I wouldn't say I'm an anxious person, but other people might say I'm an anxious person. Unfortunately, having given birth and now being responsible for another human has not helped my anxiety decrease. I know that all moms worry, but I think my worrying is starting to get bad.
Example things I have worried/continue to worry about (and this isn't the whole list):
1. The baby is too hot at night (SIDS risk)
2. The baby is too cold at night (having a cold baby risk)
3. The baby is not getting enough food/I am not producing enough milk/I am drying up
4. The baby is not burping enough
5. The baby's head will be flat and she will have to wear one of those baby helmets
6. She will suffocate in the night on:
-Her swaddle/wearable blanket (which is specifically designed NOT to suffocate babies)
-The mesh bumpers we have on the bassinet (which are specifically designed to be breathable as to NOT suffocate the baby)
-Boogers in her nose
-The air
7. She will slip while I'm bathing her
8. I will fall going up or down the stairs with her
9. I won't sterilize her pacifiers/the pump parts/her bottles/everything well enough and she will get a disease and die
10. Someone will sneeze on her and she will get a disease and die
11. The dogs will lick her and she will get a disease and die
12. I will die/Brad will die/she will die/anyone I know will die
13. She will scratch herself with her razor sharp little finger nails that no matter how hard I try to keep trimmed grow back in literally one minute like magic baby claws. Damn it!
14. She will grow up to be a Republican
My mom once told me that she has a theory that there are Type A Moms and Type B Moms, and that she was always a Type A. I thought "Oh, I'm for sure going to be a Type B Mom. I'm just going to be chill and calm all the time." I don't know why I thought this because I'm a Type A person and need spreadsheets for the vast majority of things that I do, but I thought it.
Turns out, if you're a Type A person you'll probably be a Type A Mom.
Sometimes I wish I could be more like some of the Type B moms I know. They are so much more relaxed, and their babies are perfectly happy and healthy. I once watched as a Type B Baby played with the Type B Mom's car keys- her actual sharp, dirty car keys- for literally 45 minutes. It wasn't like the mom was ignoring the baby, she jingled the car keys and interacted with the baby, but her baby was playing with car keys. I was crawling out of my skin, but both the mom and the baby were perfectly happy.
I think there's a big lesson in that: kids are tougher than we think, and they are okay 99.9% of the time, and worrying won't help either the mom or the baby. And I should relax.
BUT what about the 00.1% of the time that the mom should have worried and didn't? That's when disaster strikes.
That is why I must buy the mesh bumpers and secure them to the crib as tightly as possible. That is why I must double check the bath water temperature before I place my baby in her whale shaped baby bath tub that got very good Amazon reviews for safety. That is why I will go into her room three times before I go to bed to make sure it's not too hot and not too cold. Because I am a Type A Mom, and these are things I can control.
I cling to them because soon, very soon, she will be crawling, then walking, then going out on dates with that loser kid, Chad, who clearly has no ambition (because she's having to borrow my car because he can't be bothered to take the class to get a license), and he's wearing way too much body spray, and I can't tell her how much I hate him because then she'll just want to date him more so I'll have to let them go out on their date, but by God she better be home by 10:30, and that's not 10:31, Ma'am.
That is why I will remain vigilant, knowing I will never again have the ability to relax- especially if she has my car keys.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Friday, November 14, 2014
What is...the most interesting thing I could come up with, Alex.
Along
with my new mom hobbies of taking a shower, walking to the mailbox, eating
while standing up and pumping, I have now become quite the avid fan of
Jeopardy!. It's on right around the time we have our afternoon feeding.
I'm super lucky because there are two episodes that run back-to-back; one
at 4:00 and one at 4:30.
The one at 4:00 is
called "Daytime Jeopardy!," and the 4:30 one is just regular
Jeopardy!. I don't really understand the distinction as they are both
Jeopardy and both very much during the day. The first one is a rerun (I
know this because Alex is mustachioed, and in real time he is sans mustache),
but I feel that "Daytime Jeopardy!" is a confusing way to tell
viewers they're watching an old episode as it conveys no information regarding
the recency of the episode. But, I digress.
I like watching Jeopardy!
because it makes me feel like I'm learning something while I'm feeding the Baby
Ninja and not just mindlessly watching home improvement shows or the Food
Network. Even though I only know about 30% of the answers (unless it's
Kids' Jeopardy, at which I rule), Jeopardy! still makes me feel like I've made
a good, adult TV choice.
I've also learned a lot about the show itself. For example, the voice of Jeopardy! is Johnny Gilbert. If you've never seen Johnny Gilbert, you really should- he is a fabulously preserved human: The Official Johnny Gilbert Website
I've also learned,
and I love this rule, "Contestants must
wait until the host finishes reading the clue before signaling; doing so before
this point locks the contestant out for one-fourth of a second." I
just LOVE that! It really speaks to the self-control the contestants must
exhibit.
There is one thing about Jeopardy! that I do not love, and that is the portion of the show right after the first commercial break where you "get to know" the contestants. It's terrible.
There is one thing about Jeopardy! that I do not love, and that is the portion of the show right after the first commercial break where you "get to know" the contestants. It's terrible.
No
one EVER has a good getting to know thing. It's always something really,
really dumb. Here is a real example, and
please know that I could not make this up:
Alex: And playing today is Shannon, who tells us she has something in common with Anne Boleyn. She once slept in the Tower of London!
Alex: And playing today is Shannon, who tells us she has something in common with Anne Boleyn. She once slept in the Tower of London!
Shannon: Yes, Alex, last year I visited London with my
mom, and we toured the Tower of London.
Well, I was so jet lagged, that I fell asleep on her shoulder on a bench
in the Tower! Hahahaha!
WHAT?! No. Just, no.
Worse than the really
dumb stories are the really dumb stories that take forever and are not funny...at all.
Alex: And today we have John, who tells us he had an interesting time on a plane once.
Alex: And today we have John, who tells us he had an interesting time on a plane once.
John: Yes, well once I was flying to China with
five of my friends, and I’m really nervous when I fly because one time when I
was seven I had a bad experience on a plane.
So um, I took some sleeping medication to help me on account of me being
so nervous. So, the flight was like 18
hours, so um, I took the medication, and when I woke up I looked out the window
and saw the moon, and I said to my friends “The moon is so bright!” and they all laughed because it was actually the sun!
That was real. I'm not kidding, that was a real thing that someone thought was the most interesting thing to say about themselves on TV. Even Alex was uncomfortable. Usually he makes some remark after the story, because he's a nice man, but after that one he just said "Okay!" and moved on.
That was real. I'm not kidding, that was a real thing that someone thought was the most interesting thing to say about themselves on TV. Even Alex was uncomfortable. Usually he makes some remark after the story, because he's a nice man, but after that one he just said "Okay!" and moved on.
Because of these nightmare scenarios, I've thought long and hard about what I would say if ever I were on Jeopardy. The sad thing is, I really don't know how much better I'd do. If you take job and family off the table (and no one ever really talks about their job or family for some reason), it's kind of hard to think of something else that is amusing and can be told in 20 seconds.
"I have two cats and two dogs." "I garden...sometimes.
Mostly I just kill plants." "I can change a poopy diaper
without getting poop on the baby's clothes most of the time!" At
this point, I'd probably end up talking about breastfeeding.
Which actually...when you think about it, I'm keeping another
human being alive with my body!
I mean, that's pretty nuts. I grew a human in my body, and now I'm keeping
it alive with my boobs.
So, maybe that's what I'd say after all. "Yes, Alex, I have the ability to feed another human with my boobs."
I be ol' Johnny Gilbert would get a kick out of that!
So, maybe that's what I'd say after all. "Yes, Alex, I have the ability to feed another human with my boobs."
I be ol' Johnny Gilbert would get a kick out of that!
Thursday, October 16, 2014
There are crumbs on my baby's head
I'm back! Well kind of. Basically, the Baby Ninja is sleeping more, so I can write some. No guarantees on frequency, but I'll do my best. Also, this is not now a "mommy blog." There are thousands of those. However, just like this wasn't a pregnancy blog, but I was pregnant so I blogged about it, I'm a mom now and that's pretty much what's taking over my life right now. So, while this is not a mommy blog, I will blog about being a mom- among other things. Hopefully, I will amuse you. So, with that...
I've been a mom now for almost two months, and here are the things I've learned so far:
1. When I'm hungry at 2:45 AM, and the baby has just gone back to sleep, the best place to eat a granola bar is in the closet. That way she can't hear me open it...or chew it.
2. When getting in bed at 2:47 AM after eating the granola bar, the baby will know I just got in bed. And she will wake up.
3. The vacuum is magic. It cleans the floor and lulls babies to sleep.
4. There is freedom in the baby sling. Wear it, and you too can leave the couch and eat lunch.
5. While eating said lunch with baby in said sling, inevitably some food will drop on the head of said sleeping baby. This is why sandwiches are allowed and molten Mac 'n Cheese is not.
6. Because of this eating situation, I have found chocolate on the baby, in my bra and on the couch. I know it's chocolate and not poop because I always taste it; a risk I wouldn't have fathomed just two short months ago.
7. Everyone always talks about not being able to take a shower. I can take a shower every day, if I want. I just may not be able to go to the bathroom, eat or sleep if I take that shower, but I can shower if I so choose.
