bags and bath towels. Making sure that my bag and Josh's bag were in there. Pacing around and asking if we should go yet. Things like that.
At 10:00, the contractions were about 8 minutes apart and Wade was talking to his parents on the phone. The conversation went something like this:
Wade: I know. But she doesn't want to go.
Person on phone: Tell her to go.
Wade: I can't. She won't listen.
Finally, I said, let's go. More so that I didn't have to listen to them try to conjole me into going in to the hospital than because I thought I was ready to have the baby. So we left for the hospital at 10:15.
On a side note, my parents were going to be the ones to watch Josh when I went into labor. However, for Thanksgiving, they had gone up to my grandma's. This Thanksgiving trip had turned into a mini-family reunion that I've had to hear about for the last month from my mom. She was less than thrilled that a three-person Thanksgiving meal had turned into a 29-person Thanksgiving feast overnight. And that she would be the one to host it. Never mind that all the dishes--except for the turkey, stuffing and gravy--were doled out to other family members. Since my parents were already up in Idaho, Wade's parents graciously accepted responsibility of Josh while we went to the hospital.
So on the way to the hospital, we were joking around and having a good ole time. Much different than how it was on the way to the hospital with Josh. When we walked in, I was smiling and laughing. It was nearing 11:00 and the nurses on duty thought I was crazy. They dutifully hooked me up to the machines to monitor my contractions.
After checking me and declaring that the doctor was a bit generous in her last assessment the day before, I was told they'd recheck me in an hour and if I hadn't dilated at least a centimeter they were going to send me home.
This is exactly why I wasn't so keen in going in the first place. It's practically the middle of the night and I did not want to have to leave the hospital and come home, just to go back again. So I made Wade walk around with me for 30 minutes. I was going into labor if it killed me.
We hooked ourselves back up and I did progress a centimeter, so it turned into the real deal. The doctor was coming in to deliver twins and so they went ahead and broke my water to speed things up a bit.
It's a good thing that my water did not break in public. There was a lot of it, even some splashing up on the resident doctor who was sitting on the edge of the bed. I had always thought that it was a Hollywood interpretation of a woman in labor when her water breaks and it goes everywhere. Apparently, it does happen. So grateful I wasn't in class or Toys R Us when that happened.
The contractions still weren't very painful and when asked if I wanted an epidural, I said nah. Both Wade and the nurse looked at me like I was nuts. Wade even tried to talk me into one. I got up to use the restroom and could hear them outside the bathroom door debating the use of the epidural and the nurse trying to console Wade that it was okay.
The doctor peeked in to see how I was and just laughed when she saw me sitting there reading a book in between contractions. "What are you doing?" She asked incredulous. "Um, reading my book?" I answered. It was nearing 1:00 and I was on my way to having my baby.
Roughly 30 minutes later, the contractions became really intense. I turned to Wade and said "It's too late to try to do this unmedicated. I'm tired and they really hurt. Go get the nurse." It was that first look of relief that passed over his face that made me happy for my decision. The nurse came in and hooked me up to the IV and finally, the anesthisologist wandered in to give me the epidural. What a relief. My conclusion is that if you're going to go unmedicated, both you and your partner have to be 100% determined to do it. If either one of you is wavering, then it can't be done. I probably should've talked to Wade a little bit more about a natural child birth, but I didn't. I don't feel bad about getting an epidural though, so I guess there's no losers in the situation.
Meanwhile, the doctor was in delivering the twins via c-section so I was told to hold off on pushing by the nurse. There was a lot of pressure, more so than I ever felt with Josh, and I was afraid Wade would have to catch the baby as she swam out. Luckily, the doctor made it back in time. At about 2:30, it was time to push.
Four contractions later--and I'm so happy I had that epidural--Aunika Lyn was born, at 3:02 am. The minute she came out, my entire body felt this huge sigh of relief. I felt better 10 seconds after delivering her than I had felt for nearly 9 months. Of course, I did have that nifty epidural that probably skewed my vision. Everything seemed ordinary. She cried as they lifted her up to me and then they hurried to take her away. I didn't detect anything wrong. Two NICU nurses came in and attempted to clean out her lungs, syphoning up a lot of liquid. She still hadn't given that newly born scream that everyone seemed intent on getting and so they worked at it some more.
Forty minutes later, they weighed her at a whooping 8 pounds 4 oz. and then whisked her off to the nursery. Wade left with them while I--obviously--stayed behind.
The rest of the morning was kind of a blur. I called my parents to let them know Aunika was here and then they moved me to the maternity ward. At about 5:30, they let Wade and I go into the nursery to look at her. She was struggling so hard to breathe, it was heartbreaking to watch. They had her hooked up to oxygen trying to get her to help herself expel the remaining fluid from her lungs. Her chest caved in on every breath in and then she grunted on every breath out. I likened it to when your baby has a runny nose and all you want for them to do is to learn how to sniffle it up or blow it out into a kleenex and you find yourself sniffling for them.
"Just cough" I kept chanting to Aunika. Of course, she didn't and so for 45 minutes we watched her take every breath, willing the fluid to just evaporate.
Wade and I decided to go back to the room and take a little nap, since we had been up all night. I wasn't that tired, but Wade was dragging. Almost as soon as we were asleep, the pediatrician stopped in to give us an update. She was still holding steady in the nursery, but if she'd didn't stabilize out quickly, they'd have to move her to the NICU (Newborn Intensive Care Unit). About 45 minutes later, he popped back in to say that they were going to go ahead and send her down to the NICU since she wasn't getting any better. It was about 7:30 and I figured she'd be back by afternoon at the latest. The nurse stopped by as they were taking the baby down to the NICU and let me hold Aunika for about a minute. That's the longest I'd been able to hold her thus far. She looked so sweet and innocent and neither one of us knew the long ride we'd be in for. The nurse made the parting comment "she'll be okay in a day or two." A day or two?!? I thought maybe this afternoon. I wasn't prepared for a day or two. Or six.
Meanwhile, since it was so early in the morning, the only person I felt like I could call was my mom. I didn't want to worry her unnecessarily, but with Wade gone with the nurse to the NICU, I needed someone to talk to. I told her that everything was okay, but that they took Aunika down to the NICU just in case. She was a bit unnerved, considering the luck we've had in our family involving babies and the NICU, but I reassured her that Aunika was perfectly healthy and just needed some help getting rid of some amniotic fluid she'd inhaled.
Down in the NICU they hooked her up to some high flow oxygen, trying to help her body. Basically, it was up to her as to when everything would happen. The doctor kept reassuring us that this was actually quite normal and that she'd be fine in a couple of hours.
We went back to our room and made phone calls to everyone in the family, letting them know that Aunika was finally here. And then I had to pump to start building my milk reserve for when she'd be able to eat. Pumping was not a pleasant experience.
At about 10:30, my mom called to say they were headed on their way home. They had put the turkey in grandma's oven and then told everyone they were leaving. I felt bad because I didn't expect them to leave Thanksgiving dinner, but my mom was too worried and frantic and was probably driving everyone insane. All that worrying about this dinner, and she wouldn't even be around to enjoy it coming to fruition.
We had few visitors and because of RSV season, we couldn't take Josh in to see the baby in the NICU. Wade caught a few minutes of sleep here and there, but I couldn't really sleep. My parents showed up, right in time to save me from a subpar Thanksgiving Hospital Meal (entitled to it's own blog post...stay tuned), with some leftover pizza and Wade went off to his parents house for the traditional Thanksgiving feast. He even snuck some back in for me later.
Wade headed home with Josh fairly early and my parents came back for another hour or so. Then I headed up to bed. I had to pump, but was out nearly as soon as I was done with that. I slept the best that I'd slept since getting pregnant nearly 9 months before. It was nice to have an entire night of uninterrupted sleep (shhh...I didn't wake up and pump like I was suppose to in the middle of the night.).
Since this post is so long, I'll continue our NICU saga in another post...
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Promised Pictures
Here are some pictures of Aunika. Not a lot of people got to come up and see her with the cold and flu season in full swing.
I'll have to post more about the whole ordeal later tonight or tomorrow. We just got home. Poor baby will most likely be in the NICU until Tuesday or Wednesday, but she's doing really good. Even nursed for a little bit yesterday. She's making a lot of progress.
The nurses described her to the doctor as fiesty. That sounds about right if how she was in utero is any indication.
More later, but here are some pictures:
Friday, November 28, 2008
Baby Update
Just an update for those who don't know:
Aunika Lyn was born at 3:02 am on Thursday morning. She weighed in at a whooping 8 lbs 4 0z (pretty good considering I was still 3 weeks out) and is 21 1/2 inches long. I'm still at the hospital, just "borrowing" a computer to plug myself in before I go crazy. I'll dish out the details tomorrow when I get home, complete with some adorable pictures. Suffice it to say that all semester when I was joking about my water breaking during math lecture, I thought I'd be able to walk discreetly out the room. Not so. But luckily for all involved it didn't break anywhere in public or during math lecture. That's a relief.
Aunika is doing really well and we hope to bring her home on Sunday or Monday. (Details to follow).
Aunika Lyn was born at 3:02 am on Thursday morning. She weighed in at a whooping 8 lbs 4 0z (pretty good considering I was still 3 weeks out) and is 21 1/2 inches long. I'm still at the hospital, just "borrowing" a computer to plug myself in before I go crazy. I'll dish out the details tomorrow when I get home, complete with some adorable pictures. Suffice it to say that all semester when I was joking about my water breaking during math lecture, I thought I'd be able to walk discreetly out the room. Not so. But luckily for all involved it didn't break anywhere in public or during math lecture. That's a relief.
Aunika is doing really well and we hope to bring her home on Sunday or Monday. (Details to follow).
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Baby, Oh Baby
5 cm.
That's what I'm almost at. A lot of information. More than I'd probably tell my closest friends, so why not just tell all of cyberspace, right?
Women show up in full blown labor and are excited to be at 1 or 2 cm. I'm walking around the grocery store at 5 cm.
