Baby, Don't Call Me Baby

Random Maneurysm

2012-02-08T19:21:00.002-06:00

Was looking over Husband's shoulder when he read a random facebook comment explaining that someone was charged with a mistermeaner.

I laughed till I cried.

Twice.

At least it wasn't a fellaknee.

The Many Faces of Miss Loralei Jean

2012-01-01T13:14:00.001-06:00

RawR, Lorazilla is on the prowl!

Thank goodness for this padding!

Work it!

How many times do I have to tell you. No photos before nap!

The paparazzi are relentless today!

Dear Titi, Send cash, more toys, some chapstick, another basket to sit in...

Destruction imminent. Hide all valuables and let the animals in their safe places.

Shucks. Ya caught me bein sweet.

Vegas: The Adventures of Kelsey and kate

2011-12-30T15:37:00.000-06:00

Here is just some of the fabulosity that was November's Mother-Daughter-Sister-Golden Birthday Trip. After all, if I show and tell everything I will brake the what-happens-in-Vegas rule. I'll drop some teasers just to inspire jealousy before sharing just a few photos.

room service
spa

massage
hot tubs
sliced cucumbers

wine
Peep Show!
serendipity = desserts
shopping!

If you need tips for doing Vegas luxuriously, contact me!

Starting Vegas out the right way with a cocktail and Starbucks.

I introduce you to kate. She's in the bag. A kate spade bag in a kate spade bag.

She is beautiful, but apparently camera shy.

Jamers and I. Happy golden birthday celebration to us!

She was 22 weeks pregnant when we were there. She was excited to go to Kardashian Khaos.

They were so super nice to her, Love them for it!

Inspired by a dream.

2011-12-29T12:30:00.001-06:00

I was running in a field next to a cliff. There was a dragon with long orange spines to my left and a sharp drop off at least 10 stories down to jagged rocks and the crashing sea. The dragon was shooting his spines at me and I was ducking and rolling like the spryest of ninja. I didn’t have time to but I’m sure if I had looked down I would’ve been wearing Zelda’s outfit. You know, minus the pointy ears. Or something similar to a highland warrior with a kilt flapping in the breeze and dirk at my side.

Little did I know that the dragon was the least of my worries. As I edged closer to the edge of the cliff I saw a ledge jutting out no more than 30 feet from the water. I could see a swaddled baby laying alone on the ledge. As I watched, a mountain lion slowly stalked out of the cave that was just out of my sight toward the child. One more flying dragon spine was just enough to force me to leap from my vantage point down the side of the rocky cliff frantically scraping for a grip. I jerked suddenly as my fingertips gripped a small hold on the way down allowing me to recover only briefly before scrambling desperately down further toward the cat and child.

I landed with a thud in a moaning heap between the beast and the bundle with barely enough time to slither my way toward the screaming child and gather it in my arms before the cat leapt toward us. I was sure one of my legs was broken but the other had enough sense to lift in defense of my body and that of the baby at just the right angle and force to propel her over the edge of the cliff into the water below.

I crawled into the cave to provide shelter for the now calming baby and made my way back to the edge of the cliff to survey our possibilities of a safe exit. I looked up the 70 feet back to the field and imminent dragon encounter ruling out that possibility. Laying on my stomach I peer cautiously over the ledge to the water below just in time to see them circling. Patiently waiting for me to make the mistake of attempting a swim to shore were three huge, and huge for 30 feet away, sea monsters. They looked similar to sharks with hundreds of sharp teeth and pointy dorsal fins jutting out of the water but had to be some kind of mutant sea creature with flippered legs and 20 foot long tails equipped with spines.

I swallowed long and hard as though it would quench my body’s need for liquid and sulked into the cave to curl up with the child. We were the only people on earth, or whatever planet this was, right at this moment. The only two that mattered and had to survive. But for now, we both had no other choice but to sleep wrapped in our own warmth and temporary safety.

Ode to the Punkin

2011-10-24T16:07:00.003-05:00

I will build you a tower as many times as you want to knock it down.
I will wash between your toes as long as there is gunk there.
I will pretend the mix-mashed carrots, parsnips and apple sauce is yummy as long as you like them.
I will crawl after you as many times as you want to run away and squeal.
I will clap and dance with you as long as you smile, clap and dance along.
I will wipe your perfectly squeezable baby buns as long as you need me to.
I will sing at the top of my lungs as long as it makes you smile.

I will stand on my head as long as it makes you laugh. Or until I get dizzy.
I will make funny faces and noises at you as long as you try to make them back.
I will provide you with grass to pull and leaves to eat as long as you find it fascinating.
I will show you your face in the mirror as many times as you say ‘pretty’ back to yourself.

I will love you.

Upcoming Mother-Daughter-Sister-Golden Birthday Trip!

2011-10-24T16:05:00.003-05:00

Vegas Baby!

In celebration of next year’s golden birthdays (mine and my sister’s), my sister, mom and I are taking a trip to Las Vegas in 25 days.

I have been preparing for the trip for the last few weeks by shopping. Online window shopping, that is. You see, my goal in Las Vegas is to find, and purchase, the most fabulous kate spade handbag there is was and ever will be. I’m most excited to be able to carry my newly purchased kate spade bag in a kate spade shopping bag around the city with me. I may even skip.

Look for photos of me with my kate spade bag in a kate spade bag:

Dining
Sightseeing
Gambling
Seeing a show
Avoiding the men on street corners who handout cards with naked women on them

Send me good shopping vibes!

One year ago...

2011-09-16T08:04:00.001-05:00

One year ago today I began the day like any other by going to work dreading yet another three-hour meeting. I was 9 months pregnant with less than two weeks to go until my due date. We began our meeting at 9 a.m. on a crisp fall morning. I was having trouble concentrating and felt a little funny so I decided to take a little walk around 10 a.m. I walked out of the conference room and told Dawn I wasn’t feeling well so I was going to take a walk. Then I peed my pants.

Well, at least I thought I did. I stood there in the middle of our office and cocked my head to the side a little and said, “I think I just peed my pants!” Dawn’s hands went up to her mouth immediately and I ran to the bathroom. I could hear her yell in to Mary “This could be happening TODAY!” as I walked back and shut the door. I soon realized the issue wasn’t exactly resolving itself so I went back out to join Mary and Dawn.

I told them that I thought my water had broken and they suggested I call Husband. I called his number at work but he didn’t answer so I called the just-in-case-Husband-doesn’t-answer-when-I’m-in-labor number and his friend Mike answered. I tried to as calmly as possible convey the message to Mike that I thought my water had just broken and Joe should call me. I found out later that Mike immediately ran to find Husband, who was preparing for a potluck, and yelled “You have to go! Kelsey’s water broke!!”

Meanwhile, Dawn and Mary are helping me decide what to do next and after some exited squealing and jumping up and down (after which Dawn firmly scolded me) I was on my way home. I managed to get Husband on the phone on my way and thank goodness because he was in a panic that he wasn’t going to make it on time and headed straight for the hospital. I told him to meet me at home and we would go there together. We had plenty of time!

I was almost certain by then that my water had broken because by the time I got home my seat was soaked. We arrived at the hospital around 11:15 a.m. and they confirmed that indeed my water had broken and we began to activate the notification list we had painstakingly constructed as follows just before noon:

Once we know we are staying at the hospital (It’s time!), Joe will call the grandma’s and then (hopefully) the following will fall in place beautifully!
Step 1: Labor & Delivery
Mom: Call Jamie
Jamie: Call Tony (to go stay with Zeus) & Dad (just an FYI)
Mom & Jamie (my sister) will be on their way to be at the hospital for the delivery.

I’ll stop right here for a side note about what actually transpired regardless of our plan. Mom and Jeff were in Duluth on one of the first days of their vacation and the phone call from Husband came announcing “Thundercats are GO!” in true Juno fashion while they were shopping at the Duluth Pack store! Jamie was less than calm and messaged Tony something like “Jeff will stay with the dog so you don’t need to.” but failed to mention anything about me going into labor. Then, after booking her flight out, she called our dad and asked him to pick her up from the airport, again forgetting to mention me going into labor. Got to love her enthusiasm!! She was about to be a TiTi, after all!!!

My mom and Jeff arrived from Duluth in the afternoon and my dad and Jamie arrived in the evening. My dad sat with me while everyone else went and got some food. Throughout the night we played Boggle between contractions (I won, of course. And no, they weren't just letting me win because I was in labor. You don't know my family if you think they'd give up that easily.), took walks around and round and round and round the maternity ward and a host of other terribly exciting time-passing activities in hopes to spur labor along.

And a mere 19 hours after arriving at the hospital (21 from when my water broke)...

at 7:43 a.m. September 17, she was born. And our lives changed forever.

We love you baby girl! Happy birthday!!!

Things Babies Do: Part 2

2011-09-15T19:48:00.003-05:00

Poo. Oh yes. For those of you who do not have children, I know you are rolling your eyes thinking “I can’t believe she went there.” But seriously, I would’ve liked to have had this warning. While the poo is a most disgusting thing in and of itself, it is a wholly different situation when the poo escapes from its containment unit, i.e. diapers. In one specific instance the containment unit failed so perfectly that all of the poo escaped to the floor creating the opportunity for the child to investigate. I am so sparing you by eliminating (Punny!) the details.

Mister Sandman Brought Me Crazypants

2011-09-14T16:59:00.005-05:00

This week's dreams brought to you courtesy of Kelsey's fever. Boo

Robert De Niro kidnapped me. He was accompanied by two thugs dressed in full football gear, pads, helmets and all. You know, because apparently I'm pretty ruthless so they needed all of the protection they could get. He took me to a warehouse, because that's where you go when you are kidnapping someone. They never told me what they wanted but it couldn't have been much more than some peanut butter m&m's because that is as close to gold and riches as you're going to get... even in my dreams!
I was caught running through one of those crazy paintings with the staircases running up, down, upside down and side ways. Better yet, a parakeet was chasing me. Not flying, hopping and squawking after me. SQUAWK SQUAWK HOP HOP SQUAWK HOP HOP! It's not like he was vicious but I sure as hell didn't want him to catch up to me!
I went to a bagel shop and they had bagels with My Little Pony shaped marshmallows in them!! That was one of those I'm sad when I wake up dreams. Just imagine how tasty and fabulously delicious!!!!

Kanga-prude

2011-09-08T18:49:00.000-05:00

Recently I dreamt that Husband and I were in the woods and interrupted during an attempt to get physical by a kangaroo of all things. I was terrified I was going to be kicked in the head so we were forced to vacate our love-nest.

Go figure.

Back to freaking school!

2011-08-19T10:21:00.004-05:00

No, seriously. I’m going back. Seriously! Yes, again.

I’ve had to repeat these responses several times over the last few months. I decided, somewhat on a whim, to go back to school and get yet another graduate degree. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take advantage of a stackable, eight-month program that will result in an MBA.

Yay?

I do love to learn, and part of the decision might have been a result of the shock from not having to put tuition information on my taxes last year, but I truly am excited to start in just over 3 weeks. However, there is a factor that looms over me and the possibility of the next eight months going smoothly: the child. School plus an almost one-year old could spell disaster for my formerly perfect GPA, my resolve and steadfast hairline.

Time will tell. Hang on and enjoy the ride along with me… that is, if I have time to post!

Things Babies Do: Part 1

2011-07-29T07:59:00.003-05:00

Hold things. Mostly, things that are not theirs. She has discovered how to take the top off of the typical tube chap sticks so we started buying eos chap sticks for their twist off tops. The thing fits perfectly in her sweaty little paws and she carries it around with her everywhere. It has teeth marks all over it. She will hold it crawling everywhere, through entire nursing sessions, while she’s falling asleep... you get the idea.

Suddenly stop what they are doing and decide they need to be in a different room. Did she realize she forgot to turn off the curling iron or something? She’ll be sitting quietly playing, abruptly shriek and take off like a freaking rocket crawling into the next room. One time she was holding the chap stick in one hand and a block in the other, simultaneously chucked the block across the room and screamed then scampered away only to circle the kitchen table and come right back to what she was doing.

Repeat things. Over and over and over. Aht. Aht. Aht. Aht. I have tried to figure out what she means to no avail. Sitting in her highchair waiting patiently to eat some kind of pureed food. Aht. Aht. Aht. Holding my chap stick up in the air as if it is a prized possession to be worshiped or the Stanley Cup. Aht. Aht. Aht. Aht. Standing holding onto the coffee table slapping the top of it with her hand over and over again. Aht. Aht. Aht. Aht. Aht. Aht!

Fascinating.

Aht.

Today...

2011-05-28T21:17:00.008-05:00

Things I did today: Coffee at Caribou. Shopping for entertainment center at IKEA with Husband. Fabulous lunch and shopping with Kristy at the Mall of America. Took video of Punkin laughing at me. Rocked her to sleep. Painted nails.

Things my mom and stepdad did today: Determined which of their possessions they want to save from imminent flooding and began preparing for the reality that they could be forced to leave their home for the next two months at the very least.

Send happy thoughts.

The house completely encompassed by a dike.

The river. Normally it is at least 100 yards away from the house.

"The dam is currently releasing 80,000 cubic feet per second and the water in Bismarck is just below flood stage at 15.8 feet. Output from the dam will eventually reach 150,000 cfs, raising the water level to 20.6 feet in Bismarck."

Full article @ BismarckTribune.com.

People suck and ducks are dumb. Oh, and Buffy was there too.

2011-05-25T21:23:00.002-05:00

This past weekend was stormy. That is putting it lightly. The weather was beautiful all week. Dry and sunny. Then we come to Saturday and the gloom arrives.

Loralei was fighting her afternoon nap and after a glance outside I saw the sun peaking through. An excellent opportunity for some fresh air! The sky was clear blue in all directions so I threw her in her stroller and off we went.