7a. Food > Shower; Sleep > Shower; Shower > > > Laundry
8. It's okay to cry.
I cried a lot in the beginning. I cried today. I cried because the parents on "Frozen" die and I didn't want any parents to die, ever...especially Brad and me.
I cried because I was taking a nap and was going to miss one hour of her life. I cried because I was listening to Pandora and Garth Brooks' "To Make You Feel My Love" came on. I cried because I thought the dogs looked depressed. I've cried because I'm tired, sad, scared, happy and for no reason. It took me a while to not feel bad about this, but moms cry, and it's okay.
9. It goes fast.
10. It's so, so worth it! Just like the Inuits have many words for "snow", I think there should be another word for the love of a child. Love isn't strong enough. It's love, but it's fear, hope, frustration, joy, excitement, exhaustion, worry, happiness, and every other emotion I've ever felt wrapped up in a little person. It should be called "Super Love" or "Mega Love."
Or maybe I've just not known love until now.
I've been a mom now for almost two months, and here are the things I've learned so far:
1. When I'm hungry at 2:45 AM, and the baby has just gone back to sleep, the best place to eat a granola bar is in the closet. That way she can't hear me open it...or chew it.
2. When getting in bed at 2:47 AM after eating the granola bar, the baby will know I just got in bed. And she will wake up.
3. The vacuum is magic. It cleans the floor and lulls babies to sleep.
4. There is freedom in the baby sling. Wear it, and you too can leave the couch and eat lunch.
5. While eating said lunch with baby in said sling, inevitably some food will drop on the head of said sleeping baby. This is why sandwiches are allowed and molten Mac 'n Cheese is not.
6. Because of this eating situation, I have found chocolate on the baby, in my bra and on the couch. I know it's chocolate and not poop because I always taste it; a risk I wouldn't have fathomed just two short months ago.
7. Everyone always talks about not being able to take a shower. I can take a shower every day, if I want. I just may not be able to go to the bathroom, eat or sleep if I take that shower, but I can shower if I so choose.
7a. Food > Shower; Sleep > Shower; Shower > > > Laundry
8. It's okay to cry.
I cried a lot in the beginning. I cried today. I cried because the parents on "Frozen" die and I didn't want any parents to die, ever...especially Brad and me.
I cried because I was taking a nap and was going to miss one hour of her life. I cried because I was listening to Pandora and Garth Brooks' "To Make You Feel My Love" came on. I cried because I thought the dogs looked depressed. I've cried because I'm tired, sad, scared, happy and for no reason. It took me a while to not feel bad about this, but moms cry, and it's okay.
9. It goes fast.
10. It's so, so worth it! Just like the Inuits have many words for "snow", I think there should be another word for the love of a child. Love isn't strong enough. It's love, but it's fear, hope, frustration, joy, excitement, exhaustion, worry, happiness, and every other emotion I've ever felt wrapped up in a little person. It should be called "Super Love" or "Mega Love."
Or maybe I've just not known love until now.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Can we get these people some underwear please?!
Hello all. Dixie here. Due to Stella recently giving birth to her first child, she has taken some time away from blogging to focus on her new mothering duties. Now, it would be rather unfair to you, the fans, to just leave you hanging while she figures out the new mommy thing. So, Stella has lined up some guest bloggers to entertain you while she is temporarily away from the blogging scene. (Actually, I think I'm the only one so far- so if you'd like to contribute, email obviousninjablog@gmail.com . For more information on being a guest blogger see the previous post, "Calling All Writers")
First, some background on who I am. I am Dixie, Stella's younger cousin. I am single and I live alone, so naturally I have a lot of time to watch TV. During my many hours of TV watching this summer (yes, I am fully aware of how lame I am), I have recently come across a show called "Naked and Afraid".
For those of you who don't know what this show is, it is a survival show. People volunteer for this show to prove their survival skills. One man and one woman, who have never met, are dropped off in some extremely remote wilderness completely naked! They are each allowed to bring one man made item with them, many choose something like a fire starter or a machete (obviously). Once they are in the jungle, or wherever it is they are dropped off, they have only each other and their one item each to survive for three weeks.
I can understand why someone might want to prove they have what it takes to survive with practically nothing, but come on, must they be naked?
I have discussed this issue with others who also watch the show and some say that more people will be interested in watching the show if people are naked. To this I say, everything interesting is blurred out anyway so it's not like you see anything. So that theory is out the window.
Someone else said that being naked makes withstanding the elements tougher. I can agree with that one to an extent. There was a guy on one episode who got so sunburned he couldn't move. Obviously, if he'd had clothes they would have protected his skin from the sun; however, I argue a pair of tightie whities would not have helped him. And then he wouldn't be naked.
I don't think that a simple pair of underwear and perhaps a sports bra for the woman would be that beneficial to their survival. It would provide minimal protection from the sun, and would not help keep them warm. I would not think any less of a survivalist if they survived while wearing only underwear as opposed to being completely naked. I mean, let's be honest, that's just gross and unnecessary.
Ladies, I know how good if feels to get home after a long day of work and take that bra off, but nobody needs those babies flopping around 24-7. And while I have never been a guy, I would suspect that they don't need their junk openly flopping around either. Plus, being completely naked leaves you vulnerable to anything crawling in and up any crack and crevasse you didn't even know you had!
Bottom line is that there is absolutely no reason for the people in that show to be completely naked. No reason.
Thank you.
First, some background on who I am. I am Dixie, Stella's younger cousin. I am single and I live alone, so naturally I have a lot of time to watch TV. During my many hours of TV watching this summer (yes, I am fully aware of how lame I am), I have recently come across a show called "Naked and Afraid".
For those of you who don't know what this show is, it is a survival show. People volunteer for this show to prove their survival skills. One man and one woman, who have never met, are dropped off in some extremely remote wilderness completely naked! They are each allowed to bring one man made item with them, many choose something like a fire starter or a machete (obviously). Once they are in the jungle, or wherever it is they are dropped off, they have only each other and their one item each to survive for three weeks.
I can understand why someone might want to prove they have what it takes to survive with practically nothing, but come on, must they be naked?
I have discussed this issue with others who also watch the show and some say that more people will be interested in watching the show if people are naked. To this I say, everything interesting is blurred out anyway so it's not like you see anything. So that theory is out the window.
Someone else said that being naked makes withstanding the elements tougher. I can agree with that one to an extent. There was a guy on one episode who got so sunburned he couldn't move. Obviously, if he'd had clothes they would have protected his skin from the sun; however, I argue a pair of tightie whities would not have helped him. And then he wouldn't be naked.
I don't think that a simple pair of underwear and perhaps a sports bra for the woman would be that beneficial to their survival. It would provide minimal protection from the sun, and would not help keep them warm. I would not think any less of a survivalist if they survived while wearing only underwear as opposed to being completely naked. I mean, let's be honest, that's just gross and unnecessary.
Ladies, I know how good if feels to get home after a long day of work and take that bra off, but nobody needs those babies flopping around 24-7. And while I have never been a guy, I would suspect that they don't need their junk openly flopping around either. Plus, being completely naked leaves you vulnerable to anything crawling in and up any crack and crevasse you didn't even know you had!
Bottom line is that there is absolutely no reason for the people in that show to be completely naked. No reason.
Thank you.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
The Mommy Wars
I'm finding out that being a mom is going to be a lot like all the other things in life where people have varied opinions about everything and feel that because they have been through a similar experience (or not), they are entitled to judge and/or give you unsolicited advice (see the previous post "Are You Trying" for further illuminating examples).
I'm learning that because someone else had a kid, they are pretty much going to tell you something about you having a kid and how it will go for you.
Case in point, for some reason as my due date gets closer I have been asked many times by a lot of moms a variation of "So, you'll get an epidural, right?" Or, I'm just plain told "I assume you'll have an epidural." I don't know why this comes up so much or why people care, but it does and they do.
When I say "Well, we'll see how it goes, but I'm going to try for a natural birth," there is an immediate reaction. I've had everything from laughter (I'm not kidding, two people have laughed in my face), to "Oh, well good luck, you're going to need it."
Or just a pitying look that says "Oh you dumb, naive girl. Just wait, you don't know what you're talking about." So much judgement for a topic I didn't even bring up!
My second favorite mom-to-be/new mom topic is working out. Apparently, we are to have "no excuses" about working out when we're pregnant, and even fewer than no excuses about getting our bodies back after the baby. I recently stumbled upon a "No Excuses Pregnancy Workout" on Pinterest (I know, it's my fault for being on Pinterest) that included:
-Run or Walk 1/2 Mile
-12 Bicep Curls
-12 Dips
-12 Shoulder Presses
-12 Lateral Raises
-Run or Walk 1/2 mile
-20 Lunges (R/L = 1)
-20 Calf Raises
-20 Plie Squats
-30-40 Second Wall Sit
*Repeat 2 Times
The background picture is a pregnant woman kick boxing and not making any excuses. So fierce.
WHAT?!?!?!
Who is the person that made this up? Who are the people who do this? Maybe I could do this if I wasn't pregnant. Maybe. I don't go to CrossFit though, so I don't know my limits or how hard I can work EVERY DAY, NO EXCUSES!
I'm not saying that I'm a couch potato, and exercise is important during pregnancy, but holy cow, does it have to be such a beat down?