At this rate, next week, I'll be measuring 10 cm and the baby will smile and wave at the doctor when she checks. She's probably hooked her pinky toes in between my ribs and is holding on for dear life. Feels like she has anyways.
I thought last night was going to be the night. I made it past my midterm on Friday (should've gone into labor, probably would've gotten some much needed sympathy points) and went to see Twilight with some friends last night. I feared my water would break during the movie, but I made it through that as well. Then I laid in bed for 2 hours and couldn't sleep. I moved to the couch after taking some Benadryl and read for awhile. I could feel some contractions, but I was too tired/lazy to go find my watch to time them. Just that when I finally got around to getting off the couch it was 3 am. The contractions weren't particularly painful--nothing like what I had with Josh--but uncomfortable nonetheless. I laid down in bed and eventually drifted off, so I'm guessing I was NOT in labor.
The doctor said that I was too happy to be in labor, so my assessment was correct. I gained four pounds this last week--two pounds for each foot I'm guessing. My footwear is severely limited to flip flops. Hope it doesn't snow.
Sigh.
That's what I'm almost at. A lot of information. More than I'd probably tell my closest friends, so why not just tell all of cyberspace, right?
Women show up in full blown labor and are excited to be at 1 or 2 cm. I'm walking around the grocery store at 5 cm.
At this rate, next week, I'll be measuring 10 cm and the baby will smile and wave at the doctor when she checks. She's probably hooked her pinky toes in between my ribs and is holding on for dear life. Feels like she has anyways.
I thought last night was going to be the night. I made it past my midterm on Friday (should've gone into labor, probably would've gotten some much needed sympathy points) and went to see Twilight with some friends last night. I feared my water would break during the movie, but I made it through that as well. Then I laid in bed for 2 hours and couldn't sleep. I moved to the couch after taking some Benadryl and read for awhile. I could feel some contractions, but I was too tired/lazy to go find my watch to time them. Just that when I finally got around to getting off the couch it was 3 am. The contractions weren't particularly painful--nothing like what I had with Josh--but uncomfortable nonetheless. I laid down in bed and eventually drifted off, so I'm guessing I was NOT in labor.
The doctor said that I was too happy to be in labor, so my assessment was correct. I gained four pounds this last week--two pounds for each foot I'm guessing. My footwear is severely limited to flip flops. Hope it doesn't snow.
Sigh.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Light at the End of the Tunnel
Baby Update:
I went into see the doctor for my 36 week check up this morning. I've been feeling crabby and tired for, you know, like 36 weeks and I just want this all to be done with. The good news? There's a date. An actual if-you-haven't-had-the-baby-by-now-we'll-induce-you-date. Tuesday, December 9. I can't tell you what an enormous relief it is to know that in less than three weeks I'm going to finally have this baby.
With that being said, the doctor is skeptical that I'll actually make it that long.
Too Much Information moment coming in
3
2
1
I'm dilated to 3 cm and 75% effaced.
I kind of just shrugged it off, since with Josh I was a 4 for a month. But still, I've made some considerable progress. In any case, the doctor is pretty sure that she'll see me before than (yeah, I've heard that before, so I'm not getting my hopes up too soon.) However, we decided to go with an induction if I haven't gone by the 9th. I'm a little worried about how big this one is going to get. And it's nice to have a date to work towards. My only goal is that I have to be in class on Friday for the midterm. Baby can come anytime after Friday at noon.
And the 9th works out great because then I can still take my final on the 19th (barring no unforeseen emergencies) and still make it to the in-law Christmas Party that weekend (if everything goes well). And Christmas won't be spent in the hospital either.
Basement Update:
Things are moving along quite nicely downstairs. Wade has put in a lot of time the last few nights and the framing is closer to getting done. He's also working on the HVAC ducts. The fireplace got installed last week and the dryer vent was moved. We have a bid for the electrical, so when we're ready, the guy will come in and do the electrical for us. Then we have to get our four way inspection.
Initially, we were hoping to be done when baby came. That dream flew out the window almost immediately. Then we were hoping to have the sheetrock and mud and tape done before the baby came, but that's not going to happen either. So I'm hoping that we'll have the framing, HVAC and audiovisual wiring done before the baby comes, but there's no set schedule for any of it. It'll get done when it gets done.
I keep meaning to take pictures and post them, but I have a hard time getting between the wall and it seems like such a long trek down the stairs. Maybe tomorrow.
I went into see the doctor for my 36 week check up this morning. I've been feeling crabby and tired for, you know, like 36 weeks and I just want this all to be done with. The good news? There's a date. An actual if-you-haven't-had-the-baby-by-now-we'll-induce-you-date. Tuesday, December 9. I can't tell you what an enormous relief it is to know that in less than three weeks I'm going to finally have this baby.
With that being said, the doctor is skeptical that I'll actually make it that long.
Too Much Information moment coming in
3
2
1
I'm dilated to 3 cm and 75% effaced.
I kind of just shrugged it off, since with Josh I was a 4 for a month. But still, I've made some considerable progress. In any case, the doctor is pretty sure that she'll see me before than (yeah, I've heard that before, so I'm not getting my hopes up too soon.) However, we decided to go with an induction if I haven't gone by the 9th. I'm a little worried about how big this one is going to get. And it's nice to have a date to work towards. My only goal is that I have to be in class on Friday for the midterm. Baby can come anytime after Friday at noon.
And the 9th works out great because then I can still take my final on the 19th (barring no unforeseen emergencies) and still make it to the in-law Christmas Party that weekend (if everything goes well). And Christmas won't be spent in the hospital either.
Basement Update:
Things are moving along quite nicely downstairs. Wade has put in a lot of time the last few nights and the framing is closer to getting done. He's also working on the HVAC ducts. The fireplace got installed last week and the dryer vent was moved. We have a bid for the electrical, so when we're ready, the guy will come in and do the electrical for us. Then we have to get our four way inspection.
Initially, we were hoping to be done when baby came. That dream flew out the window almost immediately. Then we were hoping to have the sheetrock and mud and tape done before the baby came, but that's not going to happen either. So I'm hoping that we'll have the framing, HVAC and audiovisual wiring done before the baby comes, but there's no set schedule for any of it. It'll get done when it gets done.
I keep meaning to take pictures and post them, but I have a hard time getting between the wall and it seems like such a long trek down the stairs. Maybe tomorrow.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Maybe I'm the Only One Who Thinks Like This
I have this mild obsession. It usually centers around not having enough to do, so my mind will wander. I see someone on the street and then I immediately try to conjure up their life story. How they got to where they are at that moment.
I know there are certain laws that must be obeyed. For example, everyone was born. Everyone had a childhood, and now y've evolved into adults. My interest lies in where, exactly, their dreams derailed. I'm fairly certain that their childhood dream did not involve the phase "sleep on the sidewalk on state street during the middle of the day" or "carry stuffed animals around on public transit while wearing a blond wig, high heels, and pajama bottoms".
So when I see one of these characters, I try to envision how their life got off track. Did it start with childhood? Abuse? Neglect? Or did it begin in adolescence, where seemingly benign choices made at the height of peer pressure weren't calculated to include the ramifications for the rest of their life?
When I was riding the bus back and forth to school a few years back, I had ample time to study these specimens. Sometimes, I had very up close encounters. I learned to not completely ignore them, but to not engage in lengthy conversations either. On occassion, I would pop in my headphones--not attached to anything--to give the impression that I was otherwise occupied. I rationalized it as being necessary because you do not want to pick up a stalker on public transportation. While many are harmless, it's good to be cautious.
I joked with my mom that I could write a book on just the people I met while riding the bus and no one would believe that it was real. The fact is, you couldn't make these stories up. I met more than my share of Vietnam Vets. I was saddened by how derailed their lives were even 40 years later. Many are hardly capable of holding a conversation and ramble on to anyone who will listen. I saw newlyweds and nearly-deads, each absorbed into their own lives. I rode the bus every day with one guy, probably around 75, who carried a bouquet of flowers. We got off at the same bus stop at home, and he'd hand them over to his wife, who'd arrived to pick him up. I wish now that I would've struck up a conversation with him about what brought him into town everyday and why the flowers, but I never did.
Just this weekend, Wade and I were walking down 2nd east after viewing the Body Worlds Exhibit downtown. Across the street was a lone guy yelling at the top of his lungs. No one was around. He just kept yelling at nothing in particular. For a brief moment, I contemplated my situation. I'm obviously in no shape to run away from a would-be attacker. We just chose to walk along, avoiding eye contact. I wonder what event happened in his life to lead him to 2nd east on a Saturday afternoon, yelling at no one in particular.
Sometimes, I'll take North Temple home from school. Today, as I was driving along, I noticed a group of late teens standing around outside a store. They were desperately trying to look cool, and I realized that we all went through that stage. I wanted to stop and say "listen, it doesn't matter how cool you look, no one is ever really cool. It's just a perception that you throw out. Don't waste your time trying to be something you're not. Get a life and move on with it. Make something of yourself." But instead, I sped along. They'll come to the realization sooner or later, just like the rest of us have.
I know there are certain laws that must be obeyed. For example, everyone was born. Everyone had a childhood, and now y've evolved into adults. My interest lies in where, exactly, their dreams derailed. I'm fairly certain that their childhood dream did not involve the phase "sleep on the sidewalk on state street during the middle of the day" or "carry stuffed animals around on public transit while wearing a blond wig, high heels, and pajama bottoms".
So when I see one of these characters, I try to envision how their life got off track. Did it start with childhood? Abuse? Neglect? Or did it begin in adolescence, where seemingly benign choices made at the height of peer pressure weren't calculated to include the ramifications for the rest of their life?
When I was riding the bus back and forth to school a few years back, I had ample time to study these specimens. Sometimes, I had very up close encounters. I learned to not completely ignore them, but to not engage in lengthy conversations either. On occassion, I would pop in my headphones--not attached to anything--to give the impression that I was otherwise occupied. I rationalized it as being necessary because you do not want to pick up a stalker on public transportation. While many are harmless, it's good to be cautious.