Don’t get me wrong, Loralei is wonderful entertainment. That is, if you’re want something to look at. She’s not much of a conversationalist. After a few blocks of exchanging smiles and coos she moved on to chewing on the side of a pacifier and sucking on the tag of a monkey toy I had ripped off of the pack-and-play mobile in an attempt to lull her into submission during a diaper change. She didn’t appear to be in the mood to share so I focused on engaging passersby and gawking at all of the beautiful homes in the neighborhood.

I passed by an elderly couple. The woman was wearing a wide brimmed white hat and the man a baseball cap. Their eyes were shielded so my efforts to engage them in small talk failed miserably. They weren’t even interested in peeking in at the adorable bundle I was pushing around in the pram. I immediately wrote them off as a fluke. Normally people are so friendly on our walks. This had to be a mistake.

The next crew we walked by was a few groups in succession. First we passed a mother walking her yellow lab with her teenage son shuffling behind her. Perhaps he was being punished for poor grades or made to get out and enjoy the weather instead of drowning his emptiness in videogames for the weekend. It was obvious none of them wanted to be outside. Even the dog wanted his bed and a bowl of water and the mom yearned for a pedicure. They were followed closely by a yuppie couple walking two ankle-biters. She had her I’m-going-for-a-walk outfit of matching tank top, shorts, socks, shoes and hat on and he was in jeans and a polo shirt. Perhaps he had been planning on going golfing but cancelled his tee time due to the rain. I even deviated from my usual ‘hello!’ and smile and made a lame attempt to comment on the change in weather from this morning but no one bit.

Rather than continue fighting against the obvious fact that no one was interested in making a new friend, I gave up. I looked at the ground instead of attempting to make eye contact.
I passed a stick about as round as my fist (yes, make a fist now so you know what I’m talking about... make a fist then draw an imaginary, or real if you’re feeling feisty, circle from knuckle to knuckle to knuckle) that had been sheared off so both ends were pointy. Of course, I thought of Buffy.

You know, the Vampire Slayer. First I wondered why on earth she would have dropped her stake and left it so close to the sidewalk where so many people would see it and realize what was going on. It was so obvious now that a vampire attack was brewing. This is not the Twilight variety vampire attack. These aren’t vegetarian vampires who sparkle in the sun. This is the real deal.

She must have been running through the park, tripped on a My Little Pony left behind by an unruly 5-year old and dropped her stake. Poor Buffy.

Then, enthralled with my lengthy (I left most of it out but I’m sure you can let your imagination run wild with the typical vampire fight scenes and too close for comfort spiky-vampire-teeth-meet-neck combos) vampire slayer fantasy I am jolted back into reality by a seemingly rabid duck.

This mama mallard came charging at me and my stroller from across the street quacking furiously. She made it half way across, waddled back to her side of the road and then ran out in front of an SUV. I stood there long enough to hear it…. a faint and echoing chirp… from below.
Fuck.a.duck. I picked up my cellp hone (I travel with it on walks due to my incessant need to plan for the worst case scenario so that when I have been mutilated in some kind of freak sidewalk-sink-hole accident I can use it to call and say a final goodbye to Husband.) and call Husband. The conversation proceeds as follows:

Husband: Transport Joe

Me: This is a seriously dead serious thing that is seriously happening right now.

Husband: (short pause) Uh. Ok?

Me: There is a baby duck stuck in a storm drain. What the fuck do I do!? (Yes, really I really do say fuck that much.)

Husband: Call 911.

Me: Ok, thanks, bye.

I make one more phone call before calling 911. To Kristy. Kristy is one of my dearest friends with a huge and beautiful heart, especially when it comes to animals. Kristy has been known to stop her car, during rush hour in Minneapolis to save ducks, geese, and most notably turtles. We were out shopping one day and she explained she had no more reusable bags because she had used them for the turtles. “Of course,” was the only appropriate reply. She stuffed them in the bags to prevent them from biting her and then put them in her car and transported them to another location before freeing them. Apparently some construction had forced the water near their homes to drain and they were seeking another source of food and water by crossing a four lane interstate. She even got one stuck under the seat of her car. She is a hero to animals and she confirmed, as Husband said, that I must call 911 immediately.

911 Operator: What’s your emergency? (Spoken as more of an order than a question.)

Me: This isn’t an emergency. I need animal control. Errr. Rescue. (I begin laughing.) A baby is stuck in the storm drain.

Increasingly Frustrated and Concerned 911 Operator: Excuse me?

Me: Shit. A baby DUCK is stuck in a storm drain.

I relay the location to the operator and she says they will send someone out and asks that I wait for help to arrive.

I wander back and forth across the street looking into the four drains in the vicinity, two on each side of the street, but don’t see anything. I begin thinking I have lost my mind and picture a fire truck, ambulance and squad cars arriving to find me sitting on the curb in front of my stroller. Throes of emergency personnel search the storm drains, bring out street crews and jackhammers to tear up the road and search for the lost baby duckling only to find that the noise I had been hearing was a cat meowing from a window a block away.

I have no concept of time so it could’ve been an hour before someone arrived but it was probably more like 10 minutes when the Community Service Officer drove up. He was a tiny thing and looked to be no more than fourteen. He asked which drain they were in and I shrugged and laughed. I figured he would arrest me if I lied. He used his official policeboy flashlight and jpointed them out to me. Seven. SEVEN baby ducklings down in the street drain.

Picture this. Mama duck followed by baby duck followed by baby duck followed by baby duck followed by baby duck followed by baby duck followed by baby duck followed by baby duck. They waddle down the road in a perfect single-file line. Mama hops from the curb to the street and those ducklings hop directly down the drain one after another. Plop plop plop plop plop plop plop. Idiots!

Mr. Policeboy put on his very official-looking gloves and pulled a tool that looked like the back of a hammer, only huger, and dug out the grate. He used a net a scooped all of the little morons out of the depths of the street. Mama and daddy duck were nearby and gathered their little ones up giving them a stern lecture.

“I suppose if your brother jumped off of a cliff you would follow him right off….”

Baby Bath Time

2011-04-20T11:12:00.007-05:00

Husband and I have recently encountered yet another in the soon-to-be endless stream of challenges in accomplishing daily care of our daughter: Bath time.

I have never heard other parents express their confusion about this issue, but rather than assume Husband and I are simultaneously lacking common sense, I’ll reach out for suggestions and input. Perhaps there are heaps of parents who will think “Yes! I concur with your frustration and confusion! There must be an easier way!”

The day baby was born, Husband gave her her very first bath in the nursery at the hospital. That portion of the day was a blur for me, and Husband remained primary bath-giver for the first few months of Loralei’s life. After all, he was the one who received the training.

These first baths were basically sponge baths. The tiny naked infant lay on a towel, or specially made froggy-sponge in our case, to be wiped down with washcloths.

Those were the days baths were calm. Other than the minor melt-down if we accidentally let a breeze escape into the room she was tranquil and content.

The next bath stage involves a ramp. We place the infant bathtub on the bathroom counter with a few inches of water in it and she lays on the ramp that holds her head out of the water. Barely holding her own head up at this point still, initially she would just lay there, happy to be worked on as though she is at the Wash & Brush Up Company in the land of Oz.

We sing, “Ha, ha, ha, Ho, ho, ho and a couple of tra - la – las. That's how we laugh the day away, in the Merry Old Land of Oz...Can you even dye my eyes to match my gown?”

Things are quite different how that she can sit up and has control of her hands and arms.

Before she would lay relatively still and might try to grab the cup we used to rinse her hair and suck and chew on one of the washcloths.

Now, when she is sitting up she violently smacks at the water splashing it all over us, the mirror and the floor, she uses her elbows to prop herself up on the ramp, refusing to lay down until we pull them out from under her. When she is on her stomach she tries to roll over or spin in circles. She rips cup out of our hands and chucks it across the room. It is a wonder we ever get her clean.

What was once a great way to help her relax and get ready for bed has turned into a mandatory two-person operation and circus of preventative measures.

We tried removing the ramp. While she is great at sitting on her own by now, the combination of her own force from smacking the water to splash and her silky-smooth baby buns against smooth plastic cause her to slide willy-nilly across the bottom of the tub. I was terrified that the tub, she and I would careen onto the floor.

We tried placing the infant tub in the big tub. The smooth plastic of the infant tub slid around in the big tub like a penguin sliding across ice on its belly. Danger, once again.

We tried placing a towel under the infant tub in the big tub. The towel solved the problem of the infant tub slipping but the angle of reaching into the big tub forced me to either sit in the big tub to hold her or reach from outside the big tub.

Picture the scene. The bathroom floor, counter, mirror covered in water. Towels cascading out of the bathroom closet. Various baby-bath products strewn about the floor and bathroom counter. A random rubber ducky, a vain attempt to distract the happily splashing child, upside-down in the bathroom sink. Me, knees bent slightly, one foot in and one foot out of the big bathtub, hinged at the waist with two hands around Loralei’s torso, my wet hair hanging in my face and the blood steadily rushing to my head. Husband looking bewildered and completely soaked from Loralei’s splashing fun and the sloshing water from moving the infant tub back and forth from the counter to the big tub and back.

There has to be a better way!

For the love of Pete! Get your act together!!

I am totally fine with the splashing and her enjoying bath time. I understand everything will get wet. What I really need is an effective way to let her have fun that doesn’t leave me terrified she’s going to slip-slide her way to smashing her head on something or inadvertently submerging herself resulting in an eternally-terrified-of-bath-time baby.

I have heard tell of a baby bath time seat but I don’t see how we can effectively clean all of her parts if she is sitting in something. Either way, it is worth a shot.

For now we’ll just dunk her in a barrel of soapy water and spray her off with the hose.

Wednesday Mini-rant

2011-04-20T08:40:00.002-05:00

Some days I wake up and think WEEEEEEE what a great day! I have a fabulous life and a wonderful family!!

Today I did... and then I left the house and the stupid universe gave me a wedgie.

SNOW! TRAIN! FUNNY BONE OWIE!

Battle Against Childproofery

2011-04-14T20:21:00.006-05:00

Goal: successful consumption of daily prenatal vitamin (for post-natal/breastfeeding purposes)

The battle begins first with the opening of a box of two jars of vitamins: A two month supply each of a prenatal vitamin and DHA (more info here) supplement. Relatively simple... in theory. The box is sealed with one piece of tape. One piece of clearest, most sticky, most elastic, most impossible-to-peel tape there ever was or will be. Too lazy to rummage through drawers to find scissors I am resorted to pulling, scraping and grunting my way through this one measly piece of tape.

Giving up, I resort to tearing the cardboard of the box at all of the seams. One tear would’ve sufficed but the tape struggle had me all juiced up and that amount of rage had to be released somewhere safe. Death to the tiny pink cardboard box ensued.

The next hurdle is the plastic shell encasing the childproof cap. The supposed perforations that typically bring instant satisfaction over the hard plastic cover were nonexistent. The fruitless search resulted in more fingernail scraping at the plastic in an attempt to get a sufficient enough grip on the plastic to cause some permanent damage. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape, and voila! One down.

Second bottle. Repeat paragraph above with only one minor difference... the incessant fingernail scraping of tape and now hard plastic had rendered my fingers nearly completely useless. I used my teeth. RARGH

Opening the childproof tops on the bottles revealed a flat plastic-covered cardboard cover with the words “Sealed for Your Protection” repeated in red lettering diagonally across the top. The words screamed at me “Please don’t destroy us! This is for your own good! We don’t know any better!” I reacted violently to the pleading words.

Sealed for MY Protection? Who do you think you are to decide what is good for me? Stupid bastard vitamins. You’re the ones who need protection!

Once again, my poor defeated fingernails took a beating as I attempted to scrape the cover off of the bottles. How do they ensure such an efficient seal without so much as a hairs width of material hanging over the edge of the bottle. The plastic-reinforced cardboard resisted my efforts to stab my finger through it and resulted in me bending several fingernails back past the breaking point.

Time to bring in the big guns. I needed tools. I found the most menacing tool I could find within twenty feet of where I was standing. A cuticle pusher. I plunged said pusher with as much force as I could muster directly through the warning label. Take that, you silly warning! Unfortunately, the force of the thrust combined with my celebratory dance shot some of the pills out onto the floor. Instant karma, perhaps, from the destruction I had just caused?

I was surrounded with pieces of the pink box, bits of plastic and tiny pieces of cardboard still calling for mercy. I had survived to fight another day.

Fear and anticipation now overcomes all of the bottles when I walk into the bathroom. I can hear all of the childproof bottles cowering in the closet, their caps twisting back and forth over and over.

Click click click.

The Tale of the Dirty Lipstick

2011-03-22T18:30:00.001-05:00

First of all... it is not what you think.

In an effort to continue to prove how fabulous he is, a few weeks ago Husband decided to purchase a handbag I have had my eye on. It is a gorgeous little leather number, cross-body hobo style, slightly green with cargo pockets. One cold winter day, Husband calls Nordstrom to see if they have the bag in stock. Assured they do, he packs up the Punkin and makes the trek to Nordstrom. Upon arrival he is dismayed to find out they had not located the bag. After nearly an hour of waiting patiently while associates frantically search, Husband decides to give up and begins the drive back home. Half-way home Husband receives a call from an associate at Nordstrom who has finally found the elusive bag. That night, after dinner, we both go to pick up the bag. The associate had already rung it up and it was packaged and ready to go. Of course, I couldn’t just grab the package and leave, I wanted to check out the bag that was to be such good friends with my hip for months to come. I was dismayed to find a small tear in the leather as soon as I pulled it out of the packaging. The associate made a comment about how beat up the bag was. She said she was glad I checked it out. She quickly searches via her magic handbag tracking system and assures me that they will expedite shipping of a new bag as soon as possible.

