Argh, long time no post. Mostly due to, you know, the overwhelming tiredness that's been the topic of many posts now. So, I'm not going to talk about being tired today just to shake things up a little.
I will mention the hunger, because the longer this goes on, the weirder it seems. Both the pregnancy books I've read and the tales of other preggers ladies seem to focus on morning sickness, on finding foods you can stomach. They really don't address this ravenous, constant hunger that I've been experiencing all day long. I thought that this was a later-on-in-pregnancy thing, not a 2nd-month thing. At my doctor's appointment on Tuesday, I may ask them to take a look around to make sure that I don't have any extra passengers in there or something. Other things I will ask about:
Drugs I can take for my sinuses, which are crazy-awful right now. Tylenol doesn't do much for a sinus headache. I hope they can prescribe me something safe, or at least recommend an OTC.
Kidneys. Why do my kidneys hurt? It's very strange, almost like a kidney infection but without all the other symptoms. It's a mild sort of pain, more uncomfortable than intense. This is not addressed by the books either-- I'm assuming it's just one more thing made weird but it does worry me a tad that nobody else seems to be having kidney pain.
Don and I have fallen into the habit of calling the baby--which has graduated this week from an "embryo" to a "fetus"! -- "Grain of Rice". This comes from my referring to the baby's size as such, whenever Don says something like, "I don't think you are setting a good example for the baby right now" or when he tries to talk directly to my stomach, or other age-inappropriate stuff. But now it is bigger than a grain of rice and I decided that we needed to upgrade to a new nickname. Don's contributions: "Puffed rice? Rice cereal? Rice Crispy Treat!" Me: "No!" He also claims that I'm not so much 'eating for two' as eating for a platoon. Seriously, he's having way too much fun with this pregnancy thang, including the fact that I'm too tired to whack him when he says things. Whoops, mentioned the tired. Drat. Sorry.
But on the bright side, the "morning sickness" isn't too bad at all. As long as I keep food in my stomach, I feel OK. And since I'm hungry all the time, it's no hardship to eat. I feel a little queasy, a little dizzy, I get car-sick even when I'm the one driving. But no throwing up or major nausea, nothing compared to what other women seem to go through. I wonder if we'll be able to hear the heartbeat on Tuesday. Nine weeks is kind of early for that--unpredictable. It'd be nice, though. Confidence-building. I've never felt so vulnerable as I do right now; I've never felt as though I had quite so much to lose. Instead of feeling more womanly and adult, I feel girlish, shy, small and self-protective, as though keeping the world at bay will somehow help me hold onto this grain-o-rice. Logically I know that's not possible, but I walk down the street with my arms folded. I'm gaining weight but am taking up less space than usual...It's quite strange.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
Whole-house Preg?
All this time, I thought that I wanted to be pregnant, and it turns out that what I really wanted was ... the baby. I guess I had this idea that I would be SO HAPPY about being pregnant that I just wouldn't feel the effects, or something naive like that. I'm so tired and out-of-it now that sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm pregnant and that I'm thrilled about it, otherwise it just feels a bit like the flu. Every night, I come home from work and just crash onto the sofa or bed. The apartment is a mess, I've made a real dinner once in the last 3 weeks. Don is working extra-crazy hours so he's also exhausted, plus I think he's experiencing pregnancy sympathy. He keeps manifesting all these weird symptoms that mirror mine pretty closely-- he's tired, queasy, demanding unusual foods. The dog is also acting wierd, even for her. Extra-needy and very protective. I once woke up on the sofa to find her standing over me, growling out the window at some innocent passers-by. It's like a whole-household pregnancy, except that the cat seems normal.
I think the perfect schedule would be 18 hours of sleep and 6 of eating. Work? Nah.
I think the perfect schedule would be 18 hours of sleep and 6 of eating. Work? Nah.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
A Haiku for My Sister
At work, Bob Marley:
A nice break from the Eagles
Makes me think of you.
She doesn't read this blog, but it's kinda hard to text-message a poem, it loses something...
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
Protein, Lovely Protein
I am now obsessed, obsessed, with protein and fiber. Those of you who suggested that protein was key, thank you. Protein and fiber keep me filled up, which keeps me from feeling sick. I've never been the type to diet and count calories or fat grams, so this new preoccupation with labels is unfamiliar. I can tell you, for example, that 8 ounces of milk has more protein than an egg and that my new breakfast cereal has more than both, as well as loads of fiber. I always thought that eggs were the protein over-achiever, when all this time my morning latte had more protein than an omelet. Go figure.
In other news, beautiful weather, flowering trees everywhere, Don: terrible sinus headaches and allergies. Work extra-stressy due to expected any-day-now audit. Have developed a strange fascination with Rachel Ray and her Thirty-Minute Meals, probably because I've been too wiped out to do anything but lay on the sofa and watch Food Network. I don't know what she's on, but I'd like some of it.
In other news, beautiful weather, flowering trees everywhere, Don: terrible sinus headaches and allergies. Work extra-stressy due to expected any-day-now audit. Have developed a strange fascination with Rachel Ray and her Thirty-Minute Meals, probably because I've been too wiped out to do anything but lay on the sofa and watch Food Network. I don't know what she's on, but I'd like some of it.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Bleh
I've been feeling kind of bleh all week. Guess it goes with the territory and all, but the complete lack of energy is annoying. There's so much I want to be doing and I just can't. Don has been doing all the dinners lately, bless him, as I am glued to the couch and can't move... baked potatoes seem to be prominently featured. The only way to not be queasy is to eat. For me, being constantly, simultaneously nauseous and hungry is a new experience, not one that I'm particularly enjoying. I'm also a bit worried about all the eating, because I really, really don't want to gain too much weight. Partly because I don't want an enormous 10-pound baby complicating the delivery. Partly also because I know myself, and I know that if I gain 60 pounds this year, it ain't coming off without a lot of effort. I'm not very good with effort, so I'd rather try to gain only the recommended 20-35 pounds.
Knowing how much worse it can or may get is not making me feel better... I keep having thoughts like "this may be just the tip of the iceberg...", "I'm not even 8 weeks along yet" (when The Books suggest that the worst part of "morning sickness" really hits) "I'm not even throwing up, what if that's next..."
I'm so exited to be pregnant, and really looking forward to the next year. But I'm kind of wanting to fast-forward through the next 6 weeks or so...
Knowing how much worse it can or may get is not making me feel better... I keep having thoughts like "this may be just the tip of the iceberg...", "I'm not even 8 weeks along yet" (when The Books suggest that the worst part of "morning sickness" really hits) "I'm not even throwing up, what if that's next..."
I'm so exited to be pregnant, and really looking forward to the next year. But I'm kind of wanting to fast-forward through the next 6 weeks or so...
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Dogs
I don't have a good memory for faces and names. If you're a regular customer at the bank, I probably won't remember your name until I've got your account on my screen or your driver's license in my hand. If you're a new coworker, I'm grateful if you wear your name tag for a few days. But, I have a great memory for dogs. If I meet you and your dog on the street and we chat, the next time we run into each other, I will remember that your dog's name is Molly, she's 5 years old, from the shelter and very shy. I have a tally of the 'dog regulars' that Alice and I meet on our morning walks: the lady with the two Bichons, the guy with the brown hound-mix...