I joked with my mom that I could write a book on just the people I met while riding the bus and no one would believe that it was real. The fact is, you couldn't make these stories up. I met more than my share of Vietnam Vets. I was saddened by how derailed their lives were even 40 years later. Many are hardly capable of holding a conversation and ramble on to anyone who will listen. I saw newlyweds and nearly-deads, each absorbed into their own lives. I rode the bus every day with one guy, probably around 75, who carried a bouquet of flowers. We got off at the same bus stop at home, and he'd hand them over to his wife, who'd arrived to pick him up. I wish now that I would've struck up a conversation with him about what brought him into town everyday and why the flowers, but I never did.
Just this weekend, Wade and I were walking down 2nd east after viewing the Body Worlds Exhibit downtown. Across the street was a lone guy yelling at the top of his lungs. No one was around. He just kept yelling at nothing in particular. For a brief moment, I contemplated my situation. I'm obviously in no shape to run away from a would-be attacker. We just chose to walk along, avoiding eye contact. I wonder what event happened in his life to lead him to 2nd east on a Saturday afternoon, yelling at no one in particular.
Sometimes, I'll take North Temple home from school. Today, as I was driving along, I noticed a group of late teens standing around outside a store. They were desperately trying to look cool, and I realized that we all went through that stage. I wanted to stop and say "listen, it doesn't matter how cool you look, no one is ever really cool. It's just a perception that you throw out. Don't waste your time trying to be something you're not. Get a life and move on with it. Make something of yourself." But instead, I sped along. They'll come to the realization sooner or later, just like the rest of us have.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Letters Not Sent
Dear California,
Here's my theory: You thought that Prop 8 would be opposed, that the whole vote thing was just a formality. To be honest, I did too. And then we both woke up Wednesday morning and we were bowled over by the final tally. To make myself clear, I'm just a curious bystander in your whole debate thing. I have my personal feelings, and your issue isn't one that riles me up politically. But I do enjoy watching the two sides duke it out.
With that being said, I'm a bit miffed at you nonetheless. You can't stand up, after the election, and declare that this issue is too important for the voters to vote on. Just because you lost. It's like me inviting you to lunch and telling you to choose the restaurant, certain that you're going to choose Sizzler. When you don't choose Sizzler, but rather Red Lobster, I get all red-faced and whiny and say that the issue of where to go to lunch is too important to put to a vote and that I should just be the one who chooses the restaurant. It would be in the best interest of everyone involved.
So there you are. If you had a problem with it from the beginning, you should've said something before the election. Now you just look like a bunch of nincompoops who don't think that the average person can make an informed decision when it comes to casting their ballot, because they didn't choose the side you wanted them too.
I'm really sorry this whole democracy thing isn't working out for you, but I'm glad that we still get to vote on things. That not ALL our freedoms are being taken away.
Best wishes for a happy holiday season.
________________________________________________________
Dear University of Utah Parking Services,
I'm fairly certain that you are the only department on campus that turns a profit year after year. You probably have catered lunches every month with the surplus.
I'm writing you because I'm tired of the parking situation on campus. I, too, wish we were all a little more environmentally aware. That we could all navigate the public transit system with as much finesse as you. But, it's not feasible for us all. Some of live in areas where the public transit system is rudimentary. Others of us have to work for a living.
Oh, I know there's plenty of parking. On the other side of campus. Or for a premium price. But it's not, nor has it ever, been where I've needed it. I have spent countless hours walking back and forth to my car over the years and I'm tired of it. I want to be able to park my car, run in to my one class, run back out and get on with my life. Instead a 50 minute class turns into an hour and a half ordeal. I have paid you for passes over the four years I've attended this lovely University, and this semester, with one class left until I graduate, I have refused to dole out the money. Instead, I time my arrival to be in a certain timeblock as to maximize the chances that I will be able to park at a meter outside my class in President's Circle.
For the record, all of my classes for the past four semesters have been in President's Circle. I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but President's Circle has no pass parking in it. Thus, it's a pointless endeavor to buy a pass.
So, Friday, was my last straw. I was late and there was no parking. No parking because it also coincided with the high school football games that were being played at the stadium, where again, there is not ample parking for both students and high school football patrons. The library and bookstore parking lots were filled as well. And so I drove futilely around, willing someone to leave. And I got lucky. But barely.
So, here's the thing. There needs to be more parking. Make a parking structure or something on this side of campus. Why should the liberal arts side get all the good stuff? We're just as important as them.
____________________________________________________________
Dear Baby Occupying My Belly,
In a month or less, we're going to meet you. And you're not going to like that initial meeting because it's going to be cold and all these voices you've been hearing the last few months will finally have faces and they'll be funny looking.
Also, the whole process of getting to the outside world is highly unpleasant for both you and me. The upside is that you've made me so miserable the last few months that I have more motivation to have you on the outside then you have to remain inside.
But we're going to meet and we're going to fall madly in love with you, despite how you look and smell. And we're going to wonder how our lives were ever complete without you. Except for those moments when we're reminded of how life was before you came along. But those moments will be rare and we won't dwell on them for too long. You probably won't let us.
I'm predicting that we are going to have to do some major overhaul on you once you come out. Like, midnight to 3 am is not play time. It's time for you to sleep. And let mommy sleep. Trampoline lessons and yoga will be closed during those hours. (and how did you come to enjoy Yoga so much? Mommy hates it.)
You have lots of pretty clothes. Sorry about all the pink. It'll still look cute and I promise I won't cringe everytime I put you in an all pink outfit that someone found too adorable to pass up. Free clothes are clothes I don't have to pay for, so if they're pink, they're pink. I have your coming home outfit all picked out. There's no pink. Grandma will hate it. But, as you will come to find out, Grandma will hate a lot of things that Mommy is going to do with you. It's just how Grandma is. But she'll love you no matter what. And you'll love her because she'll feed you ice cream at four months when I'm not looking and chocolate when she babysits.
Your big brother is very excited to meet you. Don't worry, he doesn't sound like that all the time. He's just going through a phase right now where he thinks he's a baby elephant. And so he talks like what he thinks a baby elephant sounds like. I'm not sure where this all came from because I've never heard a baby elephant before. But Josh has a huge imagination. You'll probably be roped into his gigs before too long. And yes, he does talk all the time. That probably won't stop once you're out either. You'll learn to tune it out and then it's not so bad.
For the record, he was our experiment child and so you may see some discrepencies in how he's being raised versus you. You will turn out to be healthier and more well rounded. We learned what not to do with him. We will insist that you eat your fruits and vegetables because we've already given up on him. Just remember: Healthier, more well rounded and possibly smarter. It's not because we love him more.
We've narrowed your name down. We're trying hard not to saddle you with a name you'll come to resent us for. I'm sure that over the years, we will do things that will cause you to resent us for some time, but I'm hoping that your name will not be one of them. Let's just start off on the right foot, okay?
So just some final requests as we head down the final stretch here: The route out is not through my rib cage and out my throat so could you please turn? I don't want to undergo surgery to extract you if I can help it. That would just make me cranky and I'm anxious to start running again. You haven't been exactly cooperative in that arena.
Also, I just need an inch or two so I can breathe. If it's not too much to ask. And some decent nights of sleep before you come if you can swing it. There's a very narrow block of time that would be excellent for you to arrive in. Please try to stick to that schedule if you can.
Happy incubating. We will see you soon.
Here's my theory: You thought that Prop 8 would be opposed, that the whole vote thing was just a formality. To be honest, I did too. And then we both woke up Wednesday morning and we were bowled over by the final tally. To make myself clear, I'm just a curious bystander in your whole debate thing. I have my personal feelings, and your issue isn't one that riles me up politically. But I do enjoy watching the two sides duke it out.
With that being said, I'm a bit miffed at you nonetheless. You can't stand up, after the election, and declare that this issue is too important for the voters to vote on. Just because you lost. It's like me inviting you to lunch and telling you to choose the restaurant, certain that you're going to choose Sizzler. When you don't choose Sizzler, but rather Red Lobster, I get all red-faced and whiny and say that the issue of where to go to lunch is too important to put to a vote and that I should just be the one who chooses the restaurant. It would be in the best interest of everyone involved.
So there you are. If you had a problem with it from the beginning, you should've said something before the election. Now you just look like a bunch of nincompoops who don't think that the average person can make an informed decision when it comes to casting their ballot, because they didn't choose the side you wanted them too.
I'm really sorry this whole democracy thing isn't working out for you, but I'm glad that we still get to vote on things. That not ALL our freedoms are being taken away.
Best wishes for a happy holiday season.
________________________________________________________
Dear University of Utah Parking Services,
I'm fairly certain that you are the only department on campus that turns a profit year after year. You probably have catered lunches every month with the surplus.
I'm writing you because I'm tired of the parking situation on campus. I, too, wish we were all a little more environmentally aware. That we could all navigate the public transit system with as much finesse as you. But, it's not feasible for us all. Some of live in areas where the public transit system is rudimentary. Others of us have to work for a living.
Oh, I know there's plenty of parking. On the other side of campus. Or for a premium price. But it's not, nor has it ever, been where I've needed it. I have spent countless hours walking back and forth to my car over the years and I'm tired of it. I want to be able to park my car, run in to my one class, run back out and get on with my life. Instead a 50 minute class turns into an hour and a half ordeal. I have paid you for passes over the four years I've attended this lovely University, and this semester, with one class left until I graduate, I have refused to dole out the money. Instead, I time my arrival to be in a certain timeblock as to maximize the chances that I will be able to park at a meter outside my class in President's Circle.
For the record, all of my classes for the past four semesters have been in President's Circle. I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but President's Circle has no pass parking in it. Thus, it's a pointless endeavor to buy a pass.
So, Friday, was my last straw. I was late and there was no parking. No parking because it also coincided with the high school football games that were being played at the stadium, where again, there is not ample parking for both students and high school football patrons. The library and bookstore parking lots were filled as well. And so I drove futilely around, willing someone to leave. And I got lucky. But barely.