Cut to 10 days later... A large box arrives at our door. My handbag!!! I waited until the end of the night. The Punkin was fast asleep and the rest of the house was quiet while I began to acclimate myself to my new friend. I inspected it closely finding only a few subtle marks on the leather, which I was willing to overlook as it was bound to have a few more once I broke it in. I tried the bag on, adjusted the straps and prepared to finalize the deal by moving all of my goods from my current Marc Jacobs bag. Hold on now, before you say a word! The Marc Jacobs was a freebie! When Husband worked at Nordstrom he won a contest... and I won a gorgeous handbag!! So there they are... Marc Jacobs staring down at new No-Name bag. Marc is being difficult, refusing to release his contents without a fight. He has been here longer! He is loyal, beautiful and classic! He concedes when he looks down at his own slightly worn orange leather exterior and realizes he needs a break. I begin the transfer. First large items, my sunglasses case, wallet, and so on. Then move on to the small zipper pocket. I remove the two tubes of Bert’s Bees lip balm from Marc and open no-name’s zipper pocket... wait... what is this? A small gift for the new handbag owner? No, so not a gift, I find someone’s nasty used old cruddy lipstick in the pocket!! Marc laughed. I felt dirty.

Nordstrom will redeem themselves, at least they pledge to via overnight mail. They even offered to have someone pick up the used bag and the dirty lipstick. I just want it out of my house!

Marc will never look at me the same again.

Random Dreaming

2011-03-18T10:31:00.003-05:00

A randomly ordered synopsis of just some of the dreams I have had over the last few weeks:

Backwards sea-doo riding with my mom to find my lost baby. The sea-doo would only operate in reverse!
Was searching through every room of a bed-and-breakfast-type hotel for my husband and baby. Went room-to-room entering doors without knocking. Each room had a different half-naked man in it that I blamed for my inability to locate my family. – Stupid punk naked men!
Water-taxi driver stops the boat to relieve himself off the edge. A lochness monster/brontosaurus-like-creature reached his long neck over the side of the boat to nibble on my shoulder. The rest of the passengers thought this was hilarious, I wasn’t so amused. In the process of sitting back down, the driver flips the entire boat into the water and I am subsequently held under the water by the relatively-friendly lochness monster creature. He did let me go eventually. I remember being extremely irritated with the fact that he ruined my camera. We had been at an amusement park earlier, in the dream of course, and I didn’t want to lose those photos! It didn’t occur to me to be mad that the idiot water-taxi driver flipped us into the water with a potentially dangerous dinosaur creature.

My battle with snowmageddon.

2011-02-22T09:56:00.002-06:00

Hunkered down inside during just the most recent of snow storms we have endured in Minnesota this year, I was intently reading FU Penguin and heard a loud conk outside. Annoyed with being interrupted during such an intense literary feat, I didn’t pay much attention until the conk was followed by a crash. I opened the front door to survey the damage. The horror! My bulbous simulated-concrete owl and purple watering can had been blown from the garden table. Let us not get hung-up on the fact that my springtime garden décor remained on the patio throughout the winter. I was so proud to not only own a watering can, but also that I knew how to successfully use it that I didn’t want to hide its glory. And let’s face it, a round owl, adorable! Now, back to business... I held the screen door (now glass for winter) open and bent down to reached for the owl and watering can. The wind caught the door and sent the doorknob careening back into my cheekbone. Stars!! I stumbled back into the house. In the process of stumbling the pompom on my slipper got caught in the door and ripped off. There I lay with one less pompom on one slipper (Which was really better off that way because the pompoms on the other slipper had already been ripped off by one of the cats.) and cartoon birds chirping around my head.

Moral of the story: Sometimes, when you read about swearing at penguins, all of the birds in the universe come back to get you.

Oh, and put your toys away when winter comes.

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Gnawing 101

2011-02-06T19:04:00.002-06:00

Mmmm Sophie... your hindquarters are delicious!

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Thoughts from Jane

2011-01-30T12:44:00.004-06:00

Women are supposed to be very calm generally; but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them; if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.

Charlotte Bronte - Jane Eyre

Puppy Chow: FAIL

2011-01-29T14:47:00.005-06:00

Yesterday I made a valiant attempt at baking. Well, it wasn't actually baking... just melting, stirring and shaking... and it was far from valiant, but I spend very little time in the kitchen so any effort could be construed as valiant. Yesterday's nemesis: Puppy Chow. Yes, I know... How decadent!

The melting and stirring parts of the recipe completion went swimmingly. Some chocolate, peanut butter, and a little butter coats Chex. Next, the disaster begins. Add powdered sugar. I dump some into the bag of cereal coated with the chocolate mixture and shake to coat. That doesn't appear to be a sufficient amount so I try again, using the rest of the bag of powdered sugar. Still not enough. Various expletives, stomping and general whining ensue. Then, a lightbulb. I remembered that powdered sugar can be made at home. Perfect! I ask the google to teach me and it says blend sugar with corn starch. I do so, in our blender, and dump the mixture into the bag of partially mixed, clumpy, chocolatey covered cereal and shake.

Once the shaking had commenced I dumped the chow into a bowl and discovered that most of the homemade powdered sugar had settled to the bottom of the bag. Not only had my homemade concoction not adequately covered the mess, it was not effectively powdery and remained a still coarse sugar that now topped the heap of cereal. My ingenious solution to remove this excess sugar was to shake the mixture in a colander. Of course, I had used the entire box of cereal and it didn't all fit into one colander. I placed one, full of chow, in the sink and shook the other above it. I know what you're thinking, and had you been there to stop me I wouldn't have made the mistake and allowed the extracted sugar from one colander to fall directly into the other!

By the end of the ordeal the task that should have only required ten minutes, one bowl and a spoon, required two bowls, a spoon, two colanders, a measuring cup, a measuring spoon, and the blender and ended with a fine layer of sugar coating every surface in my kitchen.

Back to Life... Back to Reality

2011-01-28T12:32:00.004-06:00

February 4^th, my daughter will be 5 months old. I cannot believe it will already have been 20 weeks. It is impossible to appreciate the honesty when people tell you how fast time goes after you have a child. Heeding the warnings, I have stopped often to try to imprint memories in my mind of different moments so far in Loralei’s life; Some sweet –her warm head against my neck, her grasping my fingers, watching Husband with her, the sound of her cries, laughs and squeals – some frustrating – learning EVERYTHING for the first time... from changing diapers and onesies to trips to the grocery store – and some funny – peeing my pants when Husband called for help with a diaper change because “her butt exploded” and bewildered attempts to complete coherent thoughts after sleepless nights. Her addition to our family is nothing less than supremely awesome and continues to amaze me each and every day.

She awoke to the sound of rain on the windshield.

2010-08-25T16:25:00.004-05:00

It had already been a long drive on their trek from Minneapolis, Minnesota to Bismarck, North Dakota. Husband sat next to her focused intently on the road while listening to a talk radio host whose voice reminded her of her geography teacher from junior high. This particularly flamboyant teacher wore half of a globe as a hat and frequently conveyed a graphic story of a student who vomited into the classroom’s heater. As she attempted to push these memories from her head, she thought it was a miracle she even knew what state she lived in. Good thing geography wasn’t required to earn a master’s degree.

She turned her attention to the hundreds of miles of road stretched out before them. It served as a vast and constant reminder of the fact they had hours to go in their journey. The sun was setting in front of them and she settled in for her usual post dinner-from-a-cooler nap.

She awoke to the sound of rain on the windshield only to be consumed with confusion when opening her eyes revealed the glass was not wet. They had entered the heart of North Dakota’s barren stretch of interstate 94 and were driving through swarms of mosquitoes and other various nighttime flying six-legged creatures. Their bodies hit the windshield with a force equal to that of an intense rain storm. The sound of the murder and devastation was sickening. Soon it was difficult to see out of the windshield and the wipers and fluid were no match for the sheer force and quantity of their carcasses.

The carnage was so savage that flies and bees were constantly hovering around the car when it was parked feasting off of the rotting bug flesh. Even the gentleman who took the car at the carwash commented on the carnage. One would have thought they have seen it all but apparently the annihilation of thousands of innocent bugs was too much for even the toughest of car washermen.

How to Speak to a Pregnant Woman: 101

2010-08-20T13:34:00.005-05:00

As well intentioned as you may be, and even if you yourself have experienced the joy of carrying a child in your womb, you are likely to make an error in judgment when discussing pregnancy with a currently pregnant woman. Please believe me, I do understand that it is an exciting phenomenon. I appreciate that you are interested in the current state of my being. Most of you, I know are not being intentionally rude, therefore, I have decided to help educate you on proper communication with a pregnant woman. These lessons are purely for your benefit so please pay attention. It truly is possible that your life may depend on it.

Lesson 1: It is NEVER ok to talk about a pregnant woman’s weight or size. (Or any woman for that matter, but I will save this extended lesson for another time.)

Do NOT ask how much weight a pregnant woman has gained. This is none of your business. It is none of anyone’s business beside the pregnant woman and her doctor.
Comments such as “You don’t look like you’ve gained a WHOLE lot of weight.” do not make a woman who looks like she has a watermelon under her shirt feel like a supermodel. This is just another reminder that she has, in fact, gained weight.
Do not comment about how BIG a pregnant woman is getting. Again, just a reminder that she IS big. She does not need your reminder. She sees this every time she looks down or in the mirror.

Lesson 2: Respect a pregnant woman’s personal space. (Again, a requirement for any woman.)

Yes, this IS the belly rub lesson. Do NOT simply reach out and pat, rub or stroke a pregnant woman’s stomach. We don’t do this to your beer belly, your six pack, or your love handles so please afford us the same respect and keep your hands off. This is a simple lesson in respect and manners. You may ask if it is ok to feel a pregnant woman’s stomach. Please, however, keep in mind the following:

She does NOT need to provide an explanation for turning down your request.

She has full reign over her entire body (Yes, even if she is sharing it with another human being). She can change her mind at any time.

You do not have the right to be offended if she turns down your request. It is HER body.

(Yet again, these apply even when she isn’t pregnant.)

Lesson 3: Unless solicited, a pregnant woman does not want to hear about your (or your family member’s, friends, or sister’s cousin’s best friend’s neighbor’s) labor or pregnancy horror story.

She is attempting to make her pregnancy the most positive and rewarding experience possible. We all know that regardless of the million different journeys, what comes at the end is painful. She will need realistic assurance and comforting. I know you can handle this. Just think before you speak.

Lesson 4: Reminders about the lack of sleep/time/sanity after baby comes are not necessary.

She knows what she is getting herself into. There is no need to make it seem like her social life and personal time are going to end in a final and dramatic thud once she delivers her baby.

Lesson 5: You are NOT her doctor.

You do not have the right to tell her what she should or should not be doing with her body. Every pregnancy is different and excluding the basic need for prenatal care, every pregnant woman needs different things during her pregnancy. She and her doctor will discuss and decide what is best. What they discuss is none of your business. Your opinion is just that, your opinion. If she wants it she will ask for it.

Lesson 6: Appropriate Subjects

Please refer to the following list for approved comments, questions and subjects for future communication with a pregnant woman:

Inquiries about gender, due date and potential baby names.

You look like you could use a massage/pedicure/snack/night out. (bonus points: My treat!)

How are you feeling?

You look amazing/beautiful/gorgeous/well rested.

Can I help you with anything now?

Can I help you with anything after the baby comes?

Stories about how great it is being a mother.

Ask her what she is looking forward to.

Ask her about her fears. (She may be itching to get some of this off her chest and out of her head.)

What can I do to make you more comfortable?

Above all, be understanding, honest and respectful.

33 Weeks: Pregnancy Update

2010-08-17T15:00:00.008-05:00

Got lost on the way to work that week. Nuff Said!

34 Weeks: A Baby Face

2010-08-17T15:00:00.007-05:00

Sometimes I still can't believe that Husband and I are going to have a baby. Then I look down and remember she's in there... and ready or not, she's coming!

We have been busy getting things ready for her arrival. The latest purchases were a changing pad and monitor. It's not terribly exciting stuff but we have fun with it. We tested the monitor out by setting up some James Taylor in the crib and went downstairs to see how the reception was. Husband ran away from it when we plugged it in and heard a baby cooing on the other end. Apparently we are able to pick up one of the neighbors' children with our little inexpensive monitor. When we told them what happened one of the women said she was just pleased ours wasn't a video monitor picking her up breastfeeding or who knows what else.

29 Weeks: The Battle of the Belly

2010-07-12T20:58:00.007-05:00

Twenty-freaking-nine! I can’t believe how fast things are moving. We’re growing, my belly and her everything. I can’t see my feet when I look straight down anymore. Lovely. Our little Shitly is moving around a lot now. She pushes, jabs, elbows and kicks and has had hiccups. Poor little thing. I think the hiccups are just awful. Such a violent and often painful spasm. I wonder if scaring them out of her would work the same way it sometimes works for people who are, you know, not in utero. Pay no attention to the crazy woman screaming at her stomach ladies and gentleman! She is doing so for the well-being and physical comfort of her unborn child! Other than the occasional poke or jab, she is relaxing comfortably for now.

Comfort for me is another story. With my challenging height of a completely respectable 5 foot 3 inches I already had issues reaching items above the second shelf in our monstrous cupboards. Now that I have a basket... or beach... ball under my shirt I am finding my one-footed and tip-toed attempts to squirm to reach the glass at the back of the second shelf even less successful. Couple this challenge with my increased clumsiness and you have the perfect recipe for kitchen disaster. Last night in one of my usual (Nope, particular task isn’t nesting. Just something I actually enjoy doing!) pantry organizing feats I managed to drop two bottles of Pellegrino onto the floor, only one of the bottles broke, which ended up being the less disastrous of the two messes, and the top of the other came partly off causing the carbonated contents to shoot out and the bottle to spin around on the floor spraying a circumference of bubbly and sticky water in all directions. To make matters worse a brand-new roll of paper towels fell in the same area causing them to be nearly soaked through to the cardboard roll. It couldn’t have been orchestrated more perfectly.