Look, if you're into working out and that's your thing, cool. Do all the stuff on that list. What really bothers me is the title.
Does "No Excuses" imply that if you can't do this- all of this- then you're somehow not good at being pregnant? Hello, you're pregnant, that's not an excuse, it's a reality. Maybe you can't do 20 Plie Squats three times because you're throwing up all the time...and no one knows what a Plie Squat is.
These are just two examples of the land mine of topics that other moms are apparently allowed to freely judge you over. Others include, but are not limited to:
-Breastfeeding vs. Formula
-Hospital vs. Home Birth vs. Birthing Center
-Doctor vs. Midwife
-Childcare (I had a well intentioned but completely unsolicited or necessary email from a friend begging me not to put my child in day care...ever)
-Baby wearing
-Clothe vs. Disposable diapers
I could go on.
I was talking to a friend the other night about this topic, ranting about why women feel they get to do this to other women. Specifically, other moms. Don't they know how hard this is? Didn't they just do this? And then, my wise friend said, "Stella, it's not about your choice, it's about the choice they already made. They want to feel like they made the right one, and if you're doing something different than them, maybe it makes them defensive."
So wise. So, so wise. I was going with "they're all a-holes," but I think that's my hormones talking.
I know I'm going to have to get over this as it is the tip of the iceberg. There will be lots more topics ahead ("When did you let your daughter have earrings/a Facebook account/a cell phone/shave her legs/go to the mall with her friends/date?", "What colleges did your kid get in to?"...)
I'm also going to have to remember not to be a judgey mom myself when someone tells me they put their two-year-old on an all vegan diet. I will try not to judge that...openly.
In short, I'm going to have to be kinder to other moms and at the same time get thicker skin and wear it like armor as I jump into the craziness of motherhood. In the end, it's not about them anyway, it's about my kid, our family and just trying to keep everyone alive and relatively happy.
I'll have to remember what another very wise mom friend told me recently: "Welcome to the Mommy Wars, little one. Do not engage the crazies."
I'm learning that because someone else had a kid, they are pretty much going to tell you something about you having a kid and how it will go for you.
Case in point, for some reason as my due date gets closer I have been asked many times by a lot of moms a variation of "So, you'll get an epidural, right?" Or, I'm just plain told "I assume you'll have an epidural." I don't know why this comes up so much or why people care, but it does and they do.
When I say "Well, we'll see how it goes, but I'm going to try for a natural birth," there is an immediate reaction. I've had everything from laughter (I'm not kidding, two people have laughed in my face), to "Oh, well good luck, you're going to need it."
Or just a pitying look that says "Oh you dumb, naive girl. Just wait, you don't know what you're talking about." So much judgement for a topic I didn't even bring up!
My second favorite mom-to-be/new mom topic is working out. Apparently, we are to have "no excuses" about working out when we're pregnant, and even fewer than no excuses about getting our bodies back after the baby. I recently stumbled upon a "No Excuses Pregnancy Workout" on Pinterest (I know, it's my fault for being on Pinterest) that included:
-Run or Walk 1/2 Mile
-12 Bicep Curls
-12 Dips
-12 Shoulder Presses
-12 Lateral Raises
-Run or Walk 1/2 mile
-20 Lunges (R/L = 1)
-20 Calf Raises
-20 Plie Squats
-30-40 Second Wall Sit
*Repeat 2 Times
The background picture is a pregnant woman kick boxing and not making any excuses. So fierce.
WHAT?!?!?!
Who is the person that made this up? Who are the people who do this? Maybe I could do this if I wasn't pregnant. Maybe. I don't go to CrossFit though, so I don't know my limits or how hard I can work EVERY DAY, NO EXCUSES!
I'm not saying that I'm a couch potato, and exercise is important during pregnancy, but holy cow, does it have to be such a beat down?
Look, if you're into working out and that's your thing, cool. Do all the stuff on that list. What really bothers me is the title.
Does "No Excuses" imply that if you can't do this- all of this- then you're somehow not good at being pregnant? Hello, you're pregnant, that's not an excuse, it's a reality. Maybe you can't do 20 Plie Squats three times because you're throwing up all the time...and no one knows what a Plie Squat is.
These are just two examples of the land mine of topics that other moms are apparently allowed to freely judge you over. Others include, but are not limited to:
-Breastfeeding vs. Formula
-Hospital vs. Home Birth vs. Birthing Center
-Doctor vs. Midwife
-Childcare (I had a well intentioned but completely unsolicited or necessary email from a friend begging me not to put my child in day care...ever)
-Baby wearing
-Clothe vs. Disposable diapers
I could go on.
I was talking to a friend the other night about this topic, ranting about why women feel they get to do this to other women. Specifically, other moms. Don't they know how hard this is? Didn't they just do this? And then, my wise friend said, "Stella, it's not about your choice, it's about the choice they already made. They want to feel like they made the right one, and if you're doing something different than them, maybe it makes them defensive."
So wise. So, so wise. I was going with "they're all a-holes," but I think that's my hormones talking.
I know I'm going to have to get over this as it is the tip of the iceberg. There will be lots more topics ahead ("When did you let your daughter have earrings/a Facebook account/a cell phone/shave her legs/go to the mall with her friends/date?", "What colleges did your kid get in to?"...)
I'm also going to have to remember not to be a judgey mom myself when someone tells me they put their two-year-old on an all vegan diet. I will try not to judge that...openly.
In short, I'm going to have to be kinder to other moms and at the same time get thicker skin and wear it like armor as I jump into the craziness of motherhood. In the end, it's not about them anyway, it's about my kid, our family and just trying to keep everyone alive and relatively happy.
I'll have to remember what another very wise mom friend told me recently: "Welcome to the Mommy Wars, little one. Do not engage the crazies."
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
A very close call
Fruit is pretty much the best. Especially while I've been pregnant, I've eaten fruit like I'm a Spider Monkey. It comes in phases; there were some weeks when I ate four or five grapefruits, then pounds of blueberries, then entire watermelons. Recently, it's been plums and peaches, and they've been glorious. Until a few days ago.
Before I tell you what happened though, first you have to know that both Brad and Pippy do not share my fruit enthusiasm. Pippy is very selective about the fruit she eats. She never, ever eats fruit by just biting into it; she'll only eat fruit that either she has cut herself or that she has actually seen someone else cut. I don't understand this, and she can't explain it, but that's how it is.
Brad grew up with strawberry Poptarts as a main fruit source in his young life. He doesn't really trust "food" that comes from "outside." Case in point, there was a pear tree that grew in his backyard when he was little. Not only did he and his brothers not recognize the fruit as edible, they used them as ammunition and hurled them as hard as they possibly could at each other.
I once asked him if they ever ate a single pear from that tree and he said "No, we just said 'Get out of here weird things from this tree!' and then chunked them over the fence." Perfect.
To this day he's suspicious of lots of food, saying that it all probably has bugs in it.
They are both clearly ridiculous. Or so I thought.
Two days ago I was happily munching on a plum. I didn't cut it up because that's silly. As I took a big bite Brad said, "Why are you eating that plum like an animal?"
As he said it, part of the pit broke away, and there, inside the pit WAS A BUG!
OMG, OMG, OMG THERE WAS A BUG IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PLUM AND IT WAS ALIVE!
AHHHHH!
I have never even heard of this! How could there be a bug inside a plum pit? Just living there? What does it drink? How does it live?
I'm not talking about a little bug either, it was almost as big as the whole pit. It was like a worm bug, and I'm pretty sure it had fangs:
Okay, so that looks more like a longhorn vampire bug, but I wasn't really studying it as I was trying not to eat it. Just know that it was terrifying.
Immediately, I spit the plum out and thrust it at Brad without saying a word. Then, I ran away and thought about not throwing up for a while.
When I recovered, I found Brad hard at work Googling the bug (because in a crisis, Brad will get to the bottom of things!). Apparently, it is a bug that lives in plums and eats the pit. So there you go.
Honestly, I didn't really want to know much more, other than it wasn't poisonous and I wasn't going to die, so I can't tell you much else about the Plum Bugs. Just...you know, watch out for them.
The whole experience has forced me to rethink my fruit philosophy. Are Pippy and Brad right? Should I cut up all my fruit from now on since apparently bugs in your fruit is a legitimate fear? I don't know. I just don't know what to believe anymore.
Which is why I've been sticking to ice cream for the last two days. Cherry Garcia. All the fruit, none of the bugs.
Before I tell you what happened though, first you have to know that both Brad and Pippy do not share my fruit enthusiasm. Pippy is very selective about the fruit she eats. She never, ever eats fruit by just biting into it; she'll only eat fruit that either she has cut herself or that she has actually seen someone else cut. I don't understand this, and she can't explain it, but that's how it is.
Brad grew up with strawberry Poptarts as a main fruit source in his young life. He doesn't really trust "food" that comes from "outside." Case in point, there was a pear tree that grew in his backyard when he was little. Not only did he and his brothers not recognize the fruit as edible, they used them as ammunition and hurled them as hard as they possibly could at each other.
I once asked him if they ever ate a single pear from that tree and he said "No, we just said 'Get out of here weird things from this tree!' and then chunked them over the fence." Perfect.
To this day he's suspicious of lots of food, saying that it all probably has bugs in it.
They are both clearly ridiculous. Or so I thought.