So, here's the thing. There needs to be more parking. Make a parking structure or something on this side of campus. Why should the liberal arts side get all the good stuff? We're just as important as them.
____________________________________________________________
Dear Baby Occupying My Belly,
In a month or less, we're going to meet you. And you're not going to like that initial meeting because it's going to be cold and all these voices you've been hearing the last few months will finally have faces and they'll be funny looking.
Also, the whole process of getting to the outside world is highly unpleasant for both you and me. The upside is that you've made me so miserable the last few months that I have more motivation to have you on the outside then you have to remain inside.
But we're going to meet and we're going to fall madly in love with you, despite how you look and smell. And we're going to wonder how our lives were ever complete without you. Except for those moments when we're reminded of how life was before you came along. But those moments will be rare and we won't dwell on them for too long. You probably won't let us.
I'm predicting that we are going to have to do some major overhaul on you once you come out. Like, midnight to 3 am is not play time. It's time for you to sleep. And let mommy sleep. Trampoline lessons and yoga will be closed during those hours. (and how did you come to enjoy Yoga so much? Mommy hates it.)
You have lots of pretty clothes. Sorry about all the pink. It'll still look cute and I promise I won't cringe everytime I put you in an all pink outfit that someone found too adorable to pass up. Free clothes are clothes I don't have to pay for, so if they're pink, they're pink. I have your coming home outfit all picked out. There's no pink. Grandma will hate it. But, as you will come to find out, Grandma will hate a lot of things that Mommy is going to do with you. It's just how Grandma is. But she'll love you no matter what. And you'll love her because she'll feed you ice cream at four months when I'm not looking and chocolate when she babysits.
Your big brother is very excited to meet you. Don't worry, he doesn't sound like that all the time. He's just going through a phase right now where he thinks he's a baby elephant. And so he talks like what he thinks a baby elephant sounds like. I'm not sure where this all came from because I've never heard a baby elephant before. But Josh has a huge imagination. You'll probably be roped into his gigs before too long. And yes, he does talk all the time. That probably won't stop once you're out either. You'll learn to tune it out and then it's not so bad.
For the record, he was our experiment child and so you may see some discrepencies in how he's being raised versus you. You will turn out to be healthier and more well rounded. We learned what not to do with him. We will insist that you eat your fruits and vegetables because we've already given up on him. Just remember: Healthier, more well rounded and possibly smarter. It's not because we love him more.
We've narrowed your name down. We're trying hard not to saddle you with a name you'll come to resent us for. I'm sure that over the years, we will do things that will cause you to resent us for some time, but I'm hoping that your name will not be one of them. Let's just start off on the right foot, okay?
So just some final requests as we head down the final stretch here: The route out is not through my rib cage and out my throat so could you please turn? I don't want to undergo surgery to extract you if I can help it. That would just make me cranky and I'm anxious to start running again. You haven't been exactly cooperative in that arena.
Also, I just need an inch or two so I can breathe. If it's not too much to ask. And some decent nights of sleep before you come if you can swing it. There's a very narrow block of time that would be excellent for you to arrive in. Please try to stick to that schedule if you can.
Happy incubating. We will see you soon.
Book Review Friday, November 14, 2008
Book: Gifted Hands
Pages: 230
Author: Ben Carson
This book is the choice for book club this month. It proved to be a very good book, though an interesting choice for a group discussing books.
Dr. Ben Carson is a leading pediatric neurosurgeon at John Hopkins. This book chronicles his life, beginning with his humble beginnings in inner-city Detroit after his father left the family when he was 10.
What I really enjoyed about this book is that Carson doesn't use any of the excuses that are so prevalent in today's society to undermine his success. He doesn't make excuses for the periods in his life that weren't necessarily the best of times and he doesn't place blame on others for when things didn't go his way. He understood from an early age that you are ultimately in control of your life and the decisions you make will affect your life either for the good or the bad.
Another good aspect of the book was how much Carson relied on God to see him through to the next thing. He put a lot of faith in God and truly believed that this was what he's meant to do with his life. He's not ashamed of his faith, nor does he parade it around. It's just part of who he is and he's comfortable with that.
I wish that the book would've shared more insight into the breakthrough surgeries and procedures he's been a part of as well as his personal life and how his wife and kids deal with him being gone and involved with his work so much.
I say it's an interesting choice for book club because there isn't a lot to discuss. You certainly wouldn't read this and disagree with the overall message. Other than that, I thought it was a really good book.
Pages: 230
Author: Ben Carson
This book is the choice for book club this month. It proved to be a very good book, though an interesting choice for a group discussing books.
Dr. Ben Carson is a leading pediatric neurosurgeon at John Hopkins. This book chronicles his life, beginning with his humble beginnings in inner-city Detroit after his father left the family when he was 10.
What I really enjoyed about this book is that Carson doesn't use any of the excuses that are so prevalent in today's society to undermine his success. He doesn't make excuses for the periods in his life that weren't necessarily the best of times and he doesn't place blame on others for when things didn't go his way. He understood from an early age that you are ultimately in control of your life and the decisions you make will affect your life either for the good or the bad.
Another good aspect of the book was how much Carson relied on God to see him through to the next thing. He put a lot of faith in God and truly believed that this was what he's meant to do with his life. He's not ashamed of his faith, nor does he parade it around. It's just part of who he is and he's comfortable with that.
I wish that the book would've shared more insight into the breakthrough surgeries and procedures he's been a part of as well as his personal life and how his wife and kids deal with him being gone and involved with his work so much.
I say it's an interesting choice for book club because there isn't a lot to discuss. You certainly wouldn't read this and disagree with the overall message. Other than that, I thought it was a really good book.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Things I'd Rather Not Think About
- As far as I'm concerned, my parents haven't had sex in 27--no, make that 28--years.
- Same goes for my in-laws.
- All laws of physics dictate that now that this watermelon is inside me, it will have to come out.
- My swimsuit is being held together by threads and a prayer. I think I've stretched it beyond it's moment of elasticity.
- If I decide to embark on another pregnancy ever, it will have to be accompanied by a big-ticket item like a solo trip to the Caymen Islands or a Ferrari in the driveway.
- I bought my third 10 pound bag of crushed ice in a week yesterday at the gas station. This means that on average, I'm consuming the approximate weight of my three year old in ice--a week. By the time I give birth, I could potentially have crunched the equivalency of my own weight in ice. It's a good think it's only $1.75 a bag.
- A fireplace is being installed in our basement today, the cost of which surpasses everything we've done thus far down there.
- Church is going to be a lot less entertaining once they split the ward and all the drama creators will be reassigned to the other ward.
Monday, November 10, 2008
It's Official
Well, it's official. I can hardly fit behind the desk at school. This can only mean one thing. Someone replaced the old desks with smaller ones over the weekend. The upside is that they also rearranged the room so the walk to the doorway--and consequently, the bathroom--is shorter. That was nice of them to think of me when planning this arrangement. Clearly it was male administrators who decided that we could all use smaller desks and female administrators who rearranged the classroom.
I've also noticed that my teacher is visibly shaken by my attendance. We met in the doorway this morning. He was headed in and I was headed to the bathroom--again. It was quite evident that we both weren't going to fit through at the same time and he stuttered--stuttered!--"uh, uh, sorry." And then backed out to allow me passage. Unfortunately, he misgauged the size of my stomach and I still had to turn sideways to get by without brushing against him and contaminating him with my cooties.
I would imagine that the walk from his office to class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday is filled with apprehension. He probably peers in and glances at the general area where I sit and sighs a big relief when he doesn't see me. Then, when I do waddle in, his calm demeanor is immediately replaced with a panic-stricken look. I'm most likely the butt of all the jokes in the teachers lounge.
"Have you seen the pregnant girl?" Someone might ask as they sit down with their lukewarm coffee.
"She looks like she's going to explode any minute now." Another one replies from across the room, standing watch over their hot pocket in the microwave.
"Is it possible for the belly to expand any further before actually exploding?" A grad student pipes in from the couch.
A shy, Dr. Suess character look-alike sitting in the corner glances up from the mathematic proof he's perfecting during his morning break: "She's in my class. I'm afraid I'm going to be the one delivering that baby. The other day, I actually watched her shirt move. I think I saw something the shape of a foot emerge from her stomach."
The top of my stomach has been protruding over the (old) desk for a couple of weeks now. The other week, baby was so excited about the Calculus Carnival--an event sponsored by the math department that I'm positive is the social highlight of the semester--the professor was droning on about. Nothing spells fun like C-A-L-C-U-L-U-S. Baby was doing flips, so excited about the prospect of integrating and differentiating, and you could see my shirt shift with her movements. I caught the teacher with his eyes widened in surprise. I would imagine it would be a little creepy to be lecturing and turning around to a classroom of people and watching somebody's belly doing dances. Maybe even catching an appendage trying to break through the abdominal cavity. I can't fault him for momentarily losing his concentration.
Part of me wants to take him aside and assure him that if I were going to go into labor and deliver the baby at school, I would most likely be able to walk the 20 feet to the door and waddle safely away from his ears before letting out the first blood curtling scream. He need not worry about being called upon to bring a child into the world. It's not like there isn't a hospital close by or anything.
But if I did reassure him of this, that would take all the entertaiment factor out of the class. A much larger fraction of my self enjoys watching him squirm.
And as we all know, the majority rules.
I've also noticed that my teacher is visibly shaken by my attendance. We met in the doorway this morning. He was headed in and I was headed to the bathroom--again. It was quite evident that we both weren't going to fit through at the same time and he stuttered--stuttered!--"uh, uh, sorry." And then backed out to allow me passage. Unfortunately, he misgauged the size of my stomach and I still had to turn sideways to get by without brushing against him and contaminating him with my cooties.
I would imagine that the walk from his office to class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday is filled with apprehension. He probably peers in and glances at the general area where I sit and sighs a big relief when he doesn't see me. Then, when I do waddle in, his calm demeanor is immediately replaced with a panic-stricken look. I'm most likely the butt of all the jokes in the teachers lounge.
"Have you seen the pregnant girl?" Someone might ask as they sit down with their lukewarm coffee.