A New Kind of Superhero

2010-07-01T20:05:00.001-05:00

An ode to Husband and his dedication to a perplexing job that puzzles us all.

His name is Transport Joe. He specializes in, what else, transportation. His sense of direction has been fine-tuned from years of circumnavigating the globe and traveling from state to state in his jungle green 1991 Geo Metro. No, he cannot fly, move faster than a speeding bullet, stop a speeding locomotive in its tracks or light fires with the power of his mind. He can, however, find you a swift route from Aquebogue, New York to Sweetwater, Texas warning you of and aiding you in avoiding major traffic and weather hazards along the way.

His supernatural connection to orbiting satellites alerts him if you have gone off course. His protective and slightly calculating nature cause him to be tense and agitated if you do not arrive at or leave your destination at his expertly calculated time, perfectly honed to ensure the most effective route possible. He has high expectations but he is only looking out for your best interest, and the best interest of transportation. While he works best with those who have round features, and figures, are notorious for their foul language and has a soft-spot for anyone traveling with a canine companion, Transport Joe is willing to help all with their transportation needs.

He is, Transport Joe.

Kelly Ripa knows jack about eyebrow maintenance.

2010-06-13T10:23:00.002-05:00

I have been having some crazy dreams, apparently just another affect of pregnancy, but have been unable to recapture any of the details once I am awake, until this morning.

I dreamt I was driving in some kind of European car with my mom as a passenger. So the driver’s side was the opposite of mine, and other American cars. The backseat was full but it was difficult to tell who was back there. A large owl was flying in the distance and I quickly realized we were on a collision course with the bird. We hit hard and fast and it slid across the windshield and lodged over the passenger door. The result was very similar to that of the real-life Squirrel Massacre, a blood smeared windshield and panic. However, unlike the Squirrel Massacre, with the mangled owl positioned over her door she wasn’t willing to jump out and clean up the bird’s innards.

Flash to a slumber party of sorts at the house we lived in when I was in high school. I was headed into the bathroom to get ready for our day, or evening, when in walks Kelly Ripa. Of course, who else would it be? She wasn’t bustling around the house in heels doing laundry, making goodies and dressing children but barefooted and in a robe with a towel wrapped around her freshly washed hair. She came in to give me some desperately needed grooming tips. Apparently I was in dire need of some eyebrow shaping. Her number one tip for this chore, use a razor. Yep, shave your eyebrows. Not to shape them. Shave them completely off! Great. Thanks so much Kelly.

Catch Up: Change is Good

2010-06-12T09:20:00.002-05:00

Renovations have commenced and concluded in preparation for the little one. One week we have a red guest room, a white office and a mint green bathroom with a partially finished tiled shower and the next a sage office/guest room, a finished stone-colored bathroom and a lilac nursery. Add the beautiful new crib and dresser (yet to be assembled)... thanks Gramma Cheri and TiTi... coupled with the pink and brown bedding and valance and pink glider... thanks Grandpa John... and there’s no denying we’re preparing for the arrival of a baby girl! Let’s just hope the ultrasound tech was right!

The other major change is the obvious, the bump. It is growing... fast! Of course, it seems to me to be out of control but why wouldn’t I assume that? She’s in there swimming around, flailing about, kicking and jabbing and rolling and not at the most convenient times for me. It used to be that I would forget for just a second that I am pregnant and be sitting quietly in a meeting and be startled by a nudge from the inside. Now I picture my belly as a fluid-filled playground for the little active Shitly. I’m no longer surprised by her moving, but to say that it is distracting is putting it lightly.

April 27, 2010 1:00 p.m. There was a knocking.

2010-06-11T09:37:00.007-05:00

I’m sitting at work typing away and I feel a little tap tap tap tap from the inside. If we could’ve communicated verbally I’m sure she would’ve said “Yooohoooo. Anybody out there?” or maybe “Yo, mama, how’s it shakin’?” Either way, she made her presence known pretty directly. I would expect no less from my little one. Start early girl. Let ‘em know you’re here. I ran out of my office to attempt to confirm what I was feeling and asked Kally “I’m feeling a little something right here. Is that the baby!?” After the squeals and tears (Dawn!) in the office I was reminded I should call the Husband and advise him of the latest antics of his baby girl.

It was a few weeks before we found out she was, indeed, a girl. I didn’t have a feeling either way before going to the ultrasound May 10, 2010 but found myself surprised when the technician announced the sex. Hamburger buns, she called it. Priceless. See what you think. This is basically a shot from the bottom up. Think butt cheeks.

And a profile. Head is on the left. Looks like she is lying down facing up.

She certainly took our breath away!

The Squirrel Massacre

2010-05-09T09:06:00.012-05:00

Trigger warning: If you are at all squeamish, your stomach easily turns at the thought of blood and guts, or have a deep affection for squirrels you may want to reconsider continuing.

For future reference, a gas station squeegee is not an appropriate squirrel guts remover.

My mom and sister are in town for mothers day weekend. We were enjoying our second day of the St. Croix Valley Pottery Tour with my mom's friend, Mindy, yesterday and driving from one site to another when tragedy struck.

We were driving down a two lane highway, me behind the wheel, my sister in the passenger seat and my mom and Mindy in the back seat. For some reason my sister and I were looking directly at the squirrel carcass that was lying on the yellow line as a semi drove past us. The roadkill passed under the first wheel with enough force to send it bouncing in the air just before being sucked under the next wheel. Jamie and I both recall the fluffy squirrel tail as the carcass careened through the air toward the next wheel. The force of the bounce and the crush of the second wheel sent a force through the carcass equal to that of a bomb detonating inside it. The explosion sent squirrel blood and guts spraying across my entire car.

Jamie and I screamed and as I tried to see through the chunks and red spread across the windshield to find a place to stop. My window had been open and inch and a half and I was sure that I had squirrel guts on my face. Jamie held down the sprayer for the windshield washer fluid as we screamed, laughed and cried. My mom and Mindy thought we had hit a flock of large bugs that sprayed bug guts across the windshield and were being overdramatic. When we stopped at the gas station my mom jumped out putting her emergency preparedness expertise to work. Mindy and Jamie followed, however, Jamie jumped immediately back into the car gagging and moaning "why did I look at it?!" She warned me over and over "Do NOT get out of the car!" Jamie and I sat in the car and watched my mom and Mindy squeegee as much of the massacred squirrel off of my car as they could as I checked my face and hair for squirrel pieces. Their faces painted a perfect picture as they grimaced, pointed and laughed and cleaned the car off as best they could with the tools they had available. Poor Harrison, my VW Jetta, had squirrel innards and blood strewn across the windshield, hood, the roof, on the sunroof and across the entire driver side of the vehicle and there was what was described by Mindy as squirrel brain matter on the passenger side headlight.

We're off to continue the weekend and I will be avoiding roadkill, and two-lane highways, at all cost. First stop, car wash.

Missing a Dear Old Friend

2010-05-03T20:52:00.003-05:00

Dear Wines,

I miss you, dear old friend. Dear, tasty, red, delicious, dry, scrumptious, wines. It won’t be long until we are together again. Fear not, for I have not abandoned you. Our time together is simply on hiatus until this fall.

I am sure we will both change during our time apart, but do not fear this change. I may return to our relationship lacking the ability to drink a few glasses of you in a sitting, but my tolerance will return and we will once regain the ability to enjoy each other for extended periods, and bottles, at a time.

Please be patient as this time passes. I do believe that just as they say you only get better with age, so will our relationship.

Yours truly,

Kelsey

The Bellybutton Phenomenon

2010-04-27T21:40:00.008-05:00

Of all of the wonderful tales of things to look forward to with pregnancy ... feeling the baby for the first time, the first ultrasound, listening to the heartbeat, first smiles and coos and then the not so wonderful cautionary tales, warnings, and horror stories from people who don’t know how to stop talking when they see the look of terror on my face ... there is one special incident I have not been forewarned about that fascinates me this week.Changes to my bellybutton.

That’s right, my bellybutton.

I’ve see photos of women with big pregnant bellies proudly displaying their outties. That, I assumed, was just one side effect endured by the bellybutton due to the enlarged abdomen. However, I did not expect the changes in color and size. It has darkened, according to my doctor from all of the new blood circulating and other action happening in there. The most amazing bellybutton phenomenon as of yet is the new cavernous depth it has assumed. I could hide things in there. Earrings, maybe a grape or two, some spare change. Outrageous! It's magnitude is a miracle in and of itself.

Some people proclaim their amazement with the daily feats occurring in a pregnant woman's body... "How does a body just know what you need?" "LIfe is such a miracle. Can you believe what is going on inside you right now!?" And me... I respond "I know! Just look at the size of this thing!" proudly pointing to the gaping indentation visible through my shirt.

Self Inflicted Misery

2010-04-20T21:02:00.002-05:00

This happened last week but I am just beginning to feel comfortable enough to discuss it. I went… deep breath… to the dentist! EEEEK!!

First, a little history lesson. My memories of the dentist from a young age aren’t painful, just loud. My mom was uber cautious with dental hygiene. We took fluoride pills at home, always brushed, flossed and rinsed at least twice a day, participated in the liquid fluoride program (blech!) in school and saw our dentist regularly. I even recall the dentist tell her that “there is such a thing as too much fluoride.” My sister had cavities when she was fairly young. I am not sure about the details surrounding the reason for it, but she would scream bloody murder when in the chair. We could hear her in the waiting room. Terrifying! I didn’t have cavities to worry about, ever… just the shape of my mouth and angle of my teeth.

I must have been around ten when I had to have a pallet expander attached to teeth on the top of my mouth. This contraption, which was painful enough just to say at ten years old, was a metal thing that spanned the roof of my mouth and came with a key. Once a day one of my parents would have to turn the key to, you guessed it, expand my pallet. A few years after that wondrous torture I was blessed with braces. Yet, even after all of this torture, pain and metal I wasn’t prepared for the unknown that is having cavities filled.

I had one cavity a few years ago and it was filled by an evil man who yelled, poked, prodded and failed miserably to make me come out of the experience thinking anything other than every dentist wanted to inflict the utmost pain upon me. Fast forward to the last month and the first time I have had actual tooth pain (pallet-expansion pain, pain from teeth shifting and cutting my lips, cheeks and tongue on metal is an all-too familiar kind of pain). Thus, a venture to a new dentist to discover that I do indeed have not one, but two cavities. Also, because I am pregnant they cannot do x-rays to determine how deep the cavities are making the talk of the possibility of root-canals a reality. Not that I wasn’t scared enough to begin with. Including the memories of the idiot who filled my previous cavity, the worst possible scenario was constantly running through my mind… They strap me into the chair, the drill is bigger than my head, the dentist has red glowing eyes and is laughing as she rips my teeth out one by one.

And back to reality… This dentist is about the furthest thing possible from the evil man I saw years ago. She was sweet, caring and I know she doesn’t want to kill me, which is always reassuring. There remains a slight possibility that the next time I visit the dentist I won’t have a weeks worth of sleepless nights and anxiety beforehand.

Is pregnancy a woman’s issue?

2010-03-31T15:52:00.002-05:00

My first reaction is absolutely yes. However, in the context in which I heard the phrase recently, I was irked so much so that I’ve been struggling with the question for the past week. Context: During a casual discussion about pregnancy with several women, a man who was in the room explained to another just joining the group that we were discussing: “a woman’s issue, definitely a woman’s issue.” Perhaps it is ok for this question to have two answers, or maybe one and a half.

One: Absolutely yes, pregnancy is a woman’s issue. I appreciate the (in this specific case, assumed) recognition that you, as a man, and your government should have no say about what goes on inside my body.

1.5: Absolutely yes, pregnancy is a woman’s issue. However, I would additionally appreciate recognition that, as a man, you have a part in not only the conception (assuming conception is via intercourse) and creation of this human being, but an ongoing responsibility for emotional, physical and financial support during and after pregnancy for both the pregnant woman, so long as desired, and new human being, for the being’s entire being.

I think the tone was what was so off-putting. “A woman’s issue.” As though “we (the men-who have children of their own and current or former wives who were pregnant with said children) have no interest or association with this subject whatsoever.” Wrong again, Mister.

12 Weeks: March 18, 2010

2010-03-24T16:12:00.002-05:00

Today we had our 12 week appointment. Healthy heartbeat and good to go. So now the marathon of telling people. The boss, check. Dinner with Husband’s brother and girlfriend to announce the news, check. Phone call to aunt Pindy in New Mexico, almost gave her a coronary but, check.

On the way home from dinner with Husband’s brother Husband and I saw a gaggle of nuns walking down the street. It was around 8 p.m. Not being at all familiar with the rules of nundom several questions ran through my head: Are they allowed to just, walk? Don’t they need a chaperone? What if something happens? Are they authorized to defend themselves? All of this that was verbalized was a long drawn-out surferesque “Weeeeiiird!” Husband gave a knowing smile and responded “Of course, you would think nuns out for an evening stroll is weird.” In the midst of all of this I had dialed Pindy and was waiting for her to answer. I was laughing when she picked up, thus ensued the major confusion. She thought something terrible happened and I was sobbing. The first five minutes of the conversation were consumed with me explaining profusely that everything was, indeed, fine. “Sorry I made you think someone was dead! But, we’re having a baby!”

Next stop… Calling Grandma, soon to be Great-Grandma for the eighth time. Then the big reveal at work and telling dad.

Unbelievable, in the best way!

2010-03-24T16:11:00.001-05:00

Husband has willingly and under self-motivation taken on a lot of responsibility for helping me stay healthy and making sure things in and around the house is running smoothly. For one, I‘ve heard very few complaints about his need to do the kitty litter now to avoid risk of toxoplasmosis. Now, for the really great stuff. Even before the pregnancy, we had developed a system, and perfected it really, for some of the household chores. Regardless of who cooks, Husband does the dishes and I put them away. I run the laundry and fold everything, and he puts it all away. It just works for us. However, lately I’ve been so tired I can barely manage to remember to wear clothes, let alone wash them. Husband changes loads for me and will even initiate laundry day. It is great! Of course, as you may well know, I am not one for praising Husband for doing simple household chores that are the responsibility of grown any person. However, these circumstances are exceptional. The man really does nearly everything lately. Cooking, cleaning, shopping… my hair!