I feel a certain kind of solidarity with these other dog-walkers: like me, they are the kind of dog-lovers who take the time and effort to walk their dogs every day. I think that like me, they keep their dogs in the house, let them sleep on the sofa... talk to them, scratch behind their ears. To me, this is the only way to be a dog owner.
Every day on our walk, we pass a dog that is tied to his doghouse. He's always out there, whether it's freezing cold, raining, whatever. I've never seen a person with him, he's always alone. He always barks as we go by, and his bark sounds hoarse and tired, as though he barks all day long... which I know he does: I once got into a conversation with the across-the-street neighbor (another dog-person, of course) who confirmed that the dog was always outside and constantly barking. What good is it? What could possibly be the point of even having a dog that you never see, never interact with? It's not as though he's a guard dog; his barking doesn't elicit the slightest response from within the house, and why would it when he barks all day: at other dogs, squirrels, passing pedestrians? He's a friendly-looking yellow retriever mix, not at all intimidating. His doghouse is by the side of the house, pretty far from both the front door and the back door... not what you could call a security dog or something. It just pisses me off and makes me so sad, because... why? Why is this seemingly nice dog chained to his doghouse all day and night? He should belong to a family that would treat him as dogs should be treated. Dogs are social animals; they wither in isolation. They need to be part of a family, to interact, to play. Why would anybody go to the trouble and expense of procuring a dog just to chain it and abandon it? Why doesn't his owner come outside, leash him up, and take him on a stroll around the neighborhood, so that he can meet-and-sniff other dogs instead of just barking at them from a distance?
If you don't know what it means to have a dog, don't get one. If you don't understand that they shed, mess up your house, make noise, and require training, exercise, socialization, time, and understanding...don't get one. Or, get one and be prepared to make sacrifices you weren't expecting. Don't get a dog just to banish him from the house for being a dog.
I feel a certain kind of solidarity with these other dog-walkers: like me, they are the kind of dog-lovers who take the time and effort to walk their dogs every day. I think that like me, they keep their dogs in the house, let them sleep on the sofa... talk to them, scratch behind their ears. To me, this is the only way to be a dog owner.
Every day on our walk, we pass a dog that is tied to his doghouse. He's always out there, whether it's freezing cold, raining, whatever. I've never seen a person with him, he's always alone. He always barks as we go by, and his bark sounds hoarse and tired, as though he barks all day long... which I know he does: I once got into a conversation with the across-the-street neighbor (another dog-person, of course) who confirmed that the dog was always outside and constantly barking. What good is it? What could possibly be the point of even having a dog that you never see, never interact with? It's not as though he's a guard dog; his barking doesn't elicit the slightest response from within the house, and why would it when he barks all day: at other dogs, squirrels, passing pedestrians? He's a friendly-looking yellow retriever mix, not at all intimidating. His doghouse is by the side of the house, pretty far from both the front door and the back door... not what you could call a security dog or something. It just pisses me off and makes me so sad, because... why? Why is this seemingly nice dog chained to his doghouse all day and night? He should belong to a family that would treat him as dogs should be treated. Dogs are social animals; they wither in isolation. They need to be part of a family, to interact, to play. Why would anybody go to the trouble and expense of procuring a dog just to chain it and abandon it? Why doesn't his owner come outside, leash him up, and take him on a stroll around the neighborhood, so that he can meet-and-sniff other dogs instead of just barking at them from a distance?
If you don't know what it means to have a dog, don't get one. If you don't understand that they shed, mess up your house, make noise, and require training, exercise, socialization, time, and understanding...don't get one. Or, get one and be prepared to make sacrifices you weren't expecting. Don't get a dog just to banish him from the house for being a dog.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Believing It, Now
If Stage One of pregnancy is not quite believing that it's real, then Stage Two is total belief, because it's knocked you flat on your ass. I don't understand "morning sickness". I love mornings. Mornings, I'm full of energy, or at least I have enough to hop out of bed and walk the dog and hop over to work. But yesterday and today I just sort of slowly felt worse and worse throughout the day. Yesterday I got a wicked sinus headache, complete with nausea, the works. Except, I couldn't just take some Advil, some Sudafed, and maybe some coffee to feel better. All those things are on the Bad list.
I'm starting to realize how dependent I am on those drugs, because without them I don't have a lot of coping strategies for these headaches. I took a really long, really hot shower... that worked until I got out again. I had my back and neck massaged, and the base of my skull. Which felt great, but didn't do anything long-term for the headache. I drank water, drank tea, drank more water. Finally, Don went to the store for some Tylenol, apparently the only pain-killer on the OK list... probably because it's such a pansy-assed drug. Actually it helped, but when it says 4-6 hours, that's what it means; headache came back like clockwork. Today: plenty of energy in the morning! No sign of a headache! Leash up the dog, take a long walk. But in the afternoon, I got all lightheaded and queasy and dizzyish. Anytime I'm not lying down, my head spins; it feels just like being on an airplane, for me. Stop the room, I want to get off! I'm scared of work tomorrow, I don't know how I'm going to cope if the afternoon is bad again. I haven't told them yet so there won't be any leniency if I have to fall asleep or something.
I called my parents to complain (because they're good for that!) and my dad panicked about the dizziness. But he was thinking of late-in-pregnancy dizziness, when it's a sign of pre-eclampsia or something, not this queasy-stomach, lightheaded kind.
On the bright side, though: the new washer came Friday and I loooove it. I never thought I could be so fond of something that is laundry-related. I've been doing laundry all day. It's so quiet. When the clothes come out, they're damp: not soaking, dripping wet. It's Energy Star rating is incredible. And it uses so little water! I can actually do dishes, or take a shower, while the washer is running! If there were room in front of it, I'd sit on the floor just to watch the clothes spin in the little window. Front-loaders are awesome. Although when I look at it, I don't think front-loader, I think sideways-assed-washer. (But I think it with love.)
I'm starting to realize how dependent I am on those drugs, because without them I don't have a lot of coping strategies for these headaches. I took a really long, really hot shower... that worked until I got out again. I had my back and neck massaged, and the base of my skull. Which felt great, but didn't do anything long-term for the headache. I drank water, drank tea, drank more water. Finally, Don went to the store for some Tylenol, apparently the only pain-killer on the OK list... probably because it's such a pansy-assed drug. Actually it helped, but when it says 4-6 hours, that's what it means; headache came back like clockwork. Today: plenty of energy in the morning! No sign of a headache! Leash up the dog, take a long walk. But in the afternoon, I got all lightheaded and queasy and dizzyish. Anytime I'm not lying down, my head spins; it feels just like being on an airplane, for me. Stop the room, I want to get off! I'm scared of work tomorrow, I don't know how I'm going to cope if the afternoon is bad again. I haven't told them yet so there won't be any leniency if I have to fall asleep or something.
I called my parents to complain (because they're good for that!) and my dad panicked about the dizziness. But he was thinking of late-in-pregnancy dizziness, when it's a sign of pre-eclampsia or something, not this queasy-stomach, lightheaded kind.
On the bright side, though: the new washer came Friday and I loooove it. I never thought I could be so fond of something that is laundry-related. I've been doing laundry all day. It's so quiet. When the clothes come out, they're damp: not soaking, dripping wet. It's Energy Star rating is incredible. And it uses so little water! I can actually do dishes, or take a shower, while the washer is running! If there were room in front of it, I'd sit on the floor just to watch the clothes spin in the little window. Front-loaders are awesome. Although when I look at it, I don't think front-loader, I think sideways-assed-washer. (But I think it with love.)