"She looks like she's going to explode any minute now." Another one replies from across the room, standing watch over their hot pocket in the microwave.
"Is it possible for the belly to expand any further before actually exploding?" A grad student pipes in from the couch.
A shy, Dr. Suess character look-alike sitting in the corner glances up from the mathematic proof he's perfecting during his morning break: "She's in my class. I'm afraid I'm going to be the one delivering that baby. The other day, I actually watched her shirt move. I think I saw something the shape of a foot emerge from her stomach."
The top of my stomach has been protruding over the (old) desk for a couple of weeks now. The other week, baby was so excited about the Calculus Carnival--an event sponsored by the math department that I'm positive is the social highlight of the semester--the professor was droning on about. Nothing spells fun like C-A-L-C-U-L-U-S. Baby was doing flips, so excited about the prospect of integrating and differentiating, and you could see my shirt shift with her movements. I caught the teacher with his eyes widened in surprise. I would imagine it would be a little creepy to be lecturing and turning around to a classroom of people and watching somebody's belly doing dances. Maybe even catching an appendage trying to break through the abdominal cavity. I can't fault him for momentarily losing his concentration.
Part of me wants to take him aside and assure him that if I were going to go into labor and deliver the baby at school, I would most likely be able to walk the 20 feet to the door and waddle safely away from his ears before letting out the first blood curtling scream. He need not worry about being called upon to bring a child into the world. It's not like there isn't a hospital close by or anything.
But if I did reassure him of this, that would take all the entertaiment factor out of the class. A much larger fraction of my self enjoys watching him squirm.
And as we all know, the majority rules.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Listmania
I'm a list maker. I love to make lists. There are scraps of paper floating all around the house with to-do lists scribbled on them. My biggest problem, though, is that I'm not good at following through with the tasks on the lists. Sunday School is spent making lists on pieces of paper that I dig out of my church bag. Then, I stuff them back in only to find them a few weeks later when I'm searching for paper to write another list.
Right now, I have a master list of the things I need/want to get done before the baby comes. It's a full typed page long. Then each category is broken up onto it's own list so that I can concentrate on one area at a time. There are seven pages of these lists.
I feel good about myself when I can cross things off, like I'm actually getting things done. However, sometimes my lists include the mundane things like showering and eating breakfast. Things that should be on autopilot response. The flip side is that at the end of the day, if nothing's crossed off, I feel bad about my day. Surely, I didn't sit all day and stare at the wall. I must've done something. That's why I resorted to putting stuff on there like showering and eating breakfast. I read an article once about list making and the author said that by putting things on the list we were sure to do--shower, eat breakfast--and then crossing them off, we're more apt to complete other tasks on the list because of how we feel when we cross things off. Makes sense to me.
Right now, I can hardly manage more than one big task a day. I have good intentions. I want to mop the kitchen floor and vacuum the living room, but by the time I reclean the kitchen and pick up Josh's toys off the living room floor, I'm too tired to mop and vacuum. The cycle seems to repeat itself the next day, no matter how much I promise myself I'll do it first thing in the morning, before it can get messy again.
Same thing with the laundry. Ideally, I should be able to fold it and put it away as it's coming out of the dryer. It only takes five minutes. But one load on the couch strategically placed in our bedroom slowly multiplies into ten and before long, the task seems so overwhelming and it's much easier just to wear sweats everyday. (And that's about all that's fitting right now anyways).
So tomorrow's list:
Wake up--Check
Take shower--Check
Take nap--Check
Buy more ice--Check
Perfect. I should be batting 100% tomorrow.
Right now, I have a master list of the things I need/want to get done before the baby comes. It's a full typed page long. Then each category is broken up onto it's own list so that I can concentrate on one area at a time. There are seven pages of these lists.
I feel good about myself when I can cross things off, like I'm actually getting things done. However, sometimes my lists include the mundane things like showering and eating breakfast. Things that should be on autopilot response. The flip side is that at the end of the day, if nothing's crossed off, I feel bad about my day. Surely, I didn't sit all day and stare at the wall. I must've done something. That's why I resorted to putting stuff on there like showering and eating breakfast. I read an article once about list making and the author said that by putting things on the list we were sure to do--shower, eat breakfast--and then crossing them off, we're more apt to complete other tasks on the list because of how we feel when we cross things off. Makes sense to me.
Right now, I can hardly manage more than one big task a day. I have good intentions. I want to mop the kitchen floor and vacuum the living room, but by the time I reclean the kitchen and pick up Josh's toys off the living room floor, I'm too tired to mop and vacuum. The cycle seems to repeat itself the next day, no matter how much I promise myself I'll do it first thing in the morning, before it can get messy again.
Same thing with the laundry. Ideally, I should be able to fold it and put it away as it's coming out of the dryer. It only takes five minutes. But one load on the couch strategically placed in our bedroom slowly multiplies into ten and before long, the task seems so overwhelming and it's much easier just to wear sweats everyday. (And that's about all that's fitting right now anyways).
So tomorrow's list:
Wake up--Check
Take shower--Check
Take nap--Check
Buy more ice--Check
Perfect. I should be batting 100% tomorrow.
Book Review Friday, 11/7/08
Book: North River
Author: Pete Hamill
Pages: 341
This was a book I normally wouldn't have picked up. I guess I have the Reader's Choice list for introducing me to a book I would've otherwise missed out on.
North River is set in New York at the height of the Great Depression. Dr. James Delaney is committed to helping his fellow citymates, despite their poverty, occupations, or illnesses.
Mourning the sudden disappearance of his wife, Molly, nearly 18 months ago, Dr. Delaney goes through each daymasking his pain behind that of his patients.
One snowy morning, he arrives home from an early house call to find his three year old grandson, the son of the only child Delaney had, sitting abandoned on the porch. A note attached to him says that Grace, the boy's mother, needs to find her husband in Spain and that she would hopefully return soon to fetch the boy.
Unable to turn the boy out to the cold, but equally unable to care for him on his own, Delaney hires a lady to come in and watch him, a recent immigrant from Sicily. Through the child and the woman, Delaney's own heart starts to thaw and he's able to let go of his past.
I found this book to be good and I'm glad I read it, even if the Reader's Choice finished at the end of October. It was interesting to get a little more perspective into the Great Depression that isn't written in textbook style.
New York depicted in the novel was exactly as I've always pictured New York to be in the 1930's, mobsters abounding, running the show. Little foreign cities nestled within the city limits that housed the recent influx of immigrants. Sidewalk cafes struggling to stay afloat. I couldn't have asked for a better description that fit my imagination so well.
The language was a little rough, though not nearly as rough as you'd imagine for the era and place. There was little reference to sex, although Dr. Delaney did treat many prostitutes with STD's that came into his clinic. All in all, it was pretty cleanly written and I was impressed with the author.
Author: Pete Hamill
Pages: 341
This was a book I normally wouldn't have picked up. I guess I have the Reader's Choice list for introducing me to a book I would've otherwise missed out on.
North River is set in New York at the height of the Great Depression. Dr. James Delaney is committed to helping his fellow citymates, despite their poverty, occupations, or illnesses.
Mourning the sudden disappearance of his wife, Molly, nearly 18 months ago, Dr. Delaney goes through each daymasking his pain behind that of his patients.
One snowy morning, he arrives home from an early house call to find his three year old grandson, the son of the only child Delaney had, sitting abandoned on the porch. A note attached to him says that Grace, the boy's mother, needs to find her husband in Spain and that she would hopefully return soon to fetch the boy.
Unable to turn the boy out to the cold, but equally unable to care for him on his own, Delaney hires a lady to come in and watch him, a recent immigrant from Sicily. Through the child and the woman, Delaney's own heart starts to thaw and he's able to let go of his past.
I found this book to be good and I'm glad I read it, even if the Reader's Choice finished at the end of October. It was interesting to get a little more perspective into the Great Depression that isn't written in textbook style.
New York depicted in the novel was exactly as I've always pictured New York to be in the 1930's, mobsters abounding, running the show. Little foreign cities nestled within the city limits that housed the recent influx of immigrants. Sidewalk cafes struggling to stay afloat. I couldn't have asked for a better description that fit my imagination so well.
The language was a little rough, though not nearly as rough as you'd imagine for the era and place. There was little reference to sex, although Dr. Delaney did treat many prostitutes with STD's that came into his clinic. All in all, it was pretty cleanly written and I was impressed with the author.
Friday, November 7, 2008
That's Just Sad
Josh has four grandparents: Grandma, Ronnie, Other Grandma, and Papa. It's how he distinguishes them in his head. Grandma and Ronnie are my parents and Other Grandma and Papa are Wade's parents. The name Ronnie came from an incident where my mom was asking my dad to do something or to bring something to her and called him her pet name for him, Ronnie. Josh picked up on it immediately and ever since then, that's what grandpa's name is.
A little background on Ronnie. Not an overtly affectionate man, he tends to spend a lot of time in the back bedrooms when we're all over. I think he prefers the solitude and quiet. He holds newborns as though they're aliens and he's not quite sure if they'll bite or not. He's never really been the type to get down on the floor and play with the little kids. But you know that he loves each of his grandchildren, even if it's not always worn on his shirtsleeve. In any case, he'll play with Josh, listening to him ramble on and on about the different cars, but he's rarely there when we go over during the week. Josh knows he's at work because he'll announce it: Ronnie's at work. Just like Daddy and Papa. Seems like all the cool guys go to work. (He doesn't say the last part out loud, but it's what he's thinking).
So Wednesday night, some of the neighbor gals threw a baby shower for me. I had invited my mom to it and my dad was going to drive her out. During the day, I told Josh that Grandma and Ronnie were going to come out later and we needed to clean the house. He was so excited. He ran around, picking up his toys and asking--every 2 minutes--are they here yet? Are they here yet?
I left for the party before my parents arrived and so I'm not sure what exactly transpired. When I got home, Josh ran in, his face stained with tears.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Ronnie's my best friend and now he's gone." He replied, eyes brimming with fresh tears.