Two days ago I was happily munching on a plum. I didn't cut it up because that's silly. As I took a big bite Brad said, "Why are you eating that plum like an animal?"
As he said it, part of the pit broke away, and there, inside the pit WAS A BUG!
OMG, OMG, OMG THERE WAS A BUG IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PLUM AND IT WAS ALIVE!
AHHHHH!
I have never even heard of this! How could there be a bug inside a plum pit? Just living there? What does it drink? How does it live?
I'm not talking about a little bug either, it was almost as big as the whole pit. It was like a worm bug, and I'm pretty sure it had fangs:
Okay, so that looks more like a longhorn vampire bug, but I wasn't really studying it as I was trying not to eat it. Just know that it was terrifying.
Immediately, I spit the plum out and thrust it at Brad without saying a word. Then, I ran away and thought about not throwing up for a while.
When I recovered, I found Brad hard at work Googling the bug (because in a crisis, Brad will get to the bottom of things!). Apparently, it is a bug that lives in plums and eats the pit. So there you go.
Honestly, I didn't really want to know much more, other than it wasn't poisonous and I wasn't going to die, so I can't tell you much else about the Plum Bugs. Just...you know, watch out for them.
The whole experience has forced me to rethink my fruit philosophy. Are Pippy and Brad right? Should I cut up all my fruit from now on since apparently bugs in your fruit is a legitimate fear? I don't know. I just don't know what to believe anymore.
Which is why I've been sticking to ice cream for the last two days. Cherry Garcia. All the fruit, none of the bugs.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Calling all writers!
So the Baby Ninja will be here very soon, and I'm thinking that I might not have time to blog for a while once that happens. OR I'll have really funny, delusional posts written at 2 AM on two hours of sleep. No one can predict how these things will work.
In the meantime, I'm enlisting YOUR help! If you'd like to make a contribution to the blog to help keep it going during the temporary baby preoccupation, I'd love to publish your posts.
Here are the only rules:
1. It can be a work of anything you want- story that happened to you, fictional short story, poem, witty observation on life, a picture you drew of your cat, it's up to you- but you must have created it and agree that I can post it on the blog (no copyright issues please, I just couldn't deal with that and an infant).
2. I will read everything prior to posting it, and may edit slightly for length or clarity.
3. I reserve the right not to post your submission for any reason without explanation. Sorry dudes.
4. This is just for fun, no one is making any money off of this thing (trust me), so if you submit, please do it because you like to write and you're helping a Ninja out not because you expect to get paid*. Sorry again.
If you're good with those rules, then bring it!
Just send your submission(s) to obviousninjablog@gmail.com You can send one post or 100, totes up to you. Also, please let me know how you'd like to be credited- with your real name or a pseudonym.
I'm taking submissions now and will create a little stockpile so that in the weeks ahead I can post them as needed. I'll try to sprinkle in a few posts of my own here and there, and I'll keep writing until the big event.
Okay, that's all for now! I expect at least five submissions because I know there are at least five of you out there per my Google blog analytics page. You know who you are, don't make me hunt you down.
Thanks and hooray you!!
*If, in the off chance BJ Novak ever comes through and I get my book deal, I will not include your posts in my best selling blog compilation. Maybe I'll mention you to Terry Gross in my "Fresh Air" interview though.
In the meantime, I'm enlisting YOUR help! If you'd like to make a contribution to the blog to help keep it going during the temporary baby preoccupation, I'd love to publish your posts.
Here are the only rules:
1. It can be a work of anything you want- story that happened to you, fictional short story, poem, witty observation on life, a picture you drew of your cat, it's up to you- but you must have created it and agree that I can post it on the blog (no copyright issues please, I just couldn't deal with that and an infant).
2. I will read everything prior to posting it, and may edit slightly for length or clarity.
3. I reserve the right not to post your submission for any reason without explanation. Sorry dudes.
4. This is just for fun, no one is making any money off of this thing (trust me), so if you submit, please do it because you like to write and you're helping a Ninja out not because you expect to get paid*. Sorry again.
If you're good with those rules, then bring it!
Just send your submission(s) to obviousninjablog@gmail.com You can send one post or 100, totes up to you. Also, please let me know how you'd like to be credited- with your real name or a pseudonym.
I'm taking submissions now and will create a little stockpile so that in the weeks ahead I can post them as needed. I'll try to sprinkle in a few posts of my own here and there, and I'll keep writing until the big event.
Okay, that's all for now! I expect at least five submissions because I know there are at least five of you out there per my Google blog analytics page. You know who you are, don't make me hunt you down.
Thanks and hooray you!!
*If, in the off chance BJ Novak ever comes through and I get my book deal, I will not include your posts in my best selling blog compilation. Maybe I'll mention you to Terry Gross in my "Fresh Air" interview though.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Life's Too Short
My cousin, Dixie, was in town keeping me company while Brad was away. We did lots of fun things, but mostly we cooked and ate what we cooked and talked about what we were going to cook and eat next.
Anyway, while all this cooking was going on we took turns being the chef (or chief) and sous chef (or Sioux Chief) depending on whose specialty we were concocting. When I was chefing, I would ask her to bring me this spice or that spice from the pantry, and every time when we were done with it, she'd ask "So where does this one go?"
"In the spice rack," was always my answer, and she'd come back looking confused.
After about three or four of these episodes I said, "Dixie, why do you keep asking me where they go? They all go in the spice rack."
"I know," she said, "but where in the spice rack do they go? I've been trying to remember where I got them, but there's no system."
Wha? Wasn't my system obvious?
It had literally never dawned on me to organize my spice rack. Why on Earth would anyone, unless they are an actual chef, need their spices organized?
"Dixie, there is no system; just put them on the rack. Life's too short."
This prompted me to think of other things I've decided I refuse to do or not do moving forward.
This is not a list of things like "To go to bed mad" or "Not to say I love you" or "To worry about what other people think." Yes, those are all valid things that life is to short for, but these are real, actual things that I feel either take away valuable time or valuable pleasure from my life.
So, for your approval:
1. To organize your spice rack (unless you love organizing then knock yourself out)
2. Not to push the button
There's a button on our refrigerator that says "Ice Plus" and has a little frost symbol by it. For over a year I have thought about that button every time I've gotten ice, but I have not pushed it. Maybe because I didn't know what it would do or I thought maybe I'd get in trouble (by whom? Brad? No. I'm the boss of him.) But yesterday, I pushed the button. I still don't know what it does, but our ice seems a little shinier, and I'm so happy I pushed it!
3. To find the manual
I realize that in situations such as the one above, I could probably find out somehow what The Button does, but I'm not going to do that. A. I don't know where the manual is or if we even have it anymore and B. I'm satisfied that nothing bad happened with the ice and that I didn't get in trouble by anyone. I will just continue to speculate and know that our ice is just a little better thanks to me.
4. To eat bad cheese
Not like rotten cheese, no one should do that. I'm talking about bad cheese. Like American cheese. I hate that the worst most processed cheese is called "American" cheese too. Like it it the epitome of America and our values? What? No! No, I say to you American cheese, I won't eat you. In fact, in my mind you are Un-American cheese.
5. To eat at Chili's
Unless I am in a desperate situation, like I have no other way of eating food, Chili's is never, ever an option. Just, no. I've had enough battered chicken with soft corn on the cob that is exactly like all the other battered chicken and soft corn on the cob I've ever had there for a lifetime.
6. To pair socks
Yes, there will always be one missing. No, I will never find it. So I just buy a bunch of the exact same socks, throw them all in a drawer and grab two when I need them. Done.
7. To ignore babies
I don't get it when people don't smile and play with cute babies in front of them at the grocery store. There is a cute baby in front of you in a shopping cart looking at you with his/her cute little eyes. LOOK back and him/her and smile! There are only so many babies in the world, and one of them is looking at you! Play with the kid for two seconds.
8. To make the bed
Unless I know for sure someone is coming to my house, I do not make the bed. Pretty much ever. Why? I'm just going to throw those pillows on the floor again in about 15 hours and start the whole process over. If someone happens to drop by, they just don't go in our room. Or if they do, they're a dear friend or a paramedic, neither of whom will care that the bed is unmade.
9. To listen to Top 40
At one point in American history, I believe Top 40 was pretty good (Elvis and The Beatles come to mind), but I'm sorry, music is in a terrible state. Everything is synthesized and auto-tuned, and frankly just sucks. Even if it doesn't suck, it gets played 10 times an hour and then you end up hating it in about a week. Plus, now it's not like we need the radio to tell us what music we like. There is a whole world of musical experiences thanks to iTunes, YouTube, Satellite Radio and the interwebs. Therefore, Top 40 no longer has a place in my life- and I officially don't know what the kids are listening to these days.
I wish I could come up with one more so that there would be 10, but apparently, everything else in my life is necessary, so I'll stop there before I get frustrated. Because hey...
Anyway, while all this cooking was going on we took turns being the chef (or chief) and sous chef (or Sioux Chief) depending on whose specialty we were concocting. When I was chefing, I would ask her to bring me this spice or that spice from the pantry, and every time when we were done with it, she'd ask "So where does this one go?"
"In the spice rack," was always my answer, and she'd come back looking confused.
After about three or four of these episodes I said, "Dixie, why do you keep asking me where they go? They all go in the spice rack."