Thursday, March 15, 2007
A Dogwood By Any Other Name...
A few days ago, I listed some signs of spring... since then it's as though Spring has erupted willy-nilly all over town. The weather is alternately warm and sunny or gently raining. Birds singing in the morning. Flowers? Try daffodils all around, tulip stems up, pansies, violets, redbuds. And they have this tree here, this beautiful tree that comes out in beautiful scented pink-and-white flowers as big as my palm. I didn't know what they were... it turns out that they are the famous Dogwood trees native to this region. Well, how was I to know? I've only lived in Texas and Vermont, both of which are sadly, sadly deprived of these 'Dogwoods'. I haven't been taking my camera with me lately, so this photo is from the Web instead. What an awful name for such a beautiful tree-- sounds like something 'dog-ugly'. I think they deserve a prettier name, something more evocative of what they are. I feel as though my senses are exta-refined right now, partly from the pregnancy and partly because I'm trying to see and feel everything about my first spring in this city. I walk around with my eyes wide open, trying to catch everything...
There's a scene in the movie Half Baked in which the main characters discuss all the different kinds of weed-smokers there are: the rebellious teenager, his middle-aged dad who still trying to be cool, the little old lady using it as pain relief... you get the picture. One of their portraits is of the guy who thinks that every experience in life is enhanced by the stuff.
There's a scene in the movie Half Baked in which the main characters discuss all the different kinds of weed-smokers there are: the rebellious teenager, his middle-aged dad who still trying to be cool, the little old lady using it as pain relief... you get the picture. One of their portraits is of the guy who thinks that every experience in life is enhanced by the stuff.
"Have you ever looked at the back of a five-dollar bill, man? Yeah? Well, haveThat's kind of how I'm feeling right now about pregnancy; that every experience I was already looking forward to for the next year is going to somehow be magically enhanced by being pregnant. Like, I can't wait to go swimming... while pregnant! I can't wait to go hiking... pregnant! I can't wait to go camping, to go to the farm (the CSA we joined requires a few hours' labor), wait in line at midnight for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, go on vacation... etc. I know it doesn't make sense and is based completely in fantasy, because most likely being pregnant is going to be rather detrimental to those plans and will make a lot of things uncomfortable. But I keep picturing myself floating through the summer, through my second trimester, doing all the fun things that we've planned.
you ever looked at the back of a five-dollar bill, ON WEED?"
"Symptoms"
Well, I'm finally seeing more signs of this pregnancy. I hate the term 'syptoms' in regards to pregnancy. Diseases have syptoms. Pregnancy is not a disease or a medical condition. It seems like everyone I talk to online who's around the same stage as me is already experiencing the whole range of yes-you're-preggers signs, and I was feeling a bit left out and possibly nuts because I need some kind of physical confirmation from my body that I'm not just imagining this whole thing. So, in chronological order, here's what I got:
1. The missing period. A good sign-- it's still missing!
2. The positive pee-on-a-stick: I took a photo for posterity, because I couldn't quite believe it and they do fade quickly.
3. The appetite. Oh my god, the appetite. Seriously, I thought this was something that would only kick in later in pregnancy. I am eating enough for a farmer or construction worker or something right now. Last night, I heated up some of this Italian-based casserole I made called cavatelli (think all the flavors of lasagna without the tedious layering) but it looked a little dry so I drenched the top in some Alfredo sauce. After dinner (throughout the evening), had half a grapefruit, some toast with almond butter, toast with regular butter, the other half of the grapefruit, and my usual yogurt-with-prenatal vitamins. I only stopped eating because I was sleepy and had to go to bed...
4. The fatigue. It has hit me pretty hard; all of my energy (the energy I should be getting from eating all the fucking time!) is being re-routed, I suppose, and there's none left for me. At work, I want a nap after lunch. By 3:00pm, I'm sagging against the counter thinking, "I can't do this, I want to go home, I need to sleep..." Keep in mind that I'm a bank teller and the physical aspect of my job is, like, standing at a counter; it's not exactly taxing work. Of course, I'm cutting back on the caffeine, which is probably also contributing to the afternoon crash, but still... that's *after* going to bed at 10:00pm the night before and sleeping till 7:30. I used to make plans tp go to bed early, maybe 10:30, in order to better-organize my day, get more rest, make better use of the morning, etc. Now, I struggle to at least stay awake until then.
Unfortunately for neurotic people like me, things like appetite and tiredness can seem like they're all in the head, as in "if you *expect* to be tired, you *will* be tired", ditto for hungry. Ditto for crazy-emotional. Which brings us to... the boobs!
5. My breasts are changing. What's strange to me is not that they are changing from their pre-pregnancy state but that they are not changing at the same rate or direction at all, so they are also changing from each other. Um, I kind of liked having a 'matched set' so I hope this is temporary and that lefty catches up here soon. I've read that breast-feeding babies often have a preference for one over the other and I thought, well that's silly. I guess I was thinking of breasts that were more or less the same. Looking in the mirror, I could totally understand that behavior now. I would personally prefer the right one at this point.
I haven't felt any nausea yet (fingers crossed) and the spotting seems to have been a sporadic, fluky thing, at least so far. I made a doctor's appointment with an OB team that's highly reccommended here by the crunchy-granola set, but it's not until April 10. What I would like to have is a midwife, one who will come to my house to catch the baby. That would be ideal... But, that is also expensive and the doc is covered by my insurance plan. So I'm hoping that with him I can have a hospital birth free from interventions, that he'll just let me do my own thing. Based on what I've read about this doctor, it looks good.
1. The missing period. A good sign-- it's still missing!
2. The positive pee-on-a-stick: I took a photo for posterity, because I couldn't quite believe it and they do fade quickly.
3. The appetite. Oh my god, the appetite. Seriously, I thought this was something that would only kick in later in pregnancy. I am eating enough for a farmer or construction worker or something right now. Last night, I heated up some of this Italian-based casserole I made called cavatelli (think all the flavors of lasagna without the tedious layering) but it looked a little dry so I drenched the top in some Alfredo sauce. After dinner (throughout the evening), had half a grapefruit, some toast with almond butter, toast with regular butter, the other half of the grapefruit, and my usual yogurt-with-prenatal vitamins. I only stopped eating because I was sleepy and had to go to bed...
4. The fatigue. It has hit me pretty hard; all of my energy (the energy I should be getting from eating all the fucking time!) is being re-routed, I suppose, and there's none left for me. At work, I want a nap after lunch. By 3:00pm, I'm sagging against the counter thinking, "I can't do this, I want to go home, I need to sleep..." Keep in mind that I'm a bank teller and the physical aspect of my job is, like, standing at a counter; it's not exactly taxing work. Of course, I'm cutting back on the caffeine, which is probably also contributing to the afternoon crash, but still... that's *after* going to bed at 10:00pm the night before and sleeping till 7:30. I used to make plans tp go to bed early, maybe 10:30, in order to better-organize my day, get more rest, make better use of the morning, etc. Now, I struggle to at least stay awake until then.
Unfortunately for neurotic people like me, things like appetite and tiredness can seem like they're all in the head, as in "if you *expect* to be tired, you *will* be tired", ditto for hungry. Ditto for crazy-emotional. Which brings us to... the boobs!