My parents hadn't stayed long, and much of the time Ronnie was here was spent in heated debate with Wade on politics and helping with the basement. Josh was so excited that Ronnie had come out to see him at "Joshie's house" but then he left, leaving a very sad boy behind.
I had no idea that that he was this attached to Ronnie. I thought that he'd be excited to see him because of the anticipation and that would quickly wear off and he'd be back playing with his cars.
So I explained to Josh that Ronnie had to go, but we'd go see him in a couple of days.
"Call him" was Josh's simple request. How do you say no to that? So I called and left a message. Something along the lines of there was a sad boy who didn't get to play with Ronnie over here and what happened?
My dad called back a few minutes later. Astonishing because rarely is it my dad who calls. It's always my mom. I put Josh on the phone and they talked for a few minutes and all was well again.
Fast forward to today. My mom was suppose to watch Josh while I went to class. It was a rough night last night. I didn't sleep well and everything ached this morning. I laid in bed debating on whether I really wanted to get up, shower, get Josh up and dressed, drop him off and go up to campus. I guess I must've dozed back off because the phone rang at 9:15. It was my mom.
"Oh, I was just going to call you." I said. "It was a rough night last night. Josh is still asleep. I think I'm going to stay home today."
"Oh." She replied. "Dad stayed home from work this morning so he could play with Josh."
Now it was my turn to feel guilty.
"Well, I guess we could come in a little later. I won't be there before 10:30."
"It's okay. He has to be at work at 11:00."
Now I feel really bad. Apparently, he woke my mom up this morning and said that he decided he was going to take the morning off and play with Josh but that he had a meeting he had to go to at 11:00.
I should've listened to my gut feeling that I should just get up and go. Instead I fell victim to the warm bed and the peaceful slumber that it promised. It's a hard lesson to learn.
A little background on Ronnie. Not an overtly affectionate man, he tends to spend a lot of time in the back bedrooms when we're all over. I think he prefers the solitude and quiet. He holds newborns as though they're aliens and he's not quite sure if they'll bite or not. He's never really been the type to get down on the floor and play with the little kids. But you know that he loves each of his grandchildren, even if it's not always worn on his shirtsleeve. In any case, he'll play with Josh, listening to him ramble on and on about the different cars, but he's rarely there when we go over during the week. Josh knows he's at work because he'll announce it: Ronnie's at work. Just like Daddy and Papa. Seems like all the cool guys go to work. (He doesn't say the last part out loud, but it's what he's thinking).
So Wednesday night, some of the neighbor gals threw a baby shower for me. I had invited my mom to it and my dad was going to drive her out. During the day, I told Josh that Grandma and Ronnie were going to come out later and we needed to clean the house. He was so excited. He ran around, picking up his toys and asking--every 2 minutes--are they here yet? Are they here yet?
I left for the party before my parents arrived and so I'm not sure what exactly transpired. When I got home, Josh ran in, his face stained with tears.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Ronnie's my best friend and now he's gone." He replied, eyes brimming with fresh tears.
My parents hadn't stayed long, and much of the time Ronnie was here was spent in heated debate with Wade on politics and helping with the basement. Josh was so excited that Ronnie had come out to see him at "Joshie's house" but then he left, leaving a very sad boy behind.
I had no idea that that he was this attached to Ronnie. I thought that he'd be excited to see him because of the anticipation and that would quickly wear off and he'd be back playing with his cars.
So I explained to Josh that Ronnie had to go, but we'd go see him in a couple of days.
"Call him" was Josh's simple request. How do you say no to that? So I called and left a message. Something along the lines of there was a sad boy who didn't get to play with Ronnie over here and what happened?
My dad called back a few minutes later. Astonishing because rarely is it my dad who calls. It's always my mom. I put Josh on the phone and they talked for a few minutes and all was well again.
Fast forward to today. My mom was suppose to watch Josh while I went to class. It was a rough night last night. I didn't sleep well and everything ached this morning. I laid in bed debating on whether I really wanted to get up, shower, get Josh up and dressed, drop him off and go up to campus. I guess I must've dozed back off because the phone rang at 9:15. It was my mom.
"Oh, I was just going to call you." I said. "It was a rough night last night. Josh is still asleep. I think I'm going to stay home today."
"Oh." She replied. "Dad stayed home from work this morning so he could play with Josh."
Now it was my turn to feel guilty.
"Well, I guess we could come in a little later. I won't be there before 10:30."
"It's okay. He has to be at work at 11:00."
Now I feel really bad. Apparently, he woke my mom up this morning and said that he decided he was going to take the morning off and play with Josh but that he had a meeting he had to go to at 11:00.
I should've listened to my gut feeling that I should just get up and go. Instead I fell victim to the warm bed and the peaceful slumber that it promised. It's a hard lesson to learn.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Why I Voted The Way I Did
There are certain things to take into account when casting your vote. Like, who represents your values the most, who would make the best leader, and who everyone else at the Thanksgiving table is voting for.
(Hey, some reasons are more compelling than others, but they're all important to consider).
This year, it was a toss-up for me. I wanted to research each candidate. Decide for myself who I wanted representing me. And what it came down to was that I was going to have to pick the lesser of two evils. No surprise there.
No candidate really represented my values that well. I was a little skeptical of a man who had to renounce so many associations with questionable characters. And, he did come out and declare that an entire industry--an important one at that--would become bankrupt under his administration. And that those that actually pay federal income tax--yes, my little family of 3 1/2 is included in this--would be cut from 65% of the nation to only 55% of the nation. Yes, we'd still be part of the half that has to support the other half. It's part of the "spread the wealth" campaign. Heaven forbid that I actually keep the hard earned money I made. I should spread it around because not everyone had the same opportunities I had. Like taking out school loans and working my way through college. Or taking measures in preventing unwanted teenage pregnancies. Or being able to create a budget and deciding that we couldn't take out the amount they told us we could easily get for the "big" house because then we wouldn't be able to pay back our school loans and other obligations. Obligations we thought to be important because we had agreed to pay them back. Apparently, they're more of a suggestion than a reality. How were we suppose to know? Our parents working painstakingly hard to pay back their mortgages and loans. We just assumed the same was expected of us.
But I digress.
The point being, this is America. And you make your life how you will. And I can't be blamed for that, nor should I be paying for it. If you don't want to work, fine. If you can't control your zipper, fine. But, I shouldn't be the one paying for your lifestyle.
On the flip side of the fence, there was a candidate that could do nothing but point out the flaws of the opposition. Not a compelling campaign. I still don't know exactly what his platform was, though I'm fairly certain it wasn't socialism. He should've worked harder at distancing himself from the current administration. The election was lost way before it started.
When media outlets were cornering voters after they left the booth yesterday, two things were evident. First, you should avoid being captured on the spot by tv cameras. Rarely does anyone look intelligent in this situation. Think about it...when something bad happens in a neighborhood and the news cameras all swarm around the onlookers, does anyone look or say anything respectable? I remember when Hurricane Katrina happened and all those soundbites emerged from New Orleans. I was embarassed for what the world was seeing representing our country. If you had never met an American, you'd be hard pressed to see what the big deal was with the cross population shown during that disaster.
Second, the newly elected President of the United States was voted in because of skin color and that's just sad. While I thought it was great that we could finally look beyond the color of one's skin, apparently, we can't. And a lot of people voted for a man purely because of his skin color. To be fair, a lot of people didn't vote for him because of his skin color too and to those people, grow up!
But, I fully intend to support the next administration, even if I don't agree with him or his policies. I am an American after all, and I still think this is the greatest country to live in. I just hope I feel the same way in four years.
I knew going into the booth that I was voting for the loser. But, in order to moan about the next four years, I had to cast my ballot. And, it's the year to spend with the in-laws at Thanksgiving, so the choice sort of made itself.
Kidding.
Sort of.
(Hey, some reasons are more compelling than others, but they're all important to consider).
This year, it was a toss-up for me. I wanted to research each candidate. Decide for myself who I wanted representing me. And what it came down to was that I was going to have to pick the lesser of two evils. No surprise there.
No candidate really represented my values that well. I was a little skeptical of a man who had to renounce so many associations with questionable characters. And, he did come out and declare that an entire industry--an important one at that--would become bankrupt under his administration. And that those that actually pay federal income tax--yes, my little family of 3 1/2 is included in this--would be cut from 65% of the nation to only 55% of the nation. Yes, we'd still be part of the half that has to support the other half. It's part of the "spread the wealth" campaign. Heaven forbid that I actually keep the hard earned money I made. I should spread it around because not everyone had the same opportunities I had. Like taking out school loans and working my way through college. Or taking measures in preventing unwanted teenage pregnancies. Or being able to create a budget and deciding that we couldn't take out the amount they told us we could easily get for the "big" house because then we wouldn't be able to pay back our school loans and other obligations. Obligations we thought to be important because we had agreed to pay them back. Apparently, they're more of a suggestion than a reality. How were we suppose to know? Our parents working painstakingly hard to pay back their mortgages and loans. We just assumed the same was expected of us.
But I digress.
The point being, this is America. And you make your life how you will. And I can't be blamed for that, nor should I be paying for it. If you don't want to work, fine. If you can't control your zipper, fine. But, I shouldn't be the one paying for your lifestyle.
On the flip side of the fence, there was a candidate that could do nothing but point out the flaws of the opposition. Not a compelling campaign. I still don't know exactly what his platform was, though I'm fairly certain it wasn't socialism. He should've worked harder at distancing himself from the current administration. The election was lost way before it started.
When media outlets were cornering voters after they left the booth yesterday, two things were evident. First, you should avoid being captured on the spot by tv cameras. Rarely does anyone look intelligent in this situation. Think about it...when something bad happens in a neighborhood and the news cameras all swarm around the onlookers, does anyone look or say anything respectable? I remember when Hurricane Katrina happened and all those soundbites emerged from New Orleans. I was embarassed for what the world was seeing representing our country. If you had never met an American, you'd be hard pressed to see what the big deal was with the cross population shown during that disaster.