To top it all off, last weekend when I was feeling too tired to even lift my arms to get ready to run boring errands, husband blow dried my hair for me. Seriously, priceless.

Energy, here I come!

2010-03-23T20:11:00.001-05:00

March 16: Today I am officially in my second trimester. So far I don’t feel a whole lot different, or better. Maybe a little less nausea and I’ve achieved the once superhuman feat of staying awake past 9 p.m. Still, sticking to small meals every few hours has been the key. Don’t overeat and don’t get hungry or look out!

We have about 42 hours until the next appointment. We are anxious to hear how everything is progressing. Husband is looking forward to “pictures” although I’m not sure if we’ll be so lucky this time. Then, we will be spreading the news. I can’t wait until everyone knows. Especially at work. It is killing me that these women who I spend so much time with every day and whose advice, opinions and friendships I value so much don’t know such an important thing. I would feel comfortable telling them today but Husband and I already have a plan. It’s going to be great!

Keeping Silent, so to speak

2010-03-23T20:10:00.001-05:00

It is now March 8, 2010. One week and three days until our 12 week appointment and when we have decided we are comfortable setting the news free. A smattering of our family and friends know now and I’m not sure about the husband, but it is getting more and more difficult to keep the news to myself. Not to mention how difficult it is to conceal the ever-mounting list of symptoms of pregnancy. Sleepiness can be blamed on the snoring Husband. Bloating can be masked by overeating, as can burping. However, there is no amount of flatulence that can slide by unnoticed outside of the comforts of home. Not to mention the slight loss of equilibrium which causes me to run into the frame of my office door at least once a day.

Feeling light headed is becoming more of a pain because of the shifting of the burden of weight that comes along with it. It is getting increasingly difficult to hide the surplus of snacks I have to carry with me everywhere to fend off the feeling I’m going to topple over. Saltines in Tupperware in my purse along with a thermos keeping cheese slices cool, an emergency granola bar, a bottle of water and a can of Sprite with a bendy straw (because we must still be sophisticated) have created the need for an oversized luggage-like purse to replace my once average-sized handbag.

Barfy, Bubbles and Shitly

2010-03-21T10:42:00.001-05:00

My family has adopted the tradition of naming our babies pre-birth. Regardless of knowledge of the baby’s sex and in hopes of avoiding having to call a baby “it”, it was decided that these pre-birth names would reflect the pregnancy’s affect on the mother-to-be.

For my mom, when she was pregnant with me, one major symptom was constant vomiting. I refuse to call it morning sickness because so far I have not once felt sick in the morning. More often than not it is in the evening. Regardless, my poor mother was sick constantly and thus, I was dubbed, Barfy. I even have a tiny card in my baby book from my parents to me before I was born. They addressed the card to Barfy.

When my sister was pregnant, Kyley had hiccups constantly. This was on top of the flatulence and burping Jamie endured along with headaches, vomiting, high blood pressure and swollen limbs. Jamie also has an infatuation with monkeys. I told her it was possible that she was going to have a monkey baby. Monkey babies, gas and Michael Jackson’s monkey named Bubbles led us to settle on Bubbles.

The night after we told my family my mom and I took my sister out for dinner to celebrate her birthday. Jamie drank a very talk drink, very fast. While she was not drunk she did have trouble forming complete and coherent words at dinner. She was describing how I had been feeling and the attempt came out “just a little bit shitly.” We decided it was perfect. My mom described it as on the middle of the scale between poor and shitty. Also, it sounds a little Irish. You’re just a wee bit Shitly! Perfect indeed.

Week 8: First appointment

2010-03-20T08:02:00.002-05:00

Husband and I had discussed our plan for having children in late December and early January. We went as far as contacting local daycare centers and home daycares as well as asking family if they would be interested in sitting one or two days a week to alleviate the financial burden of daycare. It was settled, we would start trying in the summer expecting it to take a few months before we were successful. I went off the pill December 21 and sometime in the following week… BABY! What your parents, teachers and role models have told you is right kids, all it takes is one time!

I called to make our first appointment the day after I took the three tests. The next two weeks went by painfully slow. I did not have very many symptoms, just a little nausea and tiredness, which I was elated about. I remembered during my sister’s pregnancy how miserable she was. In and out of the emergency room because she couldn’t keep anything down, awful headaches, she lost weight during her first trimester! I had also heard horror stories from my mom. She was a nurse when she was pregnant with me. She told us often how she would have to get sick in patient rooms and then just go about her business. My entire life I have been terrified of getting pregnant because of pregnancy itself. {a special note to parents during those safe-sex talks} We were both nervous during the first appointment; both the nurse and doctor noted how high my pulse-rate was. The doctor even asked my why I was nervous. Ummmm… I’m PREGNANT! We went home with a clean bill of health and two little photos of our tiny turtle, so named by my sister, Ti Ti-to-be.

That same weekend we visited my family in North Dakota and told them the news. We played Pictionary. Husband and I waited until it was an all play with both of us drawing and drew little pregnant stick figures and arrows pointing to me. I remember my step-dad saying loudly “Uterus!” before I heard my sister yelling in my ear “You’re having a baby!” and looking at my mom, nodding slowly with tears forming in her eyes and a still slightly confused look on her face.

Smirk-smile-shrug

2010-03-20T07:59:00.001-05:00

Feb. 5, 2010

In the weeks before deciding I needed to take the pregnancy tests I complained often to friends at work about how painful and long my what I thought were menstrual cramps were. We went to lunch the day after I took the tests. A woman walked by the table who had awful body odor and I made my first mistake of commenting on it. Here, I will formerly apologize to Dawn and Kally for my muttered and fibbed responses when asked “Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” and “Did you ever get your period?”

Other clues and uncomfortable silences followed: I walked out of my office to officially announce being done with school and said “I have some good news ladies!” Kally exclaimed “I thought she was going to tell us she’s pregnant!” The lack of explanation following being grilled about why I asked for no gorgonzola on my pizza or why I never want a refill of coffee.

I’m mastering the art of the smirk-smile-shrug that offers no real answer but somehow satisfies the question. When my mom wanted to order wine with lunch and asked why I wasn’t drinking it. Smirk-smile-shrug. When I asked for different, non-gorgonzola, vinaigrette dressing in my salad at the same lunch. Smirk-smile-shrug. When I forgot to ask for a gorgonzola-free salad at the same lunch and had to pick out all of the cheese. Mom asked “You don’t like your crumbly cheese?!” Smirk-smile-shrug. My response to: “Caffeine-free tea, on a Monday!?” Smirk-smile-shrug.

Feb. 4, 2010: We passed the test(s).

2010-03-19T22:37:00.002-05:00

This Thursday night, I uttered the words “I think we’re pregnant.” Husband was taken by surprise. I wish I could accurately describe the look on his face as he turned slowly away from the television to face me. I had warned him that I was going to take a test because I was a few weeks late, but I figured it was because I had just gone off the pill.

The next hour was a blur. The highlights: Husband yelling at the unclear instructions for the test “What do you mean!?” The second test with no results because I wasn’t able to sufficiently perform in order to receive an accurate result. Husband going to the store to get two more tests, the very clear “Pregnant” “Not Pregnant” digital variety. The woman at the store telling Husband he is the third person that night buying pregnancy tests. Husband running around the house with his arms above his head, hands in fists singing the Rocky theme song to celebrate what he calls, in the way I’m sure only a man would understand, his “super-swimmers.”

We aren’t spreading the news until after the 12^th week. So for now, I blog in secret.

Forever,

Kelsey, MAOM, Mom

In which I take on new meaning

2010-03-19T22:35:00.002-05:00

Recap: I finished my graduate program in February. After the years upon years of homework and reading I can now replace my title of student with master of arts in Organizational Management. I am not sure it is one of those you place at the end of your name in your email signature, but it almost seems necessary to give it some kind of daily recognition. I did spend the last 18 months of my life earning it and the last 26 years of my life leading up to the achievement. In lieu of creating wallpaper that simulates and replicates my diploma across any wall I may choose, you may notice the letters MAOM after my signature from here on out.

And now, for the bigger change: What is next. I have always been put off and even annoyed or enraged with people who assume they know what the next step will be in your life. After you graduate they ask where you are going to go to college. When you meet someone, someone they like, when are you going to get married? When you get married, when are you going to have children? Let’s pause here for a moment. This has always been a disturbing question for me to receive. First of all, in the most basic connection, to me, asking a person when they’re going to have children pries into their sex life. That’s right! Talk about inappropriate. Second, who is to say that this particular couple has reproductive challenges or perhaps they have simply chosen to live their lives free from crying, whining and snotty little ones. Why is it your position to force them to discuss these, potentially uncomfortable, decisions with you? Moving on. So far, I have found that the questions following completion of my graduate program to be either “When are you going to have children?” or, from one person “When are you going to get your doctorate?” Not that I do not love the idea of being called doctor, but I’ve been in school for the last 26 years. I would really like to become familiar with the feeling of being homework-free for even a year. And how convenient that decision turned out to be…

In Which I Reinvent the Instrument Panel

2009-12-08T20:28:00.002-06:00

Once again we have arrived at the time of year where the little flashing light comes back to life to tell me what I already know. I've constructed a list of little flashing icons that might actually be useful to me as a driver in Minnesota. See below.

a flashing locomotive - alerting me to the fact I am soon approaching a railroad crossing soon to be blocked by a train
a flashing animal - alerting me to a nearby deer, raccoon, rabbit, turtle, squirrel, unicorn or other woodland creature that has the potential of crossing paths with my speeding Volkswagen
a flashing bicycle - cautioning me of a small child about to chase a ball into the street, an unruly teen about to careen through traffic attempting to cross the street outside of the clearly marked crosswalk or an elderly person meandering with a walker or Lark far too close to traffic
a lighted timer - notifying me of the amount of time until the light turns green
a series of bells and whistles - alerting me to the rapidly approaching vehicle to my rear, front, or otherwise that is not so fortunate as to have its very own flashing your-wheels-are-spinning light to tell them they are barreling out of control straight, or sideways, into my vehicle

And finally, and perhaps most importantly

a flashing shoe - signifying the need for an immediate stop for an outrageous Shoe Sale!

Drawing Lines

2009-11-15T15:23:00.003-06:00

I was witness and partial participant to a moderately heated conversation between several liberal colleagues and friends and my self-described socially-moderate and fiscally-conservative husband. While everyone in the group was fairly respectful, some more than others, several times during the conversation individuals "drew the line" verbally indicating their strong feelings about the particular statement or subject and indicating to the rest of the group that this line-drawing put a stop or halt to the expression of opinion of the person on the other side of said line.

Now, I've wondered for some time how liberals, who, by definition are open-minded, progressive and accepting, can call themselves liberals if they are not accepting of the existence, and in this case expression of other beliefs.

The Husband and I have differing political views and similar morals and values and we do our best to separate the two. We have open and honest conversations about the reasons we vote a certain way but do not live under the assumption or impression that we will be or should be convincing each other to change our political opinions.

Another blanket statement made by several individuals during this conversation was that "education is so important." My assumption is that the education they speak of is teaching liberal philosophies to others. If we want to make progress in educating each other, we cannot box ourselves in to our own opinions by drawing lines around what we believe. Let each other in and help them understand why it is what you believe.

One example from this conversation was that some people choose not to label on the basis of color. Rather than seeing white, black etc. they see only the person behind the skin. This color-blind philosophy was encouraged at one point in our history. Now, the drive to be blind to our differences turned into the drive for respecting and celebrating our differences. Now, we encourage and appreciate diversity in the different opinions and experiences that diverse individuals bring to any situation. If we truly believe education is the key to respecting each other's values, why haven't we taught each other more about the differences between our politics and values, not just our religion and skin?

Do-Si-Do

2009-11-03T13:29:00.003-06:00

On a local radio station yesterday morning two irritating deejays and a staff member discussed the staff member’s discomfort with the dance partner his son was assigned to for a ho down. I know, I can’t even believe that sentence myself.

Apparently the ho down is an annual event at the boy’s elementary school. From what I could gather, parents are invited to the dance party with music and square-dancing. This particular staff member wrote an email to the school requesting his sever year-old son’s dance partner be changed because, you guessed it, his son was assigned another seven year-old boy to dance with. The school complied with his request explaining that there are more boys than girls and there will be many boys dancing with other boys, but he was looking to the two deejays and the listening audience for justification in his decision to demand his son’s dance partner be changed.

While he attempted to explain his decision, prefacing each statement with some sort of infinitely intelligent gem like “I’m a liberal man, I am okay with stuff.” or “I have no problem with people doing what they want” I became increasingly irate. Of course, I had the power to simply change the station and discontinue the self-inflicted torture, but I managed to suffer through it long enough to hear the following reasons this man was “not okay” with his son dancing with another seven year-old boy:

They will be holding hands! *gasp*

I want to post these pictures to Facebook.

The pictures will last forever.

I don’t want him to look at the pictures and wonder why he’s dancing with a boy.

I am a choreographer.

I teach boys to perform like men on stage.

They hold hands while they are dancing! *gasp*

I’m just not okay with that.

I have yet to figure out what “that” is implying.

Did this liberal choreographer-deejay wannabe ever stop to consider what his own son might be “okay” with? And if at seven years-old, this little boy is not okay with dancing with another boy, congratulations on successfully instill your open, liberal thinking at an early age, Dad.

Man Caves

2009-09-19T10:34:00.003-05:00

The entire concept of a Man Cave escapes me. I appreciate that men need a place to escape, everyone does. By everyone, of course, I mean men and women. Let's break this down now...