5. My breasts are changing. What's strange to me is not that they are changing from their pre-pregnancy state but that they are not changing at the same rate or direction at all, so they are also changing from each other. Um, I kind of liked having a 'matched set' so I hope this is temporary and that lefty catches up here soon. I've read that breast-feeding babies often have a preference for one over the other and I thought, well that's silly. I guess I was thinking of breasts that were more or less the same. Looking in the mirror, I could totally understand that behavior now. I would personally prefer the right one at this point.
I haven't felt any nausea yet (fingers crossed) and the spotting seems to have been a sporadic, fluky thing, at least so far. I made a doctor's appointment with an OB team that's highly reccommended here by the crunchy-granola set, but it's not until April 10. What I would like to have is a midwife, one who will come to my house to catch the baby. That would be ideal... But, that is also expensive and the doc is covered by my insurance plan. So I'm hoping that with him I can have a hospital birth free from interventions, that he'll just let me do my own thing. Based on what I've read about this doctor, it looks good.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Scary Stuff
Last night and today, I've been spotting a little bit. It's not too bad and I'm trying to stay calm and not panic, but it's not easy... I'm basically waiting for it to get worse...
I want my mom.
OK. I know it's probably not a big deal, but for someone terrified of miscarrying, nothing is scarier than blood, right?
Hang in there, little hobbit, hang in there.
*****************************************************************
Update at 3:30pm...
Well I feel better, nothing else happening, so that's good. I'm thinking happy thoughts, visualizing (if 'daydreaming' is the same thing as 'visualizing') and looking forward to getting my books in the mail. I'm pretty sure they'll tell me that this is normal and nothing to worry about. It's a beautiful day outside, I get off work in 2 hours, and our new washer should be arriving at the house right this minute.
******************************************************************
Update at 10:00am...
The books didn't arrive in the mail. The washer won't be delivered until Friday. But, I'm not seeing any more scary scary spots, so I really couldn't care less about anything else.
I want my mom.
OK. I know it's probably not a big deal, but for someone terrified of miscarrying, nothing is scarier than blood, right?
Hang in there, little hobbit, hang in there.
*****************************************************************
Update at 3:30pm...
Well I feel better, nothing else happening, so that's good. I'm thinking happy thoughts, visualizing (if 'daydreaming' is the same thing as 'visualizing') and looking forward to getting my books in the mail. I'm pretty sure they'll tell me that this is normal and nothing to worry about. It's a beautiful day outside, I get off work in 2 hours, and our new washer should be arriving at the house right this minute.
******************************************************************
Update at 10:00am...
The books didn't arrive in the mail. The washer won't be delivered until Friday. But, I'm not seeing any more scary scary spots, so I really couldn't care less about anything else.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Blueberries, Tofu and Aliens
Last night, we played darts with some friends from the bookstore, like we do most Sunday nights. And I DIDN'T TELL ANYONE. I'm writing this from work, where I am currently, RIGHT THIS MINUTE, not sharing the news. I didn't tell the cashier at Whole Foods, who rung me up for my Mothering. I didn't stop the (visibly) pregnant mother I passed on the street to say, "Me too!"
I said this was going to be hard, right? It is. Although actually, I'm sort of enjoying having this little secret of my own, too. I am in the first steps of trying to fix up my diet, so that it sort of resembles what a preggy woman should eat in order to (a) grow a healthy baby and (b) not gain seventy pounds. My "old" breakfast routine involved getting a mocha with Alice. Then, four hours later, lunch! I generally don't do breakfast. But today, I made a breakfast smoothie!
Orange juice
Yogurt
Soft tofu
Blueberries
Raspberries
Wheat germ
Flax seed
The only thing that's really new to my diet is the tofu, which I'm slightly suspicious of but so far can't taste. The thing is, I've been jonesing for meat since about a week before finding out. Holding the positive test I had a bunch of light-bulb moments, most of which went, "Oh, so THAT'S why..."
like, so THAT'S why I've eaten five roast beef sandwiches in a week. THAT'S why I bought pounds of bacon, sausage, steak and hamburger... not my usual shopping habits! THAT'S whjy everything smells funny! And etc. Yesterday I found a package of raw pork chops highly appealing... they were calling out to be grilled. I'm no nutritionist, but I think craving meat could be a sign that I need more protein, and tofu is high in protein, so I'm incorporating it into breakfast. It doesn't have as much fat and cholesterol as meat or eggs do. Because as Don says, I really shouldn't eat roast-beef sandwiches every day for lunch indefinitely. I brought my lunch from home, too, as much for financial reasons as nutrition. We have to start spending a little less and saving more; bag lunches and home-cooked dinners are a painless way to start.
Don has had a switch flipped in him, I think. He has started talking to 'the baby'. Insisting that we come up with a temporary name so that we can stop calling it 'It'. Reassuring me how happy and exited he is to have a baby coming. Now, he's the one bouncing off the walls and grinning like an idiot. I'm the one raining on his parade, saying things like, "It can't hear you yet, hon, it has no ears. It looks like this. It still has a tail, for crying out loud." And speaking of which? Pictures of fetuses totally freak me out. I love babies. Adore them, actually. But pictures of the unborn disturb me. I just don't think that we were ever psychologically meant to see what a six-week embryo or even a six-month fetus looks like. In fact I think it's why our iconic image of 'Alien from Outer Space' looks so fetal: fetuses are alien to us.
I have promised Don that I will tell him on the very day that our little embryo grows some ears, so that he can start talkin' to the bump. And, we've agreed to call it the Little Hobbit instead of 'It', at least for the time being. And, I've promised to not say things about embryonic tails.
I said this was going to be hard, right? It is. Although actually, I'm sort of enjoying having this little secret of my own, too. I am in the first steps of trying to fix up my diet, so that it sort of resembles what a preggy woman should eat in order to (a) grow a healthy baby and (b) not gain seventy pounds. My "old" breakfast routine involved getting a mocha with Alice. Then, four hours later, lunch! I generally don't do breakfast. But today, I made a breakfast smoothie!
Orange juice
Yogurt
Soft tofu
Blueberries
Raspberries
Wheat germ
Flax seed
The only thing that's really new to my diet is the tofu, which I'm slightly suspicious of but so far can't taste. The thing is, I've been jonesing for meat since about a week before finding out. Holding the positive test I had a bunch of light-bulb moments, most of which went, "Oh, so THAT'S why..."
like, so THAT'S why I've eaten five roast beef sandwiches in a week. THAT'S why I bought pounds of bacon, sausage, steak and hamburger... not my usual shopping habits! THAT'S whjy everything smells funny! And etc. Yesterday I found a package of raw pork chops highly appealing... they were calling out to be grilled. I'm no nutritionist, but I think craving meat could be a sign that I need more protein, and tofu is high in protein, so I'm incorporating it into breakfast. It doesn't have as much fat and cholesterol as meat or eggs do. Because as Don says, I really shouldn't eat roast-beef sandwiches every day for lunch indefinitely. I brought my lunch from home, too, as much for financial reasons as nutrition. We have to start spending a little less and saving more; bag lunches and home-cooked dinners are a painless way to start.