"I know," she said, "but where in the spice rack do they go? I've been trying to remember where I got them, but there's no system."
Wha? Wasn't my system obvious?
It had literally never dawned on me to organize my spice rack. Why on Earth would anyone, unless they are an actual chef, need their spices organized?
"Dixie, there is no system; just put them on the rack. Life's too short."
This prompted me to think of other things I've decided I refuse to do or not do moving forward.
This is not a list of things like "To go to bed mad" or "Not to say I love you" or "To worry about what other people think." Yes, those are all valid things that life is to short for, but these are real, actual things that I feel either take away valuable time or valuable pleasure from my life.
So, for your approval:
Life's Too Short...
1. To organize your spice rack (unless you love organizing then knock yourself out)
2. Not to push the button
There's a button on our refrigerator that says "Ice Plus" and has a little frost symbol by it. For over a year I have thought about that button every time I've gotten ice, but I have not pushed it. Maybe because I didn't know what it would do or I thought maybe I'd get in trouble (by whom? Brad? No. I'm the boss of him.) But yesterday, I pushed the button. I still don't know what it does, but our ice seems a little shinier, and I'm so happy I pushed it!
3. To find the manual
I realize that in situations such as the one above, I could probably find out somehow what The Button does, but I'm not going to do that. A. I don't know where the manual is or if we even have it anymore and B. I'm satisfied that nothing bad happened with the ice and that I didn't get in trouble by anyone. I will just continue to speculate and know that our ice is just a little better thanks to me.
4. To eat bad cheese
Not like rotten cheese, no one should do that. I'm talking about bad cheese. Like American cheese. I hate that the worst most processed cheese is called "American" cheese too. Like it it the epitome of America and our values? What? No! No, I say to you American cheese, I won't eat you. In fact, in my mind you are Un-American cheese.
5. To eat at Chili's
Unless I am in a desperate situation, like I have no other way of eating food, Chili's is never, ever an option. Just, no. I've had enough battered chicken with soft corn on the cob that is exactly like all the other battered chicken and soft corn on the cob I've ever had there for a lifetime.
6. To pair socks
Yes, there will always be one missing. No, I will never find it. So I just buy a bunch of the exact same socks, throw them all in a drawer and grab two when I need them. Done.
7. To ignore babies
I don't get it when people don't smile and play with cute babies in front of them at the grocery store. There is a cute baby in front of you in a shopping cart looking at you with his/her cute little eyes. LOOK back and him/her and smile! There are only so many babies in the world, and one of them is looking at you! Play with the kid for two seconds.
8. To make the bed
Unless I know for sure someone is coming to my house, I do not make the bed. Pretty much ever. Why? I'm just going to throw those pillows on the floor again in about 15 hours and start the whole process over. If someone happens to drop by, they just don't go in our room. Or if they do, they're a dear friend or a paramedic, neither of whom will care that the bed is unmade.
9. To listen to Top 40
At one point in American history, I believe Top 40 was pretty good (Elvis and The Beatles come to mind), but I'm sorry, music is in a terrible state. Everything is synthesized and auto-tuned, and frankly just sucks. Even if it doesn't suck, it gets played 10 times an hour and then you end up hating it in about a week. Plus, now it's not like we need the radio to tell us what music we like. There is a whole world of musical experiences thanks to iTunes, YouTube, Satellite Radio and the interwebs. Therefore, Top 40 no longer has a place in my life- and I officially don't know what the kids are listening to these days.
I wish I could come up with one more so that there would be 10, but apparently, everything else in my life is necessary, so I'll stop there before I get frustrated. Because hey...
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Monsters aren't real...unless your father is out of town.
Brad's out of town. On the one hand this is good because I have not had to suffocate him with my pillow to stop his snoring. So, I'm sleeping better. On the other hand, falling asleep is much harder due to all the monsters and ghosts that have shown up since he left.
I'm still pretty sure that the upstairs guest bedroom is haunted despite having had a few house guests recently who did not feel any hauntingness. However, now it's not just the guest room; it's the whole house. Starting at about 10:00 PM.
Every night I tell myself that there is nothing to be afraid of in my house. To prove this, I force myself to walk into every room, even the haunted ones, and do a little spin around and check all the closets for Evil Beings. So far, none have appeared.
Pippy's husband asked me what I would do if I did find something in one of the rooms (I picture it being a Gollum looking creature, hunched in the middle of the floor licking its sharp little fingers...and then it would hiss at me).
This is exactly what I would do:
I would slam the door and immediately start saying a prayer out loud to scare it and let it know that I have Jesus in my heart. I would then run down the stairs and let the dogs out of their room (nothing haunting happens until the dogs go to bed), and the three of us would run out the front door and over to a neighbor's house.
Screw the cats, they're too hard to wrangle and Evil Beings would probably leave them alone any way. Especially Itsy because she's so mean.
Anyway, once at the neighbor's we'd call a priest or preacher or rabbi or whomever we could find at that hour- and also the police- and then they'd come to my house and get rid of the Being. I would then stay at a very nice hotel (because I deserve it after what I've been through) with the dogs (and cats if there was time) until Brad got home. Then we'd sell our house and move far, far away.
I know. That's crazy! I can't run- I'm way too pregnant! I'd have to waddle quickly.
Sigh.
I tell myself that when the baby comes I've got to stop this and be a real grown up. I can't be scared of things- I'm the MOM! The Mom isn't scared of anything, she's the one who tells the kid that there is no such thing as monsters (or Evil Beings, ghosts, vampires, weird gray mists that waft under doors, shadows of trees that turn into werewolves who lurk outside your bedroom window, etc.). None of those are real. Don't be afraid of them.
What I should be afraid of are murders, rapists and robbers. Those guys are real. They are people I should actually be protecting my child against. But I could just shoot them. The undead are unshootable.
Ugh! I've got to get it together, I know! There's not a lot of time left to be a crazy person who believes in these things. Maybe when the baby's born I'll just automatically stop this and be like a mother lion protecting her cub. Demons beware! Vampires, go away! Banshees be banished (and no, that was not just for alliteration, I am actually really afraid of banshees)! The lioness is on the prowl!
Or maybe Brad can just take fewer trips and I can drink wine to calm my nerves again.
I'm still pretty sure that the upstairs guest bedroom is haunted despite having had a few house guests recently who did not feel any hauntingness. However, now it's not just the guest room; it's the whole house. Starting at about 10:00 PM.
Every night I tell myself that there is nothing to be afraid of in my house. To prove this, I force myself to walk into every room, even the haunted ones, and do a little spin around and check all the closets for Evil Beings. So far, none have appeared.
Pippy's husband asked me what I would do if I did find something in one of the rooms (I picture it being a Gollum looking creature, hunched in the middle of the floor licking its sharp little fingers...and then it would hiss at me).
This is exactly what I would do:
I would slam the door and immediately start saying a prayer out loud to scare it and let it know that I have Jesus in my heart. I would then run down the stairs and let the dogs out of their room (nothing haunting happens until the dogs go to bed), and the three of us would run out the front door and over to a neighbor's house.
Screw the cats, they're too hard to wrangle and Evil Beings would probably leave them alone any way. Especially Itsy because she's so mean.
Anyway, once at the neighbor's we'd call a priest or preacher or rabbi or whomever we could find at that hour- and also the police- and then they'd come to my house and get rid of the Being. I would then stay at a very nice hotel (because I deserve it after what I've been through) with the dogs (and cats if there was time) until Brad got home. Then we'd sell our house and move far, far away.
I know. That's crazy! I can't run- I'm way too pregnant! I'd have to waddle quickly.
Sigh.
I tell myself that when the baby comes I've got to stop this and be a real grown up. I can't be scared of things- I'm the MOM! The Mom isn't scared of anything, she's the one who tells the kid that there is no such thing as monsters (or Evil Beings, ghosts, vampires, weird gray mists that waft under doors, shadows of trees that turn into werewolves who lurk outside your bedroom window, etc.). None of those are real. Don't be afraid of them.
What I should be afraid of are murders, rapists and robbers. Those guys are real. They are people I should actually be protecting my child against. But I could just shoot them. The undead are unshootable.
Ugh! I've got to get it together, I know! There's not a lot of time left to be a crazy person who believes in these things. Maybe when the baby's born I'll just automatically stop this and be like a mother lion protecting her cub. Demons beware! Vampires, go away! Banshees be banished (and no, that was not just for alliteration, I am actually really afraid of banshees)! The lioness is on the prowl!
Or maybe Brad can just take fewer trips and I can drink wine to calm my nerves again.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
The Music in My Heart...is kind of bad
Everyone gets songs stuck in their head. Well, I'm assuming that. Maybe really smart, disciplined people don't get songs stuck in there head; maybe they will them out. Or maybe they get a Bach concerto stuck in their head. I get terrible songs by Pink and Bruno Mars stuck in my head.
It's not just that though, I recently realized that I pretty much have a running soundtrack in my head throughout the day depending on what I'm doing.
For example, if I mail a letter, I then have "Forever Young" by Rod Stewart stuck in my head, except I've changed the words to "Forever Stamp" because it works perfectly: "Forever Stamp, Forever Stamp, Foooor-eeeee-ver Staaaaamp."