According to Man Cave experts, in order to thoroughly enjoy themselves in their own home men need the following:

A gigantic television
A bar
Liquor in the bar
Various expensive electronics
Time wasters (video games, movies etc.)
Neon bar signs
Recliners

All within a confined space that women whom these men have chosen to live with, are not permitted to enter. Also according to Man Cave experts, women already have their own spaces to satisfy them. You know, things like their closet, the bathroom and my personal favorite, the kitchen. Because we all know it is our place to be in the kitchen and how cliche can it be to compare a place a man will spend time enjoying himself and escaping from his life to a place to hang clothes and store old sweaters.

The Evil Duvet

2009-08-04T20:00:00.001-05:00

After work the other day I found a package on the patio… our new duvet set! WAHOO!!!! I have been wanting a little change and a major color transition for our bedrooms set. The formerly orange and red theme did nothing but stress me out. I need calm, cool and relaxation. I found some good deals online and free shipping so I made it happen. I was so excited to see the package. I try to forget ordering things online. It’s almost like giving yourself a present!

Now, to the not-so-fun part... Of course, I want the change to happen immediately so I begin tearing apart the bed. I put the old orange and brown bedding in a bag, strip the sheets and throw the new bedding in the wash. I open the package with the new bed skirt and realize a major problem: How to get the old bed skirt off the box spring. Of course, I want this done now so I attempt to lift the king-size mattress off the box spring myself. Ugh. I look at myself and realize I still have not changed out of my work clothes. I would never hear the end of it if I put a hole in my pants trying to change bedding. After the costume change I manage to flip the mattress on its end and switch bed skirts. Now, the even more not-so-fun part: Putting the mattress back on the bed without mussing the carefully placed new bed skirt. In my efforts to gently lay the mattress back on the bed it gets stuck on the ceiling fan – which is on full speed because I am so hot from running around the room like a lunatic. I don’t realize this until I start to hear the distinct sound of glass crunching. The blades of the fan are nearly perpendicular with the floor when I finally muster up enough strength to squish the gigantic mattress down enough to lay it flat. Phew! At this point I am seriously considering asking the neighbor to come in and help me make my bed! Using better judgment I waited for The Husband and with his infinite strength and patience he helped me finish putting the bed together. But OF COURSE, our story doesn’t end here…

Before moving the mattress the first time I have to move a cedar chest away from the end of the bed. Now that the bed is complete the chest seems as if it needs a new home. The cedar chest is one of the heaviest things we own, heavier than the couch and perhaps only lighter than our mattress. So I move it to one side of the room, switch it with the papasan chair hate it, switch them again, hate it and finally, give up and tell The Husband to throw all the furniture out the window.

All of this because I bought a new duvet in order to bring some relaxation into the room. Good plan.

The Scarlet Letter's Perfect Quietude

2009-07-29T20:05:00.003-05:00

Last night I finished the second classic in my long-distance book club, The Scarlet Letter. It was a great book, which is obvious by its place in the long list of literary classics. I was very pleased with the connections the author, Nathaniel Hawthorne, made to the reader. At first I was a little distracted by the way he wrote almost directly to me, but it served as a way to remind me that I am in a different time than these characters. Hawthorne’s symbolism and detailed descriptions helped me picture the exact scenes, smell the smells and feel the fabrics that Hester Prynne carefully made for the townsfolk. With his help I was able to understand what Hester felt as she watched the reactions of the townsfolk to herself, and her daughter Pearl.

Through Hester, Hawthorne drew some surprising conclusions regarding feminism and the ideals of women, considering the era in which it was written. He focuses on her struggle, rather than her past mistakes and helps the reader feel that she is empowered by her situation. Hester represents truth and justice and stability. She reflects strength and independence and considers on the possibility of giving women a better place in the world.

This should give us hope, that even a woman scorned by her own town, abandoned by her husband and mocked by her child can see the positivity in the opportunities for women.

"It is remarkable that persons who speculate the most boldly often conform with the most perfect quietude to the external regulations of society."

Details Details Details

2009-07-15T13:47:00.001-05:00

I must sternly explicate, it does not take an exorbitant amount of knowledge to make the declaration: Asking open ended questions is the best way to create an environment conducive to discussion.

For future reference, assume a room full of equally educated women understand the concept of facilitating dialogue. We do not apologize for having this expert knowledge and the lack of need for you to clarify for us how communication is accomplished.

Thank you for your time.

Fashion Victim: ALERT

2009-07-14T21:39:00.003-05:00

Last seen wearing:

cream button-up pirate top... sheer fabric, ruffley sleeves, poofey chest, scalloped edges and all
green cargo Bermuda shorts with ties at the hem
and the kicker, brown patent leather pointed-toe pumps

For future reference, this is a NO GO.

That's a NO GO on the sexually confused pirate ensemble.

Women, please!

2009-07-07T09:04:00.001-05:00

fStop generalizing your gender. Stop being self and gender deprecating. In the last week I have heard more than a handful of female deejays, acquaintances, coworkers and friends lumping all women into negative groups ("Women are bitches/catty/crazy.") . Prejudicing others and creating further negative affects to your own attitudes about women will continue to hinder progress toward equality.Women are not simply different shaped and looking versions of each other. Try to understand and respect the goal here.

We fighting for equal rights and this constant inter-gender negativity isn’t getting us anywhere.

Oh, and it wouldn’t hurt to stop generalizing men also. You know, double-standards and all that.

Enchanted

2009-06-22T19:20:00.006-05:00

I spent this weekend staying with my sister and my sixteen month old niece and visiting my mom in Bismarck, ND. I am amazed by how much power these women hold over me. Seeing them makes me want to be with them more and traps me in an all encompassing circle of delight and sorrow. I physically ached last night being away from them. I would put money on the little one having some kind of supernatural hold over me. Each time she reaches her pudgy little arms up and stands on her tip-toes to have me pick her she must put another spell on me. My sister and I have independently developed identical quirks that strengthen our bonds: The way we sit on the couch and eat our dessert with our legs crossed and a pillow on our laps; the way we brush our teeth with our left hand on our hip. All things we would never have noticed if not for spending this last weekend together. My sister and I also both share the propensity for injury with our mom, and she with her sisters.

We are bonded by ties stronger than family and are most definitely fated to be together.

Red Coats or Blue Coats or Brown Coats

2009-06-16T18:57:00.005-05:00

I'm reading The Red Badge of Courage via a long distance book club. All the talk of old-school warfare got me thinking... Who organized their wardrobes?

In all of the movies that supposedly resurrect tales of the Civil War, or even the Revolutionary war, each of the sides wore a distinctly different color uniform. For the Civil War most are reflected blue for the north and brown discolored uniforms for the south. The Revolutionary was blue or brown raggedy clothes for the Americans and red (coats), of course, for the British. If the difference in uniforms is a falsified fact for film or paintings then, still... How did they tell each other apart?

These weren't days of push button bombs, infrared scans and GPS locators. This was hand-to-hand, march straight through a line, jump out of the bushes, look them in the eyes battle. How did Mr. Revolution or Mr. Civil know he wasn't fighting his comrade?

Would you rather...?

2009-06-10T18:43:00.006-05:00

I liken this to one of the choices in the Would you rather...? game. Would you rather watch paint dry or grass grow? Would you rather sit on nails or hot coals? Would you rather listen to a hypocritical and ignorant woman who gives way to the fallacies of being feminist, or even pro-woman, regardless of her insistence that her pregnant teenage daughter marry her unborn child's father and her comparison of herself and other mothers to a canine or a woman hating, rumored to be a dead-beat dad, hypocritical, ill-informed man?

Anniversary Trip to the North Shore

2009-06-07T11:34:00.007-05:00

Me and Zeus on the rocks by Lake Superior.

The Husband after climbing Caribou Trail to the bottom of the falls.

Happy Anniversary Husband!

Pooper was exhausted after all that hiking.

Last day in Shanghai

2009-06-07T10:37:00.006-05:00

There was some serious romance going on in the park that day. It was awfully sweet.

A picture of some government training. All covert-style. Hopefully they don't disappear me for sharing their secrets.

Some more Shanghai pics... finally

2009-06-07T10:20:00.006-05:00

A great, and slightly scary street we meandered down.

In Old Town before going in to Yuyuan Gardens

In Yuyuan Garden

Suzhou boat tour... They call it the Venice of the East

Some of the group in Suzhou

The Bund at Night

2009-05-06T20:49:00.002-05:00

More Shanghai Adventures

2009-05-06T20:36:00.004-05:00

Purse shopping! We were meeting some of our group at this shop. We were sent with a name and a business card and made our way to the market, which consists of dozens of shops and vendors lined up on several floors of a building. We walked through yelling 'Lisa,'the name on the card, and were directed to a small display of bags and wallets. A young woman walked up and said "You Americans? Your friends are inside!" She then opened a false door in wall revealing a dark hallway... we followed with caution.

It was like something out of a James Bond movie... only in China, and with shopping.

This is just one of the two rooms FILLED with bags and briefcases and wallets. Oh and Candace, Jason and myself.

Below are pictures from the Yangshan Port, the second largest port in the world. More info here.

Shanghai - In the park

2009-05-06T20:29:00.003-05:00

On a walk in the park across from our hotel.

Pretty sure I would've thought twice about sitting in the grass if we had been further into the trip. Urban Planning Museum in the background.

My roomie, Candace, and I in the park.

Shanghai - Day One

2009-05-06T20:18:00.007-05:00

Our first hazy view of Shanghai.

View of some construction for the 2010 Expo.

The first of many walks around the city.

Nanjing Road

An Earth Shattering Discovery

2009-04-22T15:48:00.003-05:00

For those in close proximity to a Pendrey-sister:

Last night I managed to jam three of my fingers with the laundry basket. In my final minutes of whining about my latest injuries I exclaimed “I wasn’t always this way, though!” The husband was quick to remind me, yes, indeed, I have always been this way.

It was definitely a light bulb moment. It took me aback and I had to sit down to contemplate. Yes, I have always been clumsy. In fact, my mom and sister are clumsy also. I began laughing uncontrollably as I listed off the absurd injuries my mom, sister and I have acquired. They are listed, in no particular order, below.

My sister got a concussion recently falling on the ice.
My mom accidentally slammed my sister’s fingers in a car door on her birthday.
My mom fell through a hole in the floor of an addition being put on their house.
I fell out of the shower, injuring my arm so terribly it had to be put in a sling at night.
My sister fell down the stairs and broke her coccyx… yes, broke HER BUTT.
My mom broke her middle finger playing volleyball. It won’t bend into a fist with the rest and constantly bounces back up.
I broke my head open on a stair rail the day we moved to Minnesota. I’m talking the first minute we got there from Toledo.
My mom had her foot run over at an exercise for work.

This is important information for our friends and family to be aware of and prepare for. Please watch out for your local ‘Pendrey-sister.’ She may, at any moment, need immediate medical care.

REMINDER!!!

2009-04-15T11:28:00.002-05:00

It’s April 15. Don’t forget to freak out and do your taxes at the last minute then panic when your computer crashes and you have to do your taxes by hand and then drive to the post office and forget your wallet then speed home and get pulled over on the way and get thrown in jail because you forgot your pants in your haste and then have to call your brother for bail money because you have to pay all yours into the IRS and then make it to the post office with five minutes to spare.

Public Service Announcement

2009-04-15T11:26:00.001-05:00

Attention residents of the state of Minnesota:

I am fully aware of the glee the first week brings to our frigid state. The thought of not wearing every item of clothing in order to avoid frostbite is no less exciting to me. It is wonderful to walk outside and not worry about falling and breaking my skull into a thousand pieces after smashing it on ice. It is equally as fabulous to stand in direct sunlight and enjoy its warmth, rather than being tricked into believing sunshine outside is equal to warm temperatures. However, it is still important to consider that high is only sixty-seven degrees. It is still forty degrees in the morning when you leave for work. Let us ease into the fabulousness that is the spring and hopefully, eventually, summer. Do not jump immediately into short shorts and a tank top and run out the door because the thermometer broke fifty. Give your white-ass legs and gnarly and in-desperate-need-of-a-pedicure toes some time to adjust to this new warmth. Start by eliminating one layer. Go easy with this. You never know, it could snow again next week. Don't get your hopes up.

This is Minnesota, after all.

How yOu DOin?

2009-04-03T21:09:00.002-05:00

HellooooBAMA!

21 Days and Counting

2009-04-03T20:55:00.003-05:00

That would be three weeks for the not-so-much-for-the-mathers.

Three weeks until my ten day trip to Shanghai. I am so glad I decided to take the trip. Not only will the experience be fabulous, but it also gives me a great subject for my Capstone... Gender Inequity in Business & Education in China... more to come!

My excitement has yet to overshadow my nerves, however. For some reason ten days keeps ringing in my ears. As if ten is too many. Perhaps I would be happier if the number of days were in the single digits. Perhaps my type-A combined with necessity for control over planning is stopping me from fully enjoying the excitement. I've already started my list making. I was relieved to not be mercilessly ridiculed by my roommate for the trip when I sent her the first of many packing and shopping lists. Although, she doesn't know I waited a week longer than I wanted to before sending it. Good thing we both have great affection for wine!

Is it too early to start packing?

In the lands of grownupedness

2009-04-03T20:48:00.003-05:00

Yes yes, another dream. Although, the memory of this dream is short and sweet.

I was at work and it was the end of a fabulous day. I walked by Mr. Bossman's office and saw our administrative assistance sitting alone by the window. I asked if she was ready to call it a day. She refused to leave, insisting she had to wait there until Mr. Bossman arrived. She was so concerned she was prepared to sleep there until she knew everything was alright.

You see, in not-dreamland, Mr. Bossman has been unexpectedly out of the office due to a family emergency. Thus enters work-life into dream-life. It is a whole different experience actually being concerned for the well-being of a boss and coworkers.

Is this what work is supposed to be like? Days full of respect and working because you care about the outcome and the future of your organization? It is really, truly fabulous.