Don has had a switch flipped in him, I think. He has started talking to 'the baby'. Insisting that we come up with a temporary name so that we can stop calling it 'It'. Reassuring me how happy and exited he is to have a baby coming. Now, he's the one bouncing off the walls and grinning like an idiot. I'm the one raining on his parade, saying things like, "It can't hear you yet, hon, it has no ears. It looks like this. It still has a tail, for crying out loud." And speaking of which? Pictures of fetuses totally freak me out. I love babies. Adore them, actually. But pictures of the unborn disturb me. I just don't think that we were ever psychologically meant to see what a six-week embryo or even a six-month fetus looks like. In fact I think it's why our iconic image of 'Alien from Outer Space' looks so fetal: fetuses are alien to us.
I have promised Don that I will tell him on the very day that our little embryo grows some ears, so that he can start talkin' to the bump. And, we've agreed to call it the Little Hobbit instead of 'It', at least for the time being. And, I've promised to not say things about embryonic tails.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Harbingers
Signs of Spring today:
This beautiful, warm, sunny, breezy, day.
Crocuses, and the beginnings of daffodils.
Neighbors, doing yard work.
Neighbors, hanging laundry outside.
Grills for sale.
Things that have made me cry spontaneously:
A country song on the radio.
Burning part of dinner.
Five different completely imagined scenarios.
Don coming home from work half-an-hour later than I was expecting him.
As Don says, my brain is more pregnant than my body, right now. Physically, I feel great. Wonderful. Not just not bad, but actively good. I think this may be because I've been taking vitamins continuously for 3 weeks now, which is probably longer than I've ever taken vitamins. They're probably stopping up all kinds of dietary gaps or something. Or, my body is really enjoying this very very first stage of pregnancy, getting high on hormones or something. Or, because I'm so happy to be pregnant, I feel good. I don't really care, to be honest, I'm just enjoying myself.
Unfortunately I seem to be spending money like a mad woman, money that I'm trying to save! Because, hello! Baby coming, need every last dime, right? So far I've bought:
From Amazon.com:
Dr. Sears' Guide to Pregnancy* (used)
Dr. Sears' Birth Book* (used)
A book on pre- and post-natal nutrition (used)
A prenatal yoga DVD
From Old Navy:
Yoga pants (you know, to go with the DVD!)
a really cute, *longer* sweater
From Mountain Rose Herbals:
2 pounds of Red Raspberry Leaf tea
1 pound of Nettle leaf
1/2 pound of Red Clover
From the grocery store: 100 dollars' worth of healthy, nourishing food.
From Whole Foods: Natural peanut butter, almond butter, flax seed, wheat germ, whole-wheat pitas, frozen berries, and the new Mothering magazine--another 30 dollars' worth of stuff.
From Lowe's:
A grill, so that Don won't feel left out.
Bag of hickory chips for the grill.
Please, somebody stop me! I can't help myself! Usually I'm not much of a shopper, but I have a reason and a motive like never before. I have an excuse to buy the best, healthiest, (most expensive!) foods that I usually avoid. Books and magazines that I've held off on in the past so as not to be crazy. Now, it's like the floodgates have opened and they have a debit card. Stand back people: she's pregnant, hormonal and ready to shop! Actually, I think I'm done for awhile now. I've got what I need, or I will once it all arrives in the mail. I just went a little nuts with the ordering is all.
*Don't worry, Amanda, I've read through the books before, and they're not scary like What to Expect-- they don't list EVERY SINGLE THING THAT CAN GO WRONG to the point where having a normal pregnancy seems almost impossible. The birth book is pretty empowering, I think.
This beautiful, warm, sunny, breezy, day.
Crocuses, and the beginnings of daffodils.
Neighbors, doing yard work.
Neighbors, hanging laundry outside.
Grills for sale.
Things that have made me cry spontaneously:
A country song on the radio.
Burning part of dinner.
Five different completely imagined scenarios.
Don coming home from work half-an-hour later than I was expecting him.
As Don says, my brain is more pregnant than my body, right now. Physically, I feel great. Wonderful. Not just not bad, but actively good. I think this may be because I've been taking vitamins continuously for 3 weeks now, which is probably longer than I've ever taken vitamins. They're probably stopping up all kinds of dietary gaps or something. Or, my body is really enjoying this very very first stage of pregnancy, getting high on hormones or something. Or, because I'm so happy to be pregnant, I feel good. I don't really care, to be honest, I'm just enjoying myself.
Unfortunately I seem to be spending money like a mad woman, money that I'm trying to save! Because, hello! Baby coming, need every last dime, right? So far I've bought:
From Amazon.com:
Dr. Sears' Guide to Pregnancy* (used)
Dr. Sears' Birth Book* (used)
A book on pre- and post-natal nutrition (used)
A prenatal yoga DVD
From Old Navy:
Yoga pants (you know, to go with the DVD!)
a really cute, *longer* sweater
From Mountain Rose Herbals:
2 pounds of Red Raspberry Leaf tea
1 pound of Nettle leaf
1/2 pound of Red Clover
From the grocery store: 100 dollars' worth of healthy, nourishing food.
From Whole Foods: Natural peanut butter, almond butter, flax seed, wheat germ, whole-wheat pitas, frozen berries, and the new Mothering magazine--another 30 dollars' worth of stuff.
From Lowe's:
A grill, so that Don won't feel left out.
Bag of hickory chips for the grill.
Please, somebody stop me! I can't help myself! Usually I'm not much of a shopper, but I have a reason and a motive like never before. I have an excuse to buy the best, healthiest, (most expensive!) foods that I usually avoid. Books and magazines that I've held off on in the past so as not to be crazy. Now, it's like the floodgates have opened and they have a debit card. Stand back people: she's pregnant, hormonal and ready to shop! Actually, I think I'm done for awhile now. I've got what I need, or I will once it all arrives in the mail. I just went a little nuts with the ordering is all.
*Don't worry, Amanda, I've read through the books before, and they're not scary like What to Expect-- they don't list EVERY SINGLE THING THAT CAN GO WRONG to the point where having a normal pregnancy seems almost impossible. The birth book is pretty empowering, I think.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Guess What?!?!?!?
Remember back in December, when I discussed the possibility of Don and me starting a family? Yeah, we totally did it!
PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!
(Me! In case it wasn't clear!)
I have waited 4 WHOLE days, between taking THE TEST and posting about it here. I think that shows admirable reserve--4 days! It was so hard. But, I've learned not once but twice now, that you never know who's reading your blog. (I know, I shouldn't have to learn the same lesson twice, but I'm a slow learner sometimes.) I wanted to make sure all of the principal parties had been informed before putting this information "out there"-- it would not be right for my mom to learn of something like this from anybody but me, for example!!
So, yeah. I'm utterly shocked and amazed. I was so convinced that I had fertility "issues", that it would be very difficult and time-consuming for us to make a baby... I was wrong! Chalk one up for Don on this one. He always tried to tell me that I was normal, and that even for a completely healthy, fertile couple conception it takes an average of 6 months or something, and we weren't really even trying very hard until last month anyways. So, apparently I am fertile. Fecund, even. I have been so sure, for so long that I would have problems getting pregnant that I can't wrap my mind around the fact that it just happened, just as I wanted it to.
I was so nervous, taking that test. I read the directions three times, as though they were that hard to figure out. The directions insist that you wait for three minutes after using it, before checking the results. I thought, "OK. Take the test, set it on the edge of the sink. Go into the kitchen and set the chicken-timer for 3 minutes. Drink some orange juice, and then go look." Yeah, right! The second I took the test the colors just whooshed across it. It was as though it couldn't tell me fast enough that it was positive; more like 3 seconds than 3 minutes. I could have tested a few days earlier, maybe even a week, had I not been in such great denial about the possibility.