I bought Brad a book about being a dad called "Be Prepared," (which he has not read and which has not helped him prepare in any way), and every time I see it, I sing "Be Prepared" from Disney's "The Lion King." You know the one- Scar sings it:
All that was from memory. I did not Google any of that.
Pippy said that she does this sometimes too. In the morning she sings a song about the days of the week that changes depending on the day it is: "Today is Tuesday, today is Tuesday. Tuesday wash day, Monday sooooup are you hungry brother? We wish the same to you!" It is a terrible, nonsensical song from camp, and I can never remember what happens on what day. I do not sing this song in the morning.
When I wake up, I sing the theme song to the 90's cartoon "Winnie the Pooh" that goes "Gotta get up, gotta get go'n, gonna meet a friend of mine! He's round and he's fuzzy, I love him because he is POOH BEAR, WINNIE THE POOH BEAR!"
I sing the whole thing, even the scary part about "when we're alone and there's nobody home, it's nice to be able to count on a friend, like POOH BEAR!" Yes, that is in my head six days a week.
Only on Monday does it change to my Monday song, "Manic Monday", by The Bangles. Which, let's just talk about this song for one second.
So, she's obviously in this relationship with a deadbeat boyfriend who does not care for her wellbeing. Why isn't he working? Why does he only want to get down on Sunday night? He could at least be supportive of her career if he's not going to work, especially when she has to work to feed the both of them and employment's down. He should know that she just wants to watch TV, go to bed early and be depressed like everyone else on Sunday evenings.
I digress.
There are also songs for various situations involving the animals:
-"Stay, American Puppy" by Dave Matthews Band
-"If you are a kitty and your name is Saber, come on and give a meow" based loosely on the Rod Stewart song, "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"
-"Leave it, leave it- drop that ball Molly leave it!" of course by the incomparable Michael Jackson.
I know. It's weird. Does anyone else experience this? Maybe I don't have enough to think about so I have to fill the void with meaningless song. Or maybe I have too much to think about and this is an avoidance tactic.
Either way, it's probably not a big deal. Maybe I should just "try not to get worried, try not to turn on to problems that upset you...oooo!" (JCSS, 1973. Obviously.)
It's not just that though, I recently realized that I pretty much have a running soundtrack in my head throughout the day depending on what I'm doing.
For example, if I mail a letter, I then have "Forever Young" by Rod Stewart stuck in my head, except I've changed the words to "Forever Stamp" because it works perfectly: "Forever Stamp, Forever Stamp, Foooor-eeeee-ver Staaaaamp."
I bought Brad a book about being a dad called "Be Prepared," (which he has not read and which has not helped him prepare in any way), and every time I see it, I sing "Be Prepared" from Disney's "The Lion King." You know the one- Scar sings it:
"Be prepared for sensational news! A shining new era is tiptoeing nearer." (Hyena, played by Whoopi Goldberg) "But where do we feature?" (Scar) "Just listen to teacher! I know it sounds sorted but you'll be rewarded when at last I'm given my dues!"
All that was from memory. I did not Google any of that.
Pippy said that she does this sometimes too. In the morning she sings a song about the days of the week that changes depending on the day it is: "Today is Tuesday, today is Tuesday. Tuesday wash day, Monday sooooup are you hungry brother? We wish the same to you!" It is a terrible, nonsensical song from camp, and I can never remember what happens on what day. I do not sing this song in the morning.
When I wake up, I sing the theme song to the 90's cartoon "Winnie the Pooh" that goes "Gotta get up, gotta get go'n, gonna meet a friend of mine! He's round and he's fuzzy, I love him because he is POOH BEAR, WINNIE THE POOH BEAR!"
I sing the whole thing, even the scary part about "when we're alone and there's nobody home, it's nice to be able to count on a friend, like POOH BEAR!" Yes, that is in my head six days a week.
Only on Monday does it change to my Monday song, "Manic Monday", by The Bangles. Which, let's just talk about this song for one second.
So, she's obviously in this relationship with a deadbeat boyfriend who does not care for her wellbeing. Why isn't he working? Why does he only want to get down on Sunday night? He could at least be supportive of her career if he's not going to work, especially when she has to work to feed the both of them and employment's down. He should know that she just wants to watch TV, go to bed early and be depressed like everyone else on Sunday evenings.
I digress.
There are also songs for various situations involving the animals:
-"Stay, American Puppy" by Dave Matthews Band
-"If you are a kitty and your name is Saber, come on and give a meow" based loosely on the Rod Stewart song, "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"
-"Leave it, leave it- drop that ball Molly leave it!" of course by the incomparable Michael Jackson.
I know. It's weird. Does anyone else experience this? Maybe I don't have enough to think about so I have to fill the void with meaningless song. Or maybe I have too much to think about and this is an avoidance tactic.
Either way, it's probably not a big deal. Maybe I should just "try not to get worried, try not to turn on to problems that upset you...oooo!" (JCSS, 1973. Obviously.)
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Shameless Self-promotion
Yesterday, I decided it was time to take the next steps in making this the most popular blog on all of the interwebs; I created a Facebook page. If you're just joining us (perhaps from Facebook), welcome! So happy you're here! Or maybe you're a fan but haven't visited in a while. Welcome back! I'm equally happy that you're here! Scroll down, there's been a lot going on. Like we bought a robot, and also I don't have the plague!
In other news, the quest for fame and fortune via this blog exclusively (as opposed to real work and actual talent) hasn't been going super fantastically. My hope was the BJ Novak would make this blog the hottest thing around without me having to do anything at all (see post "Dear BJ Novak, Thank you for reading my blog").
By now I should have several million followers if BJ would have held up his end of the bargain, but he has very disappointingly fallen short of his obligation to me. So, it's clear that this is going to have to be a grassroots campaign.
I firmly believe that through your support and the help of the Facebook my career will skyrocket, and by proxy so will yours. Obviously. So, if you haven't visited the FB page, please do. I promise to post "exclusive content," let you know about new posts and provide exciting and entertaining things there. Like unicorn pictures.
Also if you'd like to follow the blog- which you absolutely should- there's a little box at the top left of the screen that says "Follow by Email." Just type your email in there and you'll get a notice whenever I post anything. Hooray!
In the meantime, thank you so much for coming by and reading my blatherings; it means a lot, really it does. I know you could be on YouTube, taking Facebook quizzes or redecorating your life on Pinterest, but you're here. Which is why I do this, for you, the fans. And the possibility of a someday book deal, and the hope of being on "Fresh Air" with Terry Gross to promote said book deal, which is my ultimate goal in life.
Kisses!!
In other news, the quest for fame and fortune via this blog exclusively (as opposed to real work and actual talent) hasn't been going super fantastically. My hope was the BJ Novak would make this blog the hottest thing around without me having to do anything at all (see post "Dear BJ Novak, Thank you for reading my blog").
By now I should have several million followers if BJ would have held up his end of the bargain, but he has very disappointingly fallen short of his obligation to me. So, it's clear that this is going to have to be a grassroots campaign.
I firmly believe that through your support and the help of the Facebook my career will skyrocket, and by proxy so will yours. Obviously. So, if you haven't visited the FB page, please do. I promise to post "exclusive content," let you know about new posts and provide exciting and entertaining things there. Like unicorn pictures.
Also if you'd like to follow the blog- which you absolutely should- there's a little box at the top left of the screen that says "Follow by Email." Just type your email in there and you'll get a notice whenever I post anything. Hooray!
In the meantime, thank you so much for coming by and reading my blatherings; it means a lot, really it does. I know you could be on YouTube, taking Facebook quizzes or redecorating your life on Pinterest, but you're here. Which is why I do this, for you, the fans. And the possibility of a someday book deal, and the hope of being on "Fresh Air" with Terry Gross to promote said book deal, which is my ultimate goal in life.
Kisses!!
Thursday, June 19, 2014
My roommate
We're having sleep issues. I think this is mostly due to the fact that my bladder can't make it more than four hours at a stretch, so I am now constantly waking up in the middle of the night to waddle my way to the bathroom.
Unfortunately for Brad, this is now his issue as well since when I come back, I'm PISSED that he's asleep and I'm not, and he's SNORING.
In all fairness, let me first say that Brad doesn't really snore. It's more like heavy breathing with the occasional mini-snore. I am very thankful that I did not marry a "real snorer" because, honestly, I don't think our marriage would have lasted very long.
On the flip side, I have always had issues with sleep (falling asleep, staying asleep, spelling asleep which I used to spell a sleep). So I take sleeping very seriously, and when I am awoken, it is as though an act of terrible injustice has been committed and I must avenge myself. Long story short, I am a bad person and Brad is annoying.
This "issue" has always been solved a by a very elaborate nightly routine involving a fan, my cell phone set to white noise with the volume all the way up, two ear plugs and a sleep mask (for the light, obviously, not the sound. Light is just as annoying as sound). I would then race Brad to see who could fall asleep the fastest, going so far as to ask him to actively keep himself awake a little longer so I could have a head start.
Most of the time this worked, unless I woke up. Then it was just a matter of kindly and gently nudging Brad on the shoulder and asking him to please stop snoring and turn over.
Usually that worked and then I just went back to sleep. However, now that this is happening several times a night, I'm not as easily falling back to sleep and Brad is saying things like "You are the meanest person I know." and "You make my life miserable." Clearly there had to be another solution, and its name was guest bedroom.