Yet another dream...

2009-03-18T11:16:00.004-05:00

Last night I dreamt that I was visiting a marine museum. There were huge exhibits, most of which I maneuvered through riding on a large recliner. The first was basically the ocean. I rode around in the middle of the ocean on a recliner looking down into the water admiring, and sometimes cowering in fear, over what I saw below. I rode over the top of a variety of sharks swimming through a coral reef area as they hunted innocent fish and through the middle of a group of racing dolphins. I rode into what seemed like the very center of the ocean. The water was rough and dark except one area where I could see a gigantic whale shark meandering about.

Then, off to the sea horse exhibit. I was only able to briefly have my feet solidly planted to the earth before riding, again in my recliner, to the sea horse habitat. I floated above the water and entered the exhibit which was framed with large gate that imitated a coral reef and one large animatronic sea horse flanking each side of the entrance. My recliner floated to a clear place in the water and seemed to break down. Oh yes, it sputtered as if the engine in my floating lounger were dying. Each time I attempted to adjust in the chair to see if I could force it to continue moving I was dumped forward into the water. I sat still and the chair returned to its upright position. This repeated several times before I woke up.

Dream dictionary says: To see a sea horse in your dream, signifies the power of your unconscious. It may also indicate a new perspective or different outlook in life.
To see an ocean in your dream, represents the state of your emotions and feelings. It is indicative of some spiritual refreshment, tranquility and renewal.
To dream that you are traveling across the ocean, signifies new found freedom and independence. You are showing great courage.

Hocus Pocus... I think I probably just want to go for a swim with the fishes.

I am vaccinated!

2009-03-10T20:41:00.003-05:00

Monday afternoon I left work early to be vaccinated for my trip to Shanghai in late April. With my vaccinations they threw in a free showing of their special video, Travelers Diarrhea and You. What a fabulous afternoon it was!

Let me tell you about my afternoon. It took me a full hour to get to my destination, the infectious disease clinic in all it's depressing glory. I was greeted by the back of a young woman's head. She was, apparently, too busy on perezhilton.com to turn to face me. Although I do admit the nurse practitioner was a delightful man, I doubt he'll be winning any awards for his performance in the diarrhea video. He went over a lot of useful information, of which I had already found and read on the internet, and proceeded to terrified the pants off of me about the various diseases I may or may not contract from various means while in China. These gems include, but are not limited to, unwashed vegetables, rabid animals and bugs which could spread Hepatitis, Typhoid Ecephalitis and Rabis. EEEEkers! Then it was time to watch the loose stool video. Fabulous. And finally, the shot. Just one, after all that. Oh and the best part, if my insurance refuses to cover this exciting visit I will be forced to pay the charge for thirty minutes of contact time. Apparently watching a television with the face of a nurse practitioner on it is the same as practicing medicine.

So, am I excited to go yet?

Ask me again once I have forgotten about my fun at the infectious disease clinic.

In which I am upset, then surprisingly pleased

2009-03-02T20:04:00.004-06:00

This weekend in a fabulous and fun shopping adventure with mom and sister I found a steal of a deal on a set of dishes at Herbergers. A sage color with a swirl design and slightly rustic edge. The original price was $115. The red slash and written on price of $86.79 tickled me even more when I noticed the sign indicating clearance priced were reduced an extra 60%. It was meant to be. Even better yet, a coupon we had gave me an extra 15% off. The set of dishes ended up being less than $25. I immediately scooped up my new found friends to bring them home on the long trip from Bismarck, ND to Blaine, MN.

Yesterday when we arrived after 8 p.m. I began unpacking my beautiful new dishes I realized the set was missing one piece of each dish. One mug, one bowl, one large and one small plate, all missing a place in their new home. I sadly pack all of the dishes neatly in their box.

Today, after work I called the store and explained my ordeal to the operator. She sternly told me she could not help me and abruptly transferred me to the appropriate department. The woman who answered the phone was lovely. She apologized for the inconvenience, found my missing set of dishes, and assured me she would put the beauties in the mail tomorrow.

Only left to see is if she follows through on the promise. I'm looking forward to being pleasantly surprised again.

Get to the point!

2009-02-24T12:09:00.003-06:00

Once again, I am annoyed with my assigned reading material. This week, we have "If Aristotle Ran General Motors." I understand a class about the ethics of leadership, as redundant as it may be, is very close to necessary in today's climate. I do not understand, however, the necessity to read over two-hundred pages of fluffy, nonsensical, Stephen Covey endorsed yammering in order to appreciate the beneficts of behaving myself. Every sentence reads like a sugary-sweet self-help book for companies.

It is possible I am just too direct for an ethics class. If something is against the rules, don’t do it. If something doesn’t make sense, clarify it. If something doesn’t work, change it so it does. Make good choices. This entire book repeats sentence after time-wasting sentence asking organizational leaders to reflect, ponder and ruminate over how operations would improve if Aristotle was consulting. If you have sound advice, give it. Don't wrap it in an annoying, repetitious, and ludicrous metaphor.

Seriously.

One year ago today...

2009-02-18T18:47:00.020-06:00

It was early evening and I was at home chatting online with a friend and my phone rang. My mom was on the other end of the line. She told me in a calm, yet excited voice that my sister's water had broke. I hung up the phone to call our father. The step-monster answered and refused to let me speak with my father because they were eating dinner. I sternly explained she should put him on the phone so I can tell him his daughter had gone into labor. Thus concludes the negative dramatics of this event.

I already had a bag packed and had scouted out ticket prices from Minneapolis/St. Paul to Bismarck. I booked my flight and asked the friend I was chatting with to pick me up at home and drop me at the airport. He picked me up less than an hour later. On the way to the airport I called the husband, told him I was on my way, and the boss to tell him I would be out of the office for awhile. My mom picked me up from the airport in Bismarck just before 10:00 p.m. on the 18th.

When we arrived to the room Jamie was taking one of many baths which helped relax her and ease the contractions. The room had a private bathroom, two easy chairs and a futon. Jamie did so well concentrating and focusing through her contractions and the pain. She was dilated at 2 to 3 for hours and we were all happy to hear when it was time for the epidural. Mom and I made a trip to the cafeteria when the anesthesiologist came to the room. When we left Jamie was in extreme pain, the poor thing. Mom and I ate breakfast sandwiches and made our way back to the room. When we got to the door we stopped outside waiting to see if we could hear if they were done. The first noise from the room was Jamie, laughing!? Apparently that shot worked a giant-sized miracle on Jamie's pain.

Just before 8:00 a.m. on the 19th Jamie began pushing. The nurses told us it would be a few more hours and the doctor said she was going to do some dictation and would come back awhile later. After the first push or two one of the nurses asked someone to go get the doctor. If efficient at nothing else, Jamie was a more than effective pusher!

At 8:43 a.m. February 19, 2008, Kyley Mae was born with tons of hair and beautiful blue eyes. I have been hooked ever since.

she's here!!

proud Grandma

proud Ti Ti, totally addicted at first sight

the new Mom and Dad admire their handy work

an irresistible face

the beautiful angel now, almost one year old

And tonight, around 5:30 p.m., she took her first steps!! Look out world.

In which I prevent a war

2009-02-16T20:56:00.006-06:00

First you should know that my dog is a little bit of a territorial ass-face. He freaks out when he is on a leash and other dogs run into his space. He is fine when he's at the dog park and can run about and meet other dogs as he pleases, but he has leash issues. For sure. To make matters worse we live in a townhouse next to a very busy road with no fenced in yard and our neighbors consistently neglect to put their two boxers on leashes.

Tonight the husband put Zeus outside on his leash and not more that thirty seconds later we heard nasty growling and barking. Apparently the neighbor's boxers had run over to greet Zeus and it ended with the three of them barking and growling at each other, the dogs were all fine, just being jerks. The husband ran outside to bring Zeus in and I turned to walk upstairs thinking the husband had everything under control. Zeus comes running back in and the door shuts. Then I hear the husband, screaming at the neighbor to put his dogs on leashes and I hear the neighbor screaming something incoherent back. I go running outside just to see the neighbor charging at the husband. I have to physically separate them as they tower and scream over me. Not one of my brightest moves in hindsight...

The husband was yelling about the neighbors dogs doing their doo in our yard and not being on leashes. The neighbor yelled back about how the dogs just follow him outside and how they refuse to listen. I was finally able to stop them by suggesting our neighbor need some help training his dogs. He actually stopped yelling and started calmly talking about how frustrated he is. The husband begins pacing and calming his breathing behind us. The neighbor goes on to tell me one of his dogs was hit by a car and killed not far from where we were standing and another had to have eight-thousand dollars worth of surgery after also being hit by car. Meanwhile the husband is now petting and talking baby talk to the two boxers.

I was able to calmly explain how he could be fined by the city and would be held liable for any injuries to people who might get into an accident because of his leash-free pets. He seemed receptive and understanding of the current issues and potential for problems. By the end of the scene I had suggested several trainers in the neighborhood, considering a shock collar, watching the Dog Whisperer, and additional training l and told him to ask for help if he's frustrated.

As he walked away he said he was also frustrated because the dogs didn't know to relieve themselves in their yard, and said he would clean up our yard when the poopcicles thaw.

Of course, responsible dog owners should know leash-laws, and understand their responsibility to train, care for and keep their dogs safe. But let's face it, I was trying to prevent a blood bath in my front yard and the potential for months of awkwardness.

Masters Level Sex-Ed

2009-02-15T18:00:00.005-06:00

Today I am a diligent homework-doer. I have nearly completed this weeks vast list of requirements. Just as I am finishing I realize I forgot where I go to school. No, really.

I mean I know where I am enrolled, and I know how to get to class. I just forgot it is a Christian school. Part of this week's assignment was to choose a case study from one of the three books we are reading. The case study I chose was about the ethical concerns of encouraging, or even forcing, girls to get the vaccine for the sexually transmitted disease human papillomavirus, which transmits cervical cancer.

One of the main concerns with state governments considering requiring this vaccine, is that conservative religious values are not respected. These values assume (we all know what happens...) vaccinating against sexually transmitted diseases encourages children to be sexually active. Just as I'm finishing a one-thousand word strongly-worded argument against these particular values, I remember where I go to school. While Christian does not necessarily mean conservative, I feel comfortable saying the president of the college and a significant number of the faculty do not share my value with respect to this subject. And yet, one of my values is sticking to them regardless of the environment. We'll just have to see if my grade reflects our different values.

Speaking of... this sex positive, sex-education website, Scarleteen, has a completely different perspective on sex. Read the Guidelines & Policies for detailed info.

In which marketing annoys me

2009-02-12T18:54:00.007-06:00

First, Triaminic. A woman and man are sleeping and the woman wakes up to a child's voice groaning "Mom!" Mom looks at Dad and says "I know what that means." Dad, naturally, rolls the other way without even opening his eyes. Of course ladies. Don't expect your lazy ass husbands to help you take care of your sick child. Don't even expect your lazy ass husbands to acknowledge when you speak to them. They don't hear children calling for help, so never expect them to help you care for your ailing offspring. They have been working hard all day to support you and your sick child, let his lazy ass sleep.

Next, Jared. A man leaves Jared, the jewelry store, with a bag. He gets in the car and asks his GPS for directions somewhere. A woman's voice from the GPS responds inquiring about the jewelry purchase. The man insists she give him the directions he requested. Creepy ass GPS woman says she can't give him the directions until he shares what he's bought. The automatic car locks activate and terrifying music plays, duhn duhn duhn... The stubborn woman isn't satisfied until the man hangs the diamond necklace he purchased around the GPS unit. Be careful men! Woman will hold you hostage for shiny things. We'll do anything for diamonds. Be careful and always have a glass cutting device with you for emergencies.

Things that made me smile today

2009-02-10T20:19:00.005-06:00

The happy dog proudly running down the sidewalk in front of its owner carrying a stick in its mouth that resembled a 10 foot tall tree
Realizing I have another entire week before my next class
The lack of snow in my yard (although the hidden dog doo the melted snow revealed wasn't such a treat)
And last, but certainly not least, when the husband called me a goddess for suffering through monthly cramps

I give up.

2009-02-08T18:19:00.005-06:00

I have succumbed to the power of home improvement and cooking shows. I have been inspired to the point of reorganization, redecoration and cuisine preparation.

Reality will soon settle in once I realize homework must take priority above moving pictures and alphabetizing movies. Although, sustenance is a requirement for survival and I am committed to trying one new recipe a week. I think I may be able to let Food Network win on this one.

Meanwhile, the husband just completed some sort of food combination in the spinny blender-type thing in the kitchen. Hopefully I won't need to know the names of those fancy kitchen appliances in order to complete my future sustenance attainment goals.

Baby Blogging

2009-02-04T20:40:00.013-06:00

Aaaarghbla da ba la da!!!

Do not confuse my look of concentration for intense thought. In 30 seconds each of these will be covered in my drool. Blast my lack of fine motor skills!

Where did HE come from?

2009-02-04T19:17:00.003-06:00

What the hell is McCain doing now? I swear I see more of him now then I did when he was running for president. Wait, no. I take that back. I hear more from him now than I did then. Does he think he will get everyone in America to change their minds because he has some ideas now? Sorry Mister McCain, you're just acting senile. Please go about your business with legislating and deciding and such. Just please, no more campaigning. Please.

In which I am taunted by a safety precaution

2009-01-29T19:50:00.003-06:00

Some days all I can think about on my ride, or slide, home is what the hell good is the flashing yellow triangle on my dashboard?