Don and I are, of course, reacting differently. My happiness is mostly the dance-through-the-house-in-my-underwear type happiness, saying things like, "Do I look pregnant yet? Do I?" It's a very exuberant, joyous happiness. Don is more cautiously happy. He's a planner, a thinker, a problem-solver-- he's, "This is wonderful. But we need to think about X, Y, Z. What will we do about this, about that, and the other? What is going to change for the coming year, and what will go on as planned?" He's also quite a bit of, "I TOLD YOU SO, HAHAHAHAHA!"
I will admit it, I'm totally scared of miscarrying. I know there's basically nothing I can do except wait through these super-early weeks and take care of myself, but my fear-of-infertility is basically being replaced with fear-of-losing-the-embryo. I guess when it comes to "telling people", we have to divide the world into two categories: those people that we would tell about a miscarriage, and those we would rather not. For example, my parents, my siblings, my closest friends, my blog: I tell all of them right now, because if something happened I wouldn't keep that a secret either. My co-workers, on the other hand, I'm holding out on, as well as casual acquaintences and the like. It's HARD, though! I feel like making a sandwhich board that says, "I'm Pregnant!" on the front, and "November" on the back. Not telling everybody is going to be a real challenge for the next few months.
PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!
(Me! In case it wasn't clear!)
I have waited 4 WHOLE days, between taking THE TEST and posting about it here. I think that shows admirable reserve--4 days! It was so hard. But, I've learned not once but twice now, that you never know who's reading your blog. (I know, I shouldn't have to learn the same lesson twice, but I'm a slow learner sometimes.) I wanted to make sure all of the principal parties had been informed before putting this information "out there"-- it would not be right for my mom to learn of something like this from anybody but me, for example!!
So, yeah. I'm utterly shocked and amazed. I was so convinced that I had fertility "issues", that it would be very difficult and time-consuming for us to make a baby... I was wrong! Chalk one up for Don on this one. He always tried to tell me that I was normal, and that even for a completely healthy, fertile couple conception it takes an average of 6 months or something, and we weren't really even trying very hard until last month anyways. So, apparently I am fertile. Fecund, even. I have been so sure, for so long that I would have problems getting pregnant that I can't wrap my mind around the fact that it just happened, just as I wanted it to.
I was so nervous, taking that test. I read the directions three times, as though they were that hard to figure out. The directions insist that you wait for three minutes after using it, before checking the results. I thought, "OK. Take the test, set it on the edge of the sink. Go into the kitchen and set the chicken-timer for 3 minutes. Drink some orange juice, and then go look." Yeah, right! The second I took the test the colors just whooshed across it. It was as though it couldn't tell me fast enough that it was positive; more like 3 seconds than 3 minutes. I could have tested a few days earlier, maybe even a week, had I not been in such great denial about the possibility.
Don and I are, of course, reacting differently. My happiness is mostly the dance-through-the-house-in-my-underwear type happiness, saying things like, "Do I look pregnant yet? Do I?" It's a very exuberant, joyous happiness. Don is more cautiously happy. He's a planner, a thinker, a problem-solver-- he's, "This is wonderful. But we need to think about X, Y, Z. What will we do about this, about that, and the other? What is going to change for the coming year, and what will go on as planned?" He's also quite a bit of, "I TOLD YOU SO, HAHAHAHAHA!"
I will admit it, I'm totally scared of miscarrying. I know there's basically nothing I can do except wait through these super-early weeks and take care of myself, but my fear-of-infertility is basically being replaced with fear-of-losing-the-embryo. I guess when it comes to "telling people", we have to divide the world into two categories: those people that we would tell about a miscarriage, and those we would rather not. For example, my parents, my siblings, my closest friends, my blog: I tell all of them right now, because if something happened I wouldn't keep that a secret either. My co-workers, on the other hand, I'm holding out on, as well as casual acquaintences and the like. It's HARD, though! I feel like making a sandwhich board that says, "I'm Pregnant!" on the front, and "November" on the back. Not telling everybody is going to be a real challenge for the next few months.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Community Supported Agriculture
This year, Don and I finally took the plunge and joined a CSA. When I say "Don and I", I of course mean "I" with some pestering and one-sided dialogue about ecology, local economics, supporting small business, the environment, and our health until Don finally said, OK Honey. It's a big step for us. It's about making decisions that support what we believe in, instead of choosing the easiest, cheapest path available.
It's one thing for us to mouth support for, say, environmentally sound practices. Or for small family businesses. For buying local and organic. For making our diets a little more vegetable based and a little less meaty. It's another to actually make a choice that's more than just a gesture; to commit a big (big!) chunk of our food budget to something like this. Don is all for supporting small farmers, and he's in favor of organically grown foods. He even agrees that it's worth making a financial commitment to those ideals. What worries him is that I'll be making him eat more vegetables... strange things that we don't eat yet, like "eggplant", "kale", or "Swiss chard".
Community Supported Agriculture, or CSA, is a farming system in which small-scale farmers sell shares of their crops ahead of time to local consumers. So Don and I send a check now that is for the entire growing season of 2007. Starting in May we will get a weekly supply of all kinds of vegetables, fruits, herbs, even flowers, whatever is being harvested that week, until the season ends in late October. There are multiple benefits for farmers, consumers, and the community in general. The farmer gets guaranteed buyers for their crops and they get that money before the growing season when it's most needed, which provides a buffer against a bad season or a failed crop. CSA's tend to be small family or co-op farms that grow a very wide variety of stuff. Ours, for example, is offering dozens of different items, from strawberries in the Spring to garlic in the Fall. They also tend to be organic, or at least practice ecologically sound growing methods. Those qualities make the kind of farms that do CSA much, much better for the environment than the enormous, mono-cropping corporate farms that supply grocery stores nationwide. The two tenets of ecological eating are, 'buy organic' and 'buy local'... CSA's fulfill both, or at least this one does as it's certified organic.
Don's one requirement before signing up was that we actually drive by and see the farm, to make sure that it didn't just exist in Internet-land. It's about 20 minutes away, in the same county as our town. It's nice to think that such a large percentage of the food we'll be eating this year is coming from right here. This is something I've wanted to do for a long time, since living in Vermont. I'm exited, jazzed that we're finally going for it. No more guilt-inducing Chilean tomatoes! No more spinach, bagged and shipped from California! I can't wait for spring.
It's one thing for us to mouth support for, say, environmentally sound practices. Or for small family businesses. For buying local and organic. For making our diets a little more vegetable based and a little less meaty. It's another to actually make a choice that's more than just a gesture; to commit a big (big!) chunk of our food budget to something like this. Don is all for supporting small farmers, and he's in favor of organically grown foods. He even agrees that it's worth making a financial commitment to those ideals. What worries him is that I'll be making him eat more vegetables... strange things that we don't eat yet, like "eggplant", "kale", or "Swiss chard".
Community Supported Agriculture, or CSA, is a farming system in which small-scale farmers sell shares of their crops ahead of time to local consumers. So Don and I send a check now that is for the entire growing season of 2007. Starting in May we will get a weekly supply of all kinds of vegetables, fruits, herbs, even flowers, whatever is being harvested that week, until the season ends in late October. There are multiple benefits for farmers, consumers, and the community in general. The farmer gets guaranteed buyers for their crops and they get that money before the growing season when it's most needed, which provides a buffer against a bad season or a failed crop. CSA's tend to be small family or co-op farms that grow a very wide variety of stuff. Ours, for example, is offering dozens of different items, from strawberries in the Spring to garlic in the Fall. They also tend to be organic, or at least practice ecologically sound growing methods. Those qualities make the kind of farms that do CSA much, much better for the environment than the enormous, mono-cropping corporate farms that supply grocery stores nationwide. The two tenets of ecological eating are, 'buy organic' and 'buy local'... CSA's fulfill both, or at least this one does as it's certified organic.
Don's one requirement before signing up was that we actually drive by and see the farm, to make sure that it didn't just exist in Internet-land. It's about 20 minutes away, in the same county as our town. It's nice to think that such a large percentage of the food we'll be eating this year is coming from right here. This is something I've wanted to do for a long time, since living in Vermont. I'm exited, jazzed that we're finally going for it. No more guilt-inducing Chilean tomatoes! No more spinach, bagged and shipped from California! I can't wait for spring.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Essay: My First Dog
I have two dogs. One is Alice, the dog I write about all the time. She's my baby, the doggie that lives with Don and me, walks with me every morning, sits between us on the couch every evening, and regularly gets into the kitchen trash and thoughtfully spreads it around the house. She's our rescue dog, our shelter-puppy, our no-breed-at-all is-she-even-all-dog problem child. Seriously, when Don and I talk about having a baby, Alice comes into the conversation, as in How Will This Affect the Dog? or Will This Be Detrimental To Our Relationship With Alice?
But long before Alice came into my life, I had Max. Max is my family's dog, and when I was nine he was my dream-come-true. Seriously, is there anything more iconic than a Dad walking into the house with a cardboard box full of squirming puppy for his children? I will never forget that first evening, my sister and I racing all over the backyard with this tiny, fluffy baby dog. Max was and is a perfect family dog: he loves people, any and all people. Always a runner, if he got free we could shout to a random stranger-- "Catch that dog!"-- he'd run to them because Hey! New People! A house-full of family is his dream come true, and nothing upsets him more than an empty house. Max is a papered Bichon Frise, a perfect example of the breed and the cutest one I've ever seen. Bichons are frequently mistaken for puppies, even late in life. Many times after Max perfected his Houdini escape act, we'd get calls from neighbors... "We found your puppy in our yard, poor little baby!" Even after he was 5 years old, or 9, or 12. Bichons also don't shed, they don't smell like "dog", and are the best possible breed for dog-allergic folk or asthmatics like my dad. At 12-14 pounds for most of his life, Max is the perfect lap-dog size, and loves nothing more than curling up in someone's lap, against their leg on the couch, or at the foot of the bed.
Max is pure alpha-dog... nothing scares him or intimidates him. I've never seen him look sorry, sheepish or hang-dog--which is Alice's usual expression. He has never tucked his tail between his legs, or turned and ran from anything. The only member of the household he ever listened to occasionally was my mother. In a larger dog this may have been obnoxious, but in an adorable little Bichon it was nothing but charming; so self-confident! He is quite self-serving for a dog, and very self-sufficient. He has always known how to get what he wants-- a biscuit, a scratch behind the ears, up on the couch. When my parents' house burned down, he was the first out of the house, and that was in 2001 when he was already a "senior" doggie. He was found, as usual, in the arms of a neighbor.
Max is turning 17 years old this month. The puppy that we got when I was nine, is still chugging along now that I'm twenty-six. He weighs only 10 pounds now, and he feels fragile when I pick him up. His vision and hearing are both mostly gone, but not his sense of smell or love of a good cuddle. Even so, every time I go home and see him, I fear that it may be the last. It's hard to imagine loosing something that's been part of my life for so long, but I have to face reality; he's an elder doggie now. Having a dog like Max, though, has guaranteed that I will always have a canine member in my family. It made me a "dog-person" for life.
But long before Alice came into my life, I had Max. Max is my family's dog, and when I was nine he was my dream-come-true. Seriously, is there anything more iconic than a Dad walking into the house with a cardboard box full of squirming puppy for his children? I will never forget that first evening, my sister and I racing all over the backyard with this tiny, fluffy baby dog. Max was and is a perfect family dog: he loves people, any and all people. Always a runner, if he got free we could shout to a random stranger-- "Catch that dog!"-- he'd run to them because Hey! New People! A house-full of family is his dream come true, and nothing upsets him more than an empty house. Max is a papered Bichon Frise, a perfect example of the breed and the cutest one I've ever seen. Bichons are frequently mistaken for puppies, even late in life. Many times after Max perfected his Houdini escape act, we'd get calls from neighbors... "We found your puppy in our yard, poor little baby!" Even after he was 5 years old, or 9, or 12. Bichons also don't shed, they don't smell like "dog", and are the best possible breed for dog-allergic folk or asthmatics like my dad. At 12-14 pounds for most of his life, Max is the perfect lap-dog size, and loves nothing more than curling up in someone's lap, against their leg on the couch, or at the foot of the bed. Max is pure alpha-dog... nothing scares him or intimidates him. I've never seen him look sorry, sheepish or hang-dog--which is Alice's usual expression. He has never tucked his tail between his legs, or turned and ran from anything. The only member of the household he ever listened to occasionally was my mother. In a larger dog this may have been obnoxious, but in an adorable little Bichon it was nothing but charming; so self-confident! He is quite self-serving for a dog, and very self-sufficient. He has always known how to get what he wants-- a biscuit, a scratch behind the ears, up on the couch. When my parents' house burned down, he was the first out of the house, and that was in 2001 when he was already a "senior" doggie. He was found, as usual, in the arms of a neighbor.
Max is turning 17 years old this month. The puppy that we got when I was nine, is still chugging along now that I'm twenty-six. He weighs only 10 pounds now, and he feels fragile when I pick him up. His vision and hearing are both mostly gone, but not his sense of smell or love of a good cuddle. Even so, every time I go home and see him, I fear that it may be the last. It's hard to imagine loosing something that's been part of my life for so long, but I have to face reality; he's an elder doggie now. Having a dog like Max, though, has guaranteed that I will always have a canine member in my family. It made me a "dog-person" for life.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Yuppies
Don and I are yuppies. I wish it weren't so, but all the signs are there. We go to Starbucks before our weekly trip to the grocery store. Then we grumble, because the carts don't have cupholders. What kind of grocery carts don't have a cupholder in this day and age? we mutter.
We drove an hour and half to get to the D.C. area, just to go to IKEA. Not a museum, not the White House, nor any of the historically, culturally or politically important sights of the nation's capital. No, we just went to the IKEA, spent our little hearts out, ate dinner at the Olive Garden (because they don't have one here!) and drove home again, flat pointy boxes full of bookcases jammed into the back of my seat. Because we love that store, and because this small, adorable, boxy little house was simply calling out for nifty furniture and accessories from those people that understand small spaces.
2 bookcases
1 coffeetable
2 little lights that go on top of the bookcases
1 desk lamp
You'd think my car would hold more than that, wouldn't you? I mean if you knew what my car was, which you may or may not. But either way, it does not. Photos of the wondrous IKEA goods to follow, when I feel like it.