I had pulled this trick before, in the most desperate of times. Only now, we've moved the guest bedroom. What was the guest bedroom is now the baby room, and what was the "workout room" (read room with an elliptical in it but mostly just all our other random junk) is now the guest bedroom.
It's a lovely room, it really is. We had it repainted, moved all the guest furniture in there, hung pictures. It's lovely. But it's scary.
If you're ever going to sleep at my house, just stop reading now because I don't want to taint the guest bedroom for you....and since there are about eight of you who read this thing and I know all of you, that should be pretty much everyone who reads this blog.
To the one person left whom I don't know, I feel like that room is maybe haunted. I don't know why. Our house was built in 2000, is not over an Indian burial site (that I know of), and has never ever felt haunted in any other way, but that guest room just creeps me out.
The first night I went up there, for some reason I couldn't stop thinking about that terrible movie "Paranormal Activity." It's the one where it's all "video" footage in a normal looking house with a cute couple, and then at night there's this demon being that comes into the bedroom and posses the lady. That house looked normal, just like ours, and there was clearly a haunting for no good reason.
Maybe the haunting is explained later or in a sequel, but I don't remember so I assume it was because they had a bad home builder or didn't pay their HOA fees.
Anyway, then, the next time I went up there, I swear I heard someone knock on the bedroom door. I thought it must be one of the cats so I went to open it...and no one was there.
That night I made a choice between haunting and snoring, and snoring won.
I'm sure there is nothing haunting that room. It didn't feel haunted when it was the workout room (although to be fair, I rarely workout so I wasn't in there that much). To convince myself, I have now gone into that room in the day and said things like "There is nothing in here." "This is not a haunted room." "This is a great room!" "Go away haunting!" But then I run away.
I think it's fine, really, but I have now explained to Brad that I am scared of that room and he has to go up there to sleep. Since he won't get up in the middle of the night to go, we now part ways at bedtime saying "Good night, roommate!" "Good night, roommate!", and I go to sleep in our normal, non-haunted bedroom and Brad takes his chances upstairs.
So far, he has not been possessed, and we are both sleeping much better. I do worry that this is not good for our marriage, but I don't care right now. Between snoring, haunting and sleeping, sleeping wins every single time.
Unfortunately for Brad, this is now his issue as well since when I come back, I'm PISSED that he's asleep and I'm not, and he's SNORING.
In all fairness, let me first say that Brad doesn't really snore. It's more like heavy breathing with the occasional mini-snore. I am very thankful that I did not marry a "real snorer" because, honestly, I don't think our marriage would have lasted very long.
On the flip side, I have always had issues with sleep (falling asleep, staying asleep, spelling asleep which I used to spell a sleep). So I take sleeping very seriously, and when I am awoken, it is as though an act of terrible injustice has been committed and I must avenge myself. Long story short, I am a bad person and Brad is annoying.
This "issue" has always been solved a by a very elaborate nightly routine involving a fan, my cell phone set to white noise with the volume all the way up, two ear plugs and a sleep mask (for the light, obviously, not the sound. Light is just as annoying as sound). I would then race Brad to see who could fall asleep the fastest, going so far as to ask him to actively keep himself awake a little longer so I could have a head start.
Most of the time this worked, unless I woke up. Then it was just a matter of kindly and gently nudging Brad on the shoulder and asking him to please stop snoring and turn over.
Usually that worked and then I just went back to sleep. However, now that this is happening several times a night, I'm not as easily falling back to sleep and Brad is saying things like "You are the meanest person I know." and "You make my life miserable." Clearly there had to be another solution, and its name was guest bedroom.
I had pulled this trick before, in the most desperate of times. Only now, we've moved the guest bedroom. What was the guest bedroom is now the baby room, and what was the "workout room" (read room with an elliptical in it but mostly just all our other random junk) is now the guest bedroom.
It's a lovely room, it really is. We had it repainted, moved all the guest furniture in there, hung pictures. It's lovely. But it's scary.
If you're ever going to sleep at my house, just stop reading now because I don't want to taint the guest bedroom for you....and since there are about eight of you who read this thing and I know all of you, that should be pretty much everyone who reads this blog.
To the one person left whom I don't know, I feel like that room is maybe haunted. I don't know why. Our house was built in 2000, is not over an Indian burial site (that I know of), and has never ever felt haunted in any other way, but that guest room just creeps me out.
The first night I went up there, for some reason I couldn't stop thinking about that terrible movie "Paranormal Activity." It's the one where it's all "video" footage in a normal looking house with a cute couple, and then at night there's this demon being that comes into the bedroom and posses the lady. That house looked normal, just like ours, and there was clearly a haunting for no good reason.
Maybe the haunting is explained later or in a sequel, but I don't remember so I assume it was because they had a bad home builder or didn't pay their HOA fees.
Anyway, then, the next time I went up there, I swear I heard someone knock on the bedroom door. I thought it must be one of the cats so I went to open it...and no one was there.
That night I made a choice between haunting and snoring, and snoring won.
I'm sure there is nothing haunting that room. It didn't feel haunted when it was the workout room (although to be fair, I rarely workout so I wasn't in there that much). To convince myself, I have now gone into that room in the day and said things like "There is nothing in here." "This is not a haunted room." "This is a great room!" "Go away haunting!" But then I run away.
I think it's fine, really, but I have now explained to Brad that I am scared of that room and he has to go up there to sleep. Since he won't get up in the middle of the night to go, we now part ways at bedtime saying "Good night, roommate!" "Good night, roommate!", and I go to sleep in our normal, non-haunted bedroom and Brad takes his chances upstairs.
So far, he has not been possessed, and we are both sleeping much better. I do worry that this is not good for our marriage, but I don't care right now. Between snoring, haunting and sleeping, sleeping wins every single time.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
So, would that make me a cannibal?
*Warning- this is a kind of gross post. While I will not describe anything that has actually happened to me or anything related to birth in great detail, I'm just telling you now, there is a gross factor. Maybe. Or maybe you won't think it's gross. I don't know. Either way, you've been warned.
I live in what has been described as a hippie town. I think this is relative, but there are aspects of earthiness, some of which I embrace- like recycling, equality, and yoga. So, when it comes to birth, there are lots of options and things that are available to us here that wouldn't be in our hometowns, and that I felt Brad and I needed to be educated on in order to make informed decisions. Doulas being one of them.
I was vaguely familiar with what a doula does, but learned more from a friend in yoga. Basically they are a non-medical birth coach. Not to be confused (which I did) with a midwife who does do medical things and who I equate with a modern witch doctor, in a good way. As one doula put it, they're like the choreographer who doesn't do any dancing.
It was all very mystical sounding, and I thought maybe we should check it out. Brad was not really on board. "This sounds hippie and earthy," I believe were his exact words.
But, because I'm the boss of him and he loves me, I drug him to a Doula Meet and Greet with the promise that there would be food. It was called "Eat, Drink, Doula" so I thought maybe there would also be beer. I told him there would be beer.
When we got there the food turned out to be a few oatmeal cookies and the drink was water. Brad was overjoyed. "When can we leave?" he wanted to know after being there for two minutes.
The doula leader, Marianne, was very nice and didn't seem too weird. She asked us all to sit in a circle and please help ourselves to the refreshments. Brad refused to even eat one cookie, I'm pretty sure to show me how much he didn't want to be there.
"Thank you all for coming," said Marianne. "First, some of you may be unfamiliar with doulas, and maybe you have an idea that this is hippie, granola stuff," she said.
"Yes!" I thought, she gets it. Brad will come around.
"Doulas are nothing more than a coach. We're here to help you and your partner."
She gave a very good, funny talk, and I thought things were going well. Brad seemed more at ease. Then, she dropped the bomb.
"Now, before we break out into groups, I'd like to go through one other service we offer."
"Oh no," I thought. "Please don't let it be anything weird. Please don't let it be anything weird."
"Placenta Encapsulation."
My head imploded.
"It's okay to smile," said Marianne, "it's a taboo topic in our culture, and many people are unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the idea." I couldn't help it, I laughed a little.
Shit, this was not going well. I had just broken my solidarity with Marianne and now Brad was sitting straight up in his chair and smiling. He had just gone from actively disengaged to very much engaged and ready to mess with Marianne.
Marianne explained that eating the placenta is very beneficial. It's been shown to stabilize hormones, prevent post-pardom depression, increase milk production and also gives you wings.
"Also, humans are the only mammals that do not eat their placenta," said Marianne. As if that was the resounding final fact that would convince us.
"Excuse me," said Brad. "Did you say humans are the only mammals that don't do this?"
"Yes," said Marianne, "even giraffes eat the placenta. I was told they don't, but then I did some research and found out that they do!"
"Mmmhmm," said Brad. "And what other societies are doing this?" he asked. Not that he really cared, mind you.
"Well, it's done all over the world," said Marianne.
"Like where?"
"Well, it's very big in Scandinavia. And I believe Switzerland." Efff, Marianne! Those are the same. Brad was smiling...a lot.
"Interesting. So, what's the process like?" asked Brad. "Can we grill it?" Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh!
"Oh, haha, no," said Marianne. "We have two options."
Marianne explained that we could choose to have it dehydrated, crushed into powder form and put in a pill. Then you just take the pill every day. "Some women even save them for menopause!"
Or, the other, better option is that they will cut it up into little circles and put them in individual freezer baggies and then you just plop them in your smoothie in the mornings!
"So, raw?" I asked. "I would eat it raw?"
"Oh yes, that's when you get the most nutritional value. I promise you don't taste it! I made one and had my mom try it, and she was very skeptical, and even she said she couldn't taste a thing!"
There is a potential problem though. Some hospitals might not release your placenta to you. If that's the case, you'll need either a court order or a letter from a mortician (I don't know why, maybe it's considered dead?) to get it released. Not to worry though, they have recommendations for a mortician in town who will do it for half the price of the court order! Fantastic!
"God bless Capitalism," said Brad.
Okay, let's pause. Now look. If you want to eat your own placenta, whatever, that's your journey. I was even thinking, at first, "Okay, well if it's really this beneficial, maybe I could do the pill thing." But then, I decided to look some of this up, and here's what I found out about "Placentophagy" (which is the offical name for eating your own placenta).
First, I didn't find anything that said all mammals do it. In fact, camels, seals, whales and dolphins do not partake*. Marsupials don't either since everything just gets sucked back into their pouches, but they're only kind of mammals so I guess we'll let them off the hook. Sorry kangaroos.
Also, I couldn't find any recent, double blind, human studies (and I looked, not that hard but I looked) on the effects of human placentophagy. Therefore, evidence is anecdotal, based on studies done on non-primate mammals, like rats, or very old (like 1918) and spotty on methodology. This was one the best sites I found PlacentaWise , but nothing in JAMA, nothing from Johns Hopkins, etc.
Additionally, it is thought that the two primary reasons for mammals to do this are:
1. To erase traces of birth so that predators don't come into the area. Makes sense that a large bloody thing on the ground could attract predators.
2. May have some nutritional value and hormonal benefits. Some of the hormones are thought to help shrink the uterus and help with all that gross after birth stuff that happens. This, incidentally, is one of the reasons proponents say humans should be eating their placentas.
Here's the deal though, there will, hopefully, be no predators in the hospital room, and they give you DRUGS that do all the same stuff (shrinking, etc.).
If you're thinking, "Well maybe people don't want the drugs, so that's why you should do it." That means you'd have have eat the placenta in the hospital room right after you gave birth to get these same benefits that haven't been proven in humans. "Nurse! Hand me a fork!"
Again, if you're for this, yeehaw Sisterfriend. I got nothing but love for you, and I hope it goes well and that you get all the hormonal value out of doing it. Maybe I'm on the wrong side of history here.
I'm just saying that until I see a real medical journal publish something in this century saying that this is a real thing, I'm not paying a mortician to collect and then someone else to cut up something that was inside my body for me to drink in smoothie form. I don't care that January Jones did it either.
Long story short, we left without signing up for either a doula or the Placenta Encapsulation service and got burritos. I'm still really thinking about the whole doula thing though, which I think could be very helpful. Brad has gone back to not eating granola, so we'll see if he can come around.
Sigh. If only they'd served beer.
*Wikipedia-Placentophagy
I live in what has been described as a hippie town. I think this is relative, but there are aspects of earthiness, some of which I embrace- like recycling, equality, and yoga. So, when it comes to birth, there are lots of options and things that are available to us here that wouldn't be in our hometowns, and that I felt Brad and I needed to be educated on in order to make informed decisions. Doulas being one of them.
I was vaguely familiar with what a doula does, but learned more from a friend in yoga. Basically they are a non-medical birth coach. Not to be confused (which I did) with a midwife who does do medical things and who I equate with a modern witch doctor, in a good way. As one doula put it, they're like the choreographer who doesn't do any dancing.
It was all very mystical sounding, and I thought maybe we should check it out. Brad was not really on board. "This sounds hippie and earthy," I believe were his exact words.
But, because I'm the boss of him and he loves me, I drug him to a Doula Meet and Greet with the promise that there would be food. It was called "Eat, Drink, Doula" so I thought maybe there would also be beer. I told him there would be beer.
When we got there the food turned out to be a few oatmeal cookies and the drink was water. Brad was overjoyed. "When can we leave?" he wanted to know after being there for two minutes.
The doula leader, Marianne, was very nice and didn't seem too weird. She asked us all to sit in a circle and please help ourselves to the refreshments. Brad refused to even eat one cookie, I'm pretty sure to show me how much he didn't want to be there.
"Thank you all for coming," said Marianne. "First, some of you may be unfamiliar with doulas, and maybe you have an idea that this is hippie, granola stuff," she said.
"Yes!" I thought, she gets it. Brad will come around.
"Doulas are nothing more than a coach. We're here to help you and your partner."
She gave a very good, funny talk, and I thought things were going well. Brad seemed more at ease. Then, she dropped the bomb.
"Now, before we break out into groups, I'd like to go through one other service we offer."
"Oh no," I thought. "Please don't let it be anything weird. Please don't let it be anything weird."
"Placenta Encapsulation."
My head imploded.
"It's okay to smile," said Marianne, "it's a taboo topic in our culture, and many people are unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the idea." I couldn't help it, I laughed a little.
Shit, this was not going well. I had just broken my solidarity with Marianne and now Brad was sitting straight up in his chair and smiling. He had just gone from actively disengaged to very much engaged and ready to mess with Marianne.
Marianne explained that eating the placenta is very beneficial. It's been shown to stabilize hormones, prevent post-pardom depression, increase milk production and also gives you wings.
"Also, humans are the only mammals that do not eat their placenta," said Marianne. As if that was the resounding final fact that would convince us.
"Excuse me," said Brad. "Did you say humans are the only mammals that don't do this?"
"Yes," said Marianne, "even giraffes eat the placenta. I was told they don't, but then I did some research and found out that they do!"
"Mmmhmm," said Brad. "And what other societies are doing this?" he asked. Not that he really cared, mind you.
"Well, it's done all over the world," said Marianne.
"Like where?"
"Well, it's very big in Scandinavia. And I believe Switzerland." Efff, Marianne! Those are the same. Brad was smiling...a lot.
"Interesting. So, what's the process like?" asked Brad. "Can we grill it?" Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh!
"Oh, haha, no," said Marianne. "We have two options."
Marianne explained that we could choose to have it dehydrated, crushed into powder form and put in a pill. Then you just take the pill every day. "Some women even save them for menopause!"
Or, the other, better option is that they will cut it up into little circles and put them in individual freezer baggies and then you just plop them in your smoothie in the mornings!
"So, raw?" I asked. "I would eat it raw?"
"Oh yes, that's when you get the most nutritional value. I promise you don't taste it! I made one and had my mom try it, and she was very skeptical, and even she said she couldn't taste a thing!"
There is a potential problem though. Some hospitals might not release your placenta to you. If that's the case, you'll need either a court order or a letter from a mortician (I don't know why, maybe it's considered dead?) to get it released. Not to worry though, they have recommendations for a mortician in town who will do it for half the price of the court order! Fantastic!
"God bless Capitalism," said Brad.
Okay, let's pause. Now look. If you want to eat your own placenta, whatever, that's your journey. I was even thinking, at first, "Okay, well if it's really this beneficial, maybe I could do the pill thing." But then, I decided to look some of this up, and here's what I found out about "Placentophagy" (which is the offical name for eating your own placenta).
First, I didn't find anything that said all mammals do it. In fact, camels, seals, whales and dolphins do not partake*. Marsupials don't either since everything just gets sucked back into their pouches, but they're only kind of mammals so I guess we'll let them off the hook. Sorry kangaroos.
Also, I couldn't find any recent, double blind, human studies (and I looked, not that hard but I looked) on the effects of human placentophagy. Therefore, evidence is anecdotal, based on studies done on non-primate mammals, like rats, or very old (like 1918) and spotty on methodology. This was one the best sites I found PlacentaWise , but nothing in JAMA, nothing from Johns Hopkins, etc.
Additionally, it is thought that the two primary reasons for mammals to do this are:
1. To erase traces of birth so that predators don't come into the area. Makes sense that a large bloody thing on the ground could attract predators.
2. May have some nutritional value and hormonal benefits. Some of the hormones are thought to help shrink the uterus and help with all that gross after birth stuff that happens. This, incidentally, is one of the reasons proponents say humans should be eating their placentas.
Here's the deal though, there will, hopefully, be no predators in the hospital room, and they give you DRUGS that do all the same stuff (shrinking, etc.).
If you're thinking, "Well maybe people don't want the drugs, so that's why you should do it." That means you'd have have eat the placenta in the hospital room right after you gave birth to get these same benefits that haven't been proven in humans. "Nurse! Hand me a fork!"
Again, if you're for this, yeehaw Sisterfriend. I got nothing but love for you, and I hope it goes well and that you get all the hormonal value out of doing it. Maybe I'm on the wrong side of history here.
I'm just saying that until I see a real medical journal publish something in this century saying that this is a real thing, I'm not paying a mortician to collect and then someone else to cut up something that was inside my body for me to drink in smoothie form. I don't care that January Jones did it either.
Long story short, we left without signing up for either a doula or the Placenta Encapsulation service and got burritos. I'm still really thinking about the whole doula thing though, which I think could be very helpful. Brad has gone back to not eating granola, so we'll see if he can come around.
Sigh. If only they'd served beer.
*Wikipedia-Placentophagy
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