Second, the newly elected President of the United States was voted in because of skin color and that's just sad. While I thought it was great that we could finally look beyond the color of one's skin, apparently, we can't. And a lot of people voted for a man purely because of his skin color. To be fair, a lot of people didn't vote for him because of his skin color too and to those people, grow up!
But, I fully intend to support the next administration, even if I don't agree with him or his policies. I am an American after all, and I still think this is the greatest country to live in. I just hope I feel the same way in four years.
I knew going into the booth that I was voting for the loser. But, in order to moan about the next four years, I had to cast my ballot. And, it's the year to spend with the in-laws at Thanksgiving, so the choice sort of made itself.
Kidding.
Sort of.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Six Weeks and Counting
I'm down to six weeks--hopefully. Six weeks before embarking on a whole new stage of life. Life with multiple children. I'm feeling a bit torn. Like, I clearly remember how hard the first month was. And though I have the added benefit of knowing there's life after that first month, it's very much like having a cavity filled. It has to be done. You've been there before. You know it won't kill you. But, it's still not any more pleasant the 2nd, 3rd or 11th time.
There's still a lot I want to get done before baby #2 arrives. I want to fix her room up a little bit. When we fixed the nursery up for Josh, we purposefully chose a gender neutral theme. Jungle animals. But I'd like to add some girly stuff to make it a little more girly. You know, so it's not like she's just a prettier version of Josh. With the blue car seat and the boy clothes masked over with bows, maybe some butterflies in the room or pretty flowers will convince her that we find her to be unique and special. In any case, I'm not as motivated as I was with Josh. Josh's room was all ready to go 2 months before he arrived. And we did a major overhaul, complete with paint and everything.
Christmas shopping is another task on the list that needs to be done soon. And I don't like to Christmas shop, so it's hard to get motivated to do that one. But my mom is constantly reminding me to do it. I'm reminded to do it, especially when the radio stations started playing Christmas songs on November 1. I just don't want to.
Six weeks seems like such a long ways off, but I know it will be here before I know it. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
There's still a lot I want to get done before baby #2 arrives. I want to fix her room up a little bit. When we fixed the nursery up for Josh, we purposefully chose a gender neutral theme. Jungle animals. But I'd like to add some girly stuff to make it a little more girly. You know, so it's not like she's just a prettier version of Josh. With the blue car seat and the boy clothes masked over with bows, maybe some butterflies in the room or pretty flowers will convince her that we find her to be unique and special. In any case, I'm not as motivated as I was with Josh. Josh's room was all ready to go 2 months before he arrived. And we did a major overhaul, complete with paint and everything.
Christmas shopping is another task on the list that needs to be done soon. And I don't like to Christmas shop, so it's hard to get motivated to do that one. But my mom is constantly reminding me to do it. I'm reminded to do it, especially when the radio stations started playing Christmas songs on November 1. I just don't want to.
Six weeks seems like such a long ways off, but I know it will be here before I know it. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
If I Were Running for President
I grew up in a very nonpolitical family. Politics were never discussed around the dinner table. I can't actually recall what was discussed, but apparently, nothing earth shattering. This all changed when I got married. I married into a very political family--well, more so I married a very political man. I was unaware of this--like BYU football--until after the vows were swapped. We dated through the 2000 election debacle (just like we dated through the 2000 football season), but I don't actually recall discussing anything about it (or BYU football) at length. In fact, I didn't even vote in 2000. Our dorm television was tuned to music videos most of the time and I paid very little attention to the political scene.
And then, seemingly overnight, it changed. All of a sudden, I care. And I'm debating my mom (my mom!) over lunch about who should and shouldn't be a leader. And I'm mad. Disappointed. Disgusted. If this is what politics is about, then I'm glad I didn't grow up in a political family. I'm glad I didn't have to listen to this for months on end every election season.
Here's how I see it: We have two men, neither one of them 100% capable of holding such a prestigious job as President of the US of A. The question at hand is to determine who would be the most capable of holding this esteemed position. So they talk. And talk. And talk some more. And some people really buy into the bs they're throwing out and others of us just shake our head. The reality is that neither man is going to be able to wave a magic stick and erase all the bad. On January 21, 2009, scores of military men and women will not be arriving back in the states, the War on Terror over. On January 21, 2009, Wall Street will not arise from the depths of despair and resume it's once all-powerful hold on the economy. Houses will not begin to sell. Unemployment will not be nullified. Health care will not be available to every man, woman and child.
So, as long as Obama and McCain are talking, I'm going to talk too. Here's a list of things I'd do if I were running for President:
And then, seemingly overnight, it changed. All of a sudden, I care. And I'm debating my mom (my mom!) over lunch about who should and shouldn't be a leader. And I'm mad. Disappointed. Disgusted. If this is what politics is about, then I'm glad I didn't grow up in a political family. I'm glad I didn't have to listen to this for months on end every election season.
Here's how I see it: We have two men, neither one of them 100% capable of holding such a prestigious job as President of the US of A. The question at hand is to determine who would be the most capable of holding this esteemed position. So they talk. And talk. And talk some more. And some people really buy into the bs they're throwing out and others of us just shake our head. The reality is that neither man is going to be able to wave a magic stick and erase all the bad. On January 21, 2009, scores of military men and women will not be arriving back in the states, the War on Terror over. On January 21, 2009, Wall Street will not arise from the depths of despair and resume it's once all-powerful hold on the economy. Houses will not begin to sell. Unemployment will not be nullified. Health care will not be available to every man, woman and child.
So, as long as Obama and McCain are talking, I'm going to talk too. Here's a list of things I'd do if I were running for President:
- Propose a flat tax system. Every working person--whether they are documented or undocumented workers--should have a percentage of their pay deducted for federal income tax. As long as you are living here, using our resources, you should have to pay something into the system. I'm all for programs that help out the disadvantaged and poor--welfare, housing authority, etc. But not as a long-term solution that I'm paying for out of my pocket while someone else is reaping the benefits. Nearly 40% of the nation pays zero federal income tax. How do we ever expect to get ahead, fiscally, if only 60% of the country is feeding into the tax pool. Refunds are great, but I'd rather have the money now. So a flat tax across the board. The number one rule for saving is to pay yourself first.
- No negative campaigning. If I were running for president I would address NO rumors, allegations, allegiances, etc. Nor would I drag that in on my opponent. The race should be fought on issues and issues alone. I don't have anything to hide, and if I did, I would put it out there before the start of campaigning season so it was no surprise. I'm not going to spend my campaign dollars on wasted breath in defending my family, friendships, religion, yada, yada, yada. I'm tired of the mud-slinging, backlashing, petty campaign manuevers that have been implemented--on both sides--the last few elections.
- I'd wear jeans. And a nice shirt--on occasion. Maybe dress up for the big events. But, if I'm of the people, I should probably dress like the people. And maybe I'll be a big star on SNL where they'll poke fun of my clothing. But most likely, people will feel that they can actually relate to this person.
- I'd translate all that jargon into something that the normal person could understand. Here are my views on all the issues, in easy to understand language. Take them or leave them. I won't skew my words to attract the most voters. I won't flipflop without a good reason. But I won't promise I won't flipflop. Views can be changed. I respect that. As long as you have a good reason.
- I'm not going to stand up there and tell you the things you want to hear in hopes that it would get me elected and then shrug my shoulders when asked--3 years later--what promises I've kept. We've all been around long enough to know that nothing is really going to change, despite who gets elected.
Clearly, there's a reason I'm not in the running for President of the United States, but I sure wish someone with a backbone was.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Book Review Friday 10/24/08
Book: Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace One School at a Time
Author: Greg Mortenson
Pages: 313
I'm not well versed in Middle Eastern Studies. All those -stan countries get mixed up in my brain. And admittedly, I'm not as passionate about the war as maybe I should be. The reasons are varied and too much to go into here. In any case, I do sorta cringe when I read the synopsis of a book that centers around the Middle East. I guess it's just not my thing.
But, in an attempt to broaden my horizons, I gave this book a chance. I didn't seem to be full of the politics that swamp other books about the Middle East and I had heard good things about it so I gave it a whirl.
It turned out to be a really educating, amazing story of one ordinary guy who is trying to help the world.
Greg Mortenson, a mountaineer and nurse from California, was attempting to scale K2 in Pakistan in the summer of 1996. Unable to summit, he turned around and began the long descent back down. He lost sight of his hiking buddy and his porter (the local guy he had hired at the base camp to ferry his bag for him). Eventually, he was forced to spend a night on the mountain, out in the elements. When he came to in the morning, he started walking again and found his porter, safe and sound. Following his porter down the mountainside, he missed a yak-hair bridge, instead turning to the left and ended up in a little remote village of Pakistan that had never seen a foreigner pass it's gates.
Nursed back to health by the local leader and his family--and reunited with his bags, Mortenson soon became one of the tribe. Upon seeing the condition of the local village school, Mortenson vowed to return to the states and raise money for a school.
Mortenson scrimped, saved and tried to raise funds to help build a school in this remote Pakistani village. Finally securing some funds, he traveled back and entered into a culture that--though painted after 9/11 as an American-hating, religious fanatical sect of humanity--welcomed Mortenson, more or less, as one of their own.
Crippled by cultural differences and altering ways-of-life, Mortenson is nonetheless able to bring to this tiny village the very necessities it needs to sustain life in this oft-forgotten place. He gained a reputation that went a long way after 9/11 to help foster peace among the people of the Middle East and Americans. Mortenson has gone on to help build more than 50 schools in neighboring villages in Pakistan as well as water facilities and has even branched into Afghanistan.
What I liked about the book was that it painted a completely different picture of the region then what the media does. There's no extreme--Not everyone hates Americans and not everyone is happy we're there. There are plenty of people who just want to be able to feed their families and keep them safe. And while every religion has their zealots, the majority of the Muslim people reach out to those that need them, sometimes using their last morsel of food or drink to sate those that need it more. In short, they aren't all that different then us. Just a slower, different way of life. But, that, of course would make for a boring newscast and so this book is a reminder that we need to delve deeper into this area to really understand what's going on and not to rely on just media coverage.