Here’s the scenario. I turn off a relatively well-traveled road, nearly free from snow and ice, onto a less traveled road. The second all four tires arrive onto this new surface’s cold icy and slushy surface the little yellow flashing triangle appears to tell me my tires are spinning. My response… NO SHIT! Seriously. What the hell is the point? Am I supposed to be able to do something about it? By that point, the spinning has already begun. It’s not as if I can say “Oh my! Thank you so much Mr. Dashboard. I do appreciate you alerting me of this phenomenon. I will go back in time right now. I shall stop just before entering this new terrain and put my magical snow tires (or tank treads) on my vehicle. “

I’d like to find the jerk-off who thought this light’s presence in my lovely vehicle was necessary and introduce him to Minnesota’s climate and road conditions. Some days the damn thing is on the entire time I’m in the car. I can only hope that I will never have the pleasure of watching the little bastard blink in vain as I slide right into a ditch.

Let me count the ways

2009-01-21T20:19:00.005-06:00

Allow me to describe how much I hate being sick. I despise it in the same way I despise my dumb ass neighbors for letting their dogs run around off their leashes. Oh yes, its that bad. I loathe whatever infectious disgustingness is within me right now. Die ugliness. Die and begone. Don't forget your agonizing headache and this empty feeling in my gut. Most important, don't let the tylenol hit you in the ass on the way out.

The only positive part of the feverish fervor are the insane dreams I am blessed with. Last night I dreamed I put salt and pepper on cooked carrots and proceeded to have an intriguing discussion with them about lawn maintenance. Then, after I called my boss to tell him that, yet again, I would not be at work, I dreamt that I was trapped in my junior high with talking lockers. The ones with locks on them just mumbled. Oh the hilarity. Actually, the locker one was pretty good. In sets of three, colored yellow blue and red, seemingly as a daily reminder of our primary colors due to the decreasing creative abilities of most tenth graders. The lockers had formed their own cliques. Some were jocks and others nerds. I found myself running up and down the halls trying to find my personal storage facility. Apparently my subconscious trying to remind me of the glory of all that was junior high school cliques. Fevers are fun!

Gee... ya think!?

2009-01-21T20:17:00.002-06:00

Seriously!

The court wrote: "Common sense informs us that directing a 13-year-old girl to remove her clothes, partially revealing her breasts and pelvic area, for allegedly possessing ibuprofen ... was excessively intrusive."

Unbelievable... in the best way!

2009-01-12T19:56:00.004-06:00

This is fantastic.
Although I find it curious no one is being direct about the reason for choosing Robinson to pray at the Inauguration-week kickoff, I would still like to extend congratulations to those who spoke out against the Rick Warren being chosen to give the invocation at the January 20 inauguration. Let's hope we can continue to make our voices count and make more positive changes throughout this new presidency.
Yes we DID!

Do you ever have one of those days?

2009-01-08T17:49:00.004-06:00

You begin with this nagging feeling in the base of your gut. It is something similar to the feeling you are missing something very important, or perhaps you are on the verge of hangover. Maybe you had one too many drinks but not quite enough to warrant any heaving. At any second you could either cry or throw a temper tantrum. It is as if the universe is doing everything it can to prevent the settling of the upset and confused stomach. The universe is against you and will not help increase your confidence that the next hour things will get exponentially better. You try to take ownership of the feeling, accept it, find the reason it exists in the first place and move it aside, but it just sticks.

And then, the perfect song. It begins with solo piano with a subtle crescendo of acoustic guitar, a soothing and raspy voice, a deep breath and all is right with the world.

Warning Heretofor

2009-01-05T16:10:00.001-06:00

Potential confusionage can be assesified into grey matters upon conclusionification of readershipage for numerificous documentities containifying legal findings.

Sunday COLD... RANT

2009-01-04T11:30:00.004-06:00

I am sick to pieces of freezing my butt off. The desire to be more active and force attempts at enjoying winter through activity has been replaced with anger and the desire to pack up all of my shit and move somewhere warm. I cannot even manage to walk the dog. There aren't enough clothes in my closet to keep me warm enough to fight off -23 windchill. I blame this state and its subsequent weather for my laziness. I cannot be expected to make an effort if I'm stuck in my house! If it were at least above zero I could consider escaping my confinement.

Perhaps my New Years resolution should be to do something about this anger... perhaps release it through some sort of outdoor activity. Oh wait, impossible!

Back off. I have vitamin C and know how to use it!

2008-12-30T15:28:00.004-06:00

I know you're there Throat Tickle. I acknowledge and release you to your next host. I refuse to become your victim. Tonight will involve the abundant consumption of liquids and vitamins, hot toddies and delicious tea with honey. You will not overtake me this time Throat Tickle. I am stronger than you and tower over your viral-infectiony nastiness. I will prevail!

I WILL not relate to The Bible

2008-12-22T10:58:00.007-06:00

Twice Leviticus refers to sex between men as "an abomination" (King James version), but these are throwaway lines in a peculiar text given over to codes for living in the ancient Jewish world, a text that devotes verse after verse to treatments for leprosy, cleanliness rituals for menstruating women and the correct way to sacrifice a goat—or a lamb or a turtle dove. Most of us no longer heed Leviticus on haircuts or blood sacrifices; our modern understanding of the world has surpassed its prescriptions. Why would we regard its condemnation of homosexuality with more seriousness than we regard its advice, which is far lengthier, on the best price to pay for a slave?
Read the full article here.

The evolution of faith, marriage and love has demanded a change and improvement on the view of all relationships. In arguments against equal rights for marriage for same sex couples those who rely on the word of this outdated, centuries old piece of literature are expecting today’s society conform to rules and ideals which are unreasonable.

Should wives be expected to obey their husbands and should average households own slaves, simply because a book says this how we should live?

The practice of inclusion, equality, community and togetherness begins with treatment of other humans. If you do look to a God for comfort, advice and stability in this chaotic world, would you not want her to be a God who understands and respects the diversity and adversity of your current environment?

My friend the priest James Martin says his favorite Scripture relating to the question of homosexuality is Psalm 139, a song that praises the beauty and imperfection in all of us and that glorifies God's knowledge of our most secret selves: "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made." And then he adds that in his heart he believes that if Jesus were alive today, he would reach out especially to the gays and lesbians among us, for "Jesus does not want people to be lonely and sad." Let the priest's prayer be our own.

Wah!?

2008-12-17T16:00:00.001-06:00

Rick Warren to give inaugural invocation.

I’m speechless.

Mother Nature hath much fury.

2008-12-16T13:45:00.001-06:00

This weekend’s events included two painfully long cross state car rides, baby’s first Christmas (& subsequent present opening and drooling upon), a 100 pound puppy and the scariest weather I have ever seen.

The first relative hint of bad weather came when we stopped in Fergus Falls (about 50 miles east of Fargo) to switch drivers. The husband took Zeus out to relieve himself and the poor frozen pooch wouldn’t leave the vicinity of the car. When he climbed back in, Zeus didn’t want to step on any of his tiny frozen shaking paws. The wind was biting and seemed to cut right through the car. We made it to Bismarck without incident and managed to not have to stop again.

Friday was Christmas, yes actually Christmas. We had brunch, exchanged gifts, drank pomegranate punch and ate until we were stuffed. It was great. The husband took walks with Zeus and Zeus was able to romp and play with Otto Von Spaten, the step-dad’s 9 month old 100 pound German Shepherd. I use the word ‘play’ loosely, as Otto bounds around like a blind moose chasing Zeus trying to get him to play while Zeus runs away carrying various stuffed toys. One particular game involved Zeus running around the living room in circles, once Otto was in hot pursuit Zeus would run up the stairs to the loft leaving Otto whining at the bottom of the stairs. Yes, the 100 pound baby is scared of the stairs! Later, more baby excitement when sweet baby Kyley Mae tore into a few new toys and we all succumbed to her beauty and charm, regardless of how many times she spit up on her Ti Ti Kelsey.

Saturday the man-types made their usual ventures about town pawn shopping for weaponry while the mom, sister, niece and I braved tiny Kirkwood Mall and the second sign of approaching weather. More wind and more fierce cold couldn’t stop us! By the time our shopping adventure was over it had started snowing and the wind was piercing. We picked up food and supplies, an abundant supply of breadsticks, salad and lasagna from Olive Garden and made our way to the sister’s apartment for food and Wii games. We left there after 1 a.m. to drive back to mom’s (not more than 10 miles) in the worst of the storm. The snow drifts in the apartment parking lot were knee high and the husband’s car got stuck almost immediately after pulling out of a parking space. The mom drove and described it best, “we’re driving on the moon.” We couldn’t see more than a quarter mile in front of us, there were no other cars on the road. The report was 40-50 mph wind gusts and a wind-chill 50 degrees below zero. Little Ophelia (the mom’s trusty Outback) proved herself as a sturdy winter worthy confidant. When we woke up Sunday around 300 miles of Interstate 94 was closed.

The drive home Monday was much less uneventful, the husband and I are back to business as usual starting this morning.

Oh lovely… the snow has found us yet again. Maybe I’ll move to the desert, although I hear its rain/snowing everywhere now.

2008-12-01T13:53:00.004-06:00

Friday morning I was enjoying my day off and flipping through some of the forbidden day time talk shows and stopped when I saw Felicity Huffman walking on to the set at Regis & Kelly. She told a story about first meeting her husband, William H. Macy.

She described herself as ‘150 with huge glasses and frizzed hair’ and proceeded to wonder how anyone could be interested in someone who was ‘150 with huge glasses.’ I was dumbfounded. She was dressed in a tight green dress, and looked extremely thin. My first thought was ‘what right does she have to talk about weighing 150 pounds as if it were an atrocious thing.’ She looked TALL, I mean tall and thin like a long green bean in her green dress.

So I thought I’d do a little research. At 5’ 5” (apparently not as tall as she appears) and 150 pounds her BMI (formula using weight and height to estimate your body fat and health risks) she would have been at 24.96 which is classified as the end of the average range. Now, I have never been devoted to the BMI calculator as a true indicator of a person’s health, but this it is commonly used as the cornerstone for determining underweight, normal, overweight and obese classifications. BMI is a completely different issue though, for now it helps prove a point.

My concern is that a woman who currently appears at first glance to be healthy, possibly too thin, is using a number as general judgment to whether someone would find her attractive. This is to say we all have gigantic flashing digits above our heads warning possible suitors we are too high to consider we are worthy of attention. As someone who has revealed she suffered from anorexia and bulimia herself, I would demand Ms Huffman be more sensitive to weight issues and calling out a specific weight as unattractive or repulsive. There are hundreds of thousands of 150+ pound women who are healthy, strong and could rock a little green dress as well as, if not better than Felicity. This could be representative of remaining self and body image issues remaining from her personal struggle with eating disorders. I maintain the requirement that someone who could be considered a role model in crazy I’m-a-celebrity-worship-me land, should be careful about comparing a weight figure with unattractiveness. Hell, I maintain the requirement any WOMAN should damn well know better.

Maybe my dream catcher is broken

2008-11-25T18:02:00.001-06:00

Gone are the days of sweet albino hedgehogs and guitar-shaped airplane wings enter, the terror of dreamland.

The dream began, or my memory of the dream begins, with myself, my sister, my mom and my eight and a half month old niece in a room with floor to ceiling windows. We have a view of a field and a wooded area in the distance. We seem to be enjoying ourselves watching my niece crawl about and then my mom notices animals in the field. We first see a young fawn, still with wobbly legs, and a man in torn pants with no shirt or shoes. Each of these beings is closely followed by an adversary. The man’s opponent is a HUGE growling terrifying bear walking on its hind legs wildly slashing at the air. The fawn’s challenger is a horrifying drooling hyena with patches of hair missing and a crazed look in its eyes.

None of the women in the room are scared enough to run until I scream “someone has to save that FAWN!!!” I run heroically out the door and usher the fawn into the house and we all breathe a sigh of relief.

UNTIL… While I am brushing my teeth and examining my gleaming white molars I hear my niece giggling and squealing with delight in the hallway. I see her crawl quickly by the open door of the bathroom and walk out to see what she is so excited about. THE HYENA!! I quickly grab a nearby suitable weapon, a purple plastic hanger, and proceed to shoo the gigantic drooling beast away from my tiny niece.

I am certainly proficient at saving babies in this one.

In the best interest of the child...

2008-11-25T16:12:00.002-06:00

Yahoo! Indeed! This quote is beautifully tragic "I've never seen myself as less than anybody else," Gill said. "We're very grateful. Today, I've cried the first tears of joy in my life."

And on that note!

2008-11-05T15:34:00.001-06:00

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBAMA!!!!

I am elated. Jubilationy filled and smiley. I am so excited for the coming years, the change and the positivity. People are excited, and talking about how excited they are. It is beyond wonderful!

McCain’s concession speech was moving I’ll give him that. His choice of running mate is still beyond terrifying, but at least he transformed into a more approachable and tolerable person for his last moments directly in the public eye.

Great job everyone! Its time to celebrate and make positive change!!

Pearls are terrifying.

2008-11-05T15:32:00.001-06:00

I don’t understand staunch conservative women. It is part of the reason I rarely wear pearls. I think they have some kind of morphing ability. A secret curse has been bestowed upon all pearls causing the wearer to don a head to toe red power suit and cut all of her hair off.

It seems hypocritical for a woman to focus on resistance to change. I cringe to use the word progressive, but it is essential. To focus on the conservation of existing institutions and forms of government will do nothing to help women further contribute to and change societal norms. How could a woman be satisfied succumbing to the traditional views society has bestowed upon us? I’m not writing about traditional views on childcare or a woman’s responsibilities to her family. Satisfaction with being a stay-at-home parent is solely determined based on a person’s personal belief system. I’m writing about traditional views on rights. The right to vote, reproductive rights, the right over our own bodies, the right to be treated fairly and the right to change history, to name very few. Convention does nothing if not suppress women.

Women should embrace this time in history. Things are changing. There is a different feeling and a new and enlightened view on the country, and the world. Take advantage of the opportunities while they are here. Take time to contribute to women and girls in your community. Tell your daughter, wife, sister, niece, cousin she SHOULD make a change and SHOULD expect fairness.

Maybe in 2016 we’ll be celebrating yet another history making election.