Friday was my last day at the bookstore, and damn, did that feel good. This whole week, I just... worked at the bank! That's it! Then I came home and did home-stuff! My new work schedule is perfect. 9:30 till 4:30/5:00. Does it get any better than that? Not too early, not too late. The second job filled its purpose, and I'm glad and grateful that I had it, but I'm so much gladder to be free of it. No more 16-hour Fridays after working till midnight on Thursday. No more spending half the weekend just recovering from that. It really hit me today on the drive home, because of the radio. Every day at the same time (around 4:45 I think), NPR has a little geography quiz, the Geo-Quiz, sandwiched between other news bits. I always caught it on the way to the bookstore, when I was mentally gearing up for another 7-hour shift. Today, I heard it on the way home.
And the most valuable aspect of the bookstore, I get to keep: the folks that we go out with regularly now. Don and I have people to hang out with, to play darts or shoot pool. It's a nice feeling. I don't know if any of them will become close friends, or if they will remain casual acquaintances. Either way is OK.
We drove an hour and half to get to the D.C. area, just to go to IKEA. Not a museum, not the White House, nor any of the historically, culturally or politically important sights of the nation's capital. No, we just went to the IKEA, spent our little hearts out, ate dinner at the Olive Garden (because they don't have one here!) and drove home again, flat pointy boxes full of bookcases jammed into the back of my seat. Because we love that store, and because this small, adorable, boxy little house was simply calling out for nifty furniture and accessories from those people that understand small spaces.
2 bookcases
1 coffeetable
2 little lights that go on top of the bookcases
1 desk lamp
You'd think my car would hold more than that, wouldn't you? I mean if you knew what my car was, which you may or may not. But either way, it does not. Photos of the wondrous IKEA goods to follow, when I feel like it.
Friday was my last day at the bookstore, and damn, did that feel good. This whole week, I just... worked at the bank! That's it! Then I came home and did home-stuff! My new work schedule is perfect. 9:30 till 4:30/5:00. Does it get any better than that? Not too early, not too late. The second job filled its purpose, and I'm glad and grateful that I had it, but I'm so much gladder to be free of it. No more 16-hour Fridays after working till midnight on Thursday. No more spending half the weekend just recovering from that. It really hit me today on the drive home, because of the radio. Every day at the same time (around 4:45 I think), NPR has a little geography quiz, the Geo-Quiz, sandwiched between other news bits. I always caught it on the way to the bookstore, when I was mentally gearing up for another 7-hour shift. Today, I heard it on the way home.
And the most valuable aspect of the bookstore, I get to keep: the folks that we go out with regularly now. Don and I have people to hang out with, to play darts or shoot pool. It's a nice feeling. I don't know if any of them will become close friends, or if they will remain casual acquaintances. Either way is OK.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Thank you, I'm Sorry
Two phrases that I'm trying to use less: "Thank you" and "I'm sorry". Sounds weird, doesn't it? Like I'm intentionally trying to be less-mannered or something? Actually, I'm just trying to return their relevance. At both of my jobs, I have to thank customers constantly, and that's OK. When I am a customer myself, I appreciate being thanked for my business, my patience, or whatever. Sometimes I have to apologize as well-- wrong drink made, check on hold for a week, long line. That's OK too. It's just part of the job and I take some pleasure in being professional and courteous. But in my personal life, I sometimes act like an employee out of habit.
I find myself apologizing to strangers over nothing. Do you know what I mean? When someone else bumps into you in a crowded place, and you instinctively burst out, "Sorry!" I accidentally thank people for *not* holding the door open for me: when they do that half-assed thing where you sort of shove the door open a little further behind you, but it's too soon and the door still slams into the next person? So that it *looks* as though you held the door but in reality you did not? I'm so used to thanking people that I say 'thanks' anyway, and they can't hear me, because they're already inside the store. I want to save "I'm sorry" for real apologies, things that I'm sorry for, things I regret. I want "I'm sorry" to mean something and not be a trivial nothing that I throw out into the open continuously. I want to thank people only when they've done something for me, so that "Thank you" implies real gratitude and not just routine 'manners'. I want to say both with sincerity, meaning and eye contact with the other party. I want to reclaim true manners and get rid of the false, silly stuff masquerading as politeness.
I find myself apologizing to strangers over nothing. Do you know what I mean? When someone else bumps into you in a crowded place, and you instinctively burst out, "Sorry!" I accidentally thank people for *not* holding the door open for me: when they do that half-assed thing where you sort of shove the door open a little further behind you, but it's too soon and the door still slams into the next person? So that it *looks* as though you held the door but in reality you did not? I'm so used to thanking people that I say 'thanks' anyway, and they can't hear me, because they're already inside the store. I want to save "I'm sorry" for real apologies, things that I'm sorry for, things I regret. I want "I'm sorry" to mean something and not be a trivial nothing that I throw out into the open continuously. I want to thank people only when they've done something for me, so that "Thank you" implies real gratitude and not just routine 'manners'. I want to say both with sincerity, meaning and eye contact with the other party. I want to reclaim true manners and get rid of the false, silly stuff masquerading as politeness.
Monday, February 19, 2007
House Dreams
Yesterday, Don and I decided to forget all the stuff we had to do, and take a drive instead. So instead of laundry and cleaning (our usual Sunday routine) we drove all around the Virginia countryside, which is lovely even in winter. We drove up into the mountains where it was snowing, past farms, orchards, vineyards. With work so hectic for both of us right now, it felt imperative to take some real quality time together. In the car we can talk uninterrupted by the TV (or a movie or the Internet or laundry); plan for the future, daydream together.
We are really thinking about moving out of town when we make the quantum leap from renting to buying, so we were casually looking at anything for sale, too. Moving to Virginia has put a real hold on our home-buying plans, because the real estate around here is so much more expensive than where we were in Texas. There, you can get a decent house in a decent neighborhood for $100,000-ish. For twice that, you can get a really nice house in an even better neighborhood. It's a cheap place to live. Don and I could afford something like that; we have enough saved to make a sizeable downpayment. Here... yeah, right! We just can't afford a $400,000 house. Or a $300,000. or a $250,000. You get the picture. Everybody wants to live here, and it makes land expensive. But homes are a little less expensive out of town. It would mean a long commute (although Don says that he wouldn't mind that.) And it would mean the kind of isolation that living away from a city might bring.
I'm a cities-and-suburbs kind of girl. Never lived in the country. Never lived more than a mile from a restaurant, gas station, coffee shop. I like living a life that is in contact with other people, even the most casual kind of contact. On the other hand, I have (very cliched) daydreams about living "out there". Being able to do things like have a clothes-line, chickens*, and more than one dog. I would love to be able to play my piano without checking to see if our neighbor is home, first. But, I wonder what the people are like, who live away from town. I don't know if it's a stereotype or not, but it seems like they would be more conservative, old-fashioned, and religious? Or is that outdated? Maybe the countryside is full of crunchy-granola hippie liberals now. In which case, yay!
Could I live 30 miles from the nearest Starbucks? Is there a house out there somewhere for under 200,000 dollars, that still has a decent roof and foundation? We're pretty much 'over' renting. We would have bought a house in Texas if it weren't for the fact that we knew we'd be leaving within a few years.
*I've always wanted to have a chicken. But I know that once she's too old to lay eggs, we would have to retire her on pension, not turn her into dinner. Don says