Though, reading between the lines, you can picture Mortenson being beyond obsessed with this passion and driving his family insane, you can also sense that this is where he's suppose to be. This is his mission on the planet. And unlike many, he's making the most of the time he has here to make the world just a bit better. Not by imposing his viewpoints or his ways on others, but by giving them the resources to expand their lives themselves.
Indeed, one person truly can change the world.
Author: Greg Mortenson
Pages: 313
I'm not well versed in Middle Eastern Studies. All those -stan countries get mixed up in my brain. And admittedly, I'm not as passionate about the war as maybe I should be. The reasons are varied and too much to go into here. In any case, I do sorta cringe when I read the synopsis of a book that centers around the Middle East. I guess it's just not my thing.
But, in an attempt to broaden my horizons, I gave this book a chance. I didn't seem to be full of the politics that swamp other books about the Middle East and I had heard good things about it so I gave it a whirl.
It turned out to be a really educating, amazing story of one ordinary guy who is trying to help the world.
Greg Mortenson, a mountaineer and nurse from California, was attempting to scale K2 in Pakistan in the summer of 1996. Unable to summit, he turned around and began the long descent back down. He lost sight of his hiking buddy and his porter (the local guy he had hired at the base camp to ferry his bag for him). Eventually, he was forced to spend a night on the mountain, out in the elements. When he came to in the morning, he started walking again and found his porter, safe and sound. Following his porter down the mountainside, he missed a yak-hair bridge, instead turning to the left and ended up in a little remote village of Pakistan that had never seen a foreigner pass it's gates.
Nursed back to health by the local leader and his family--and reunited with his bags, Mortenson soon became one of the tribe. Upon seeing the condition of the local village school, Mortenson vowed to return to the states and raise money for a school.
Mortenson scrimped, saved and tried to raise funds to help build a school in this remote Pakistani village. Finally securing some funds, he traveled back and entered into a culture that--though painted after 9/11 as an American-hating, religious fanatical sect of humanity--welcomed Mortenson, more or less, as one of their own.
Crippled by cultural differences and altering ways-of-life, Mortenson is nonetheless able to bring to this tiny village the very necessities it needs to sustain life in this oft-forgotten place. He gained a reputation that went a long way after 9/11 to help foster peace among the people of the Middle East and Americans. Mortenson has gone on to help build more than 50 schools in neighboring villages in Pakistan as well as water facilities and has even branched into Afghanistan.
What I liked about the book was that it painted a completely different picture of the region then what the media does. There's no extreme--Not everyone hates Americans and not everyone is happy we're there. There are plenty of people who just want to be able to feed their families and keep them safe. And while every religion has their zealots, the majority of the Muslim people reach out to those that need them, sometimes using their last morsel of food or drink to sate those that need it more. In short, they aren't all that different then us. Just a slower, different way of life. But, that, of course would make for a boring newscast and so this book is a reminder that we need to delve deeper into this area to really understand what's going on and not to rely on just media coverage.
Though, reading between the lines, you can picture Mortenson being beyond obsessed with this passion and driving his family insane, you can also sense that this is where he's suppose to be. This is his mission on the planet. And unlike many, he's making the most of the time he has here to make the world just a bit better. Not by imposing his viewpoints or his ways on others, but by giving them the resources to expand their lives themselves.
Indeed, one person truly can change the world.
The Halloween Miracle
Last year, we got Josh a cute dinosaur costume for Halloween. He loved it. He wore it out the store (the cashier just ran him over the scanner) and then for weeks afterwards, would put it on-extending Halloween well into December. The year before last, we had gotten an Incredibles outfit that he outgrew in the month between the purchase and Halloween and we didn't want to fall victim to that again (though the pictures are adorable of him with his too snug of an outfit and highwater pants. True superhero style), so we bought the costume a bit large so he could wear again this year.
A few weeks ago, we asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween. He happily replied dinosaur and both Wade and I silently high-fived each other. It was another case of "this parenting thing is a lot easier than we thought".
However...
This week, I asked Josh to tell Grandma what he was going to be for Halloween. A quiet little voice in the back of the car piped up: "elephant". What??? An Elephant? I racked my brain, trying to remember the last time I'd seen an elephant on Halloween. I think the correct answer is never. But what would I be if I didn't at least try...
Try to convince Josh that he wanted to be a dinosaur instead.
Try to convince Josh that his dinosaur costume was merely a prehistoric elephant.
Try to find an elephant nose to supplement the (now) subpar "prehistoric elephant" costume.
Try to ignore the voice in the backseat of the car.
Sigh.
Try to find an elephant costume at the store. Or at least a gray sweatsuit that could be altered--with much time and talent--into an elephant. So basically, try to find an elephant costume at the store.
So today, I set out on the important task of finding an elephant costume. I was only going to go to four stores. My big-box rating system goes something like this: From least liked to most liked based on quality and availability of clothing and how clean the store is.
(I'm not that hard to impress--as will become evident in a moment.)
K-Mart
Shopko
Walmart
Target
My plan was to hit these four big-box stores in a futile attempt at locating an elephant. Then gently letting my 3 year old experience the bitter feeling of disappointment when he had to dress up like a dinosaur--excuse me, prehistoric elephant. Maybe by October 31st everything would be okay.
First up, K-mart. Not my favorite place to shop. I was already tired and was not looking forward to marching through the stores in search of an elusive elephant costume. But here I was.
The costume aisle was jammed with every possible costume you could think of (and some you couldn't think of) and as I half-heartedly thumbed through them, my hopes dashing with each costume I flipped through, I came across a sickly gray medium-sized child's costume of...
AN ELEPHANT!
Though not the most attractive elephant costume I have ever seen. For $15 it was mine. And I wasn't going to complain. There were only two elephants to be seen. And the size was perfect. Desperate to share my good fortune with anybody, I called Wade on the phone.
<>You'll never guess what I found.
<>What?
<>An elephant costume.
<>But he already has a costume
<>He is flat out refusing to be a dinosaur
<>But it fits. Tell him to be a dinosaur
Yeah, like after stuffing Josh into the elephant costume I was ever going to be able to get him back out.
<>It's $15. And I'm too tired to fight the fight. You should see how excited he is.
Not to mention how excited I am.
<>Okay.
Clearly, Wade missed the grandeur of the moment. The moment when my prayers were heard by a higher power and an elephant costume was located at the first store I stopped at. In the right size. For a decent price. I couldn't have made an elephant costume for $15. We promptly paid (now, too large to be scanned, we ripped the barcode off of Josh) and walked out the store. Grandma, mom and one happy elephant.
I would rank this moment up with the moment I crossed the marathon finish line. But that would be silly--it's only a costume after all. But, it's a close second. My only hope is that as life goes on, I will find other exciting moments in my life to knock this one down a few notches so I don't appear as pathetic.
But, in any case, it's a moment I'm sure I'll look back on as the years go by, when I'm out trying to locate that ever elusive halloween costume. One cannot expect a Halloween miracle every year. This year, my stars were aligned and I benefited greatly from the Halloween miracle.
A few weeks ago, we asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween. He happily replied dinosaur and both Wade and I silently high-fived each other. It was another case of "this parenting thing is a lot easier than we thought".
However...
This week, I asked Josh to tell Grandma what he was going to be for Halloween. A quiet little voice in the back of the car piped up: "elephant". What??? An Elephant? I racked my brain, trying to remember the last time I'd seen an elephant on Halloween. I think the correct answer is never. But what would I be if I didn't at least try...
Try to convince Josh that he wanted to be a dinosaur instead.
Try to convince Josh that his dinosaur costume was merely a prehistoric elephant.
Try to find an elephant nose to supplement the (now) subpar "prehistoric elephant" costume.
Try to ignore the voice in the backseat of the car.
Sigh.
Try to find an elephant costume at the store. Or at least a gray sweatsuit that could be altered--with much time and talent--into an elephant. So basically, try to find an elephant costume at the store.
So today, I set out on the important task of finding an elephant costume. I was only going to go to four stores. My big-box rating system goes something like this: From least liked to most liked based on quality and availability of clothing and how clean the store is.
(I'm not that hard to impress--as will become evident in a moment.)
K-Mart
Shopko
Walmart
Target
My plan was to hit these four big-box stores in a futile attempt at locating an elephant. Then gently letting my 3 year old experience the bitter feeling of disappointment when he had to dress up like a dinosaur--excuse me, prehistoric elephant. Maybe by October 31st everything would be okay.
First up, K-mart. Not my favorite place to shop. I was already tired and was not looking forward to marching through the stores in search of an elusive elephant costume. But here I was.
The costume aisle was jammed with every possible costume you could think of (and some you couldn't think of) and as I half-heartedly thumbed through them, my hopes dashing with each costume I flipped through, I came across a sickly gray medium-sized child's costume of...
AN ELEPHANT!
Though not the most attractive elephant costume I have ever seen. For $15 it was mine. And I wasn't going to complain. There were only two elephants to be seen. And the size was perfect. Desperate to share my good fortune with anybody, I called Wade on the phone.
<
<
<
<
<
<
Yeah, like after stuffing Josh into the elephant costume I was ever going to be able to get him back out.
<
Not to mention how excited I am.
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Clearly, Wade missed the grandeur of the moment. The moment when my prayers were heard by a higher power and an elephant costume was located at the first store I stopped at. In the right size. For a decent price. I couldn't have made an elephant costume for $15. We promptly paid (now, too large to be scanned, we ripped the barcode off of Josh) and walked out the store. Grandma, mom and one happy elephant.
I would rank this moment up with the moment I crossed the marathon finish line. But that would be silly--it's only a costume after all. But, it's a close second. My only hope is that as life goes on, I will find other exciting moments in my life to knock this one down a few notches so I don't appear as pathetic.
But, in any case, it's a moment I'm sure I'll look back on as the years go by, when I'm out trying to locate that ever elusive halloween costume. One cannot expect a Halloween miracle every year. This year, my stars were aligned and I benefited greatly from the Halloween miracle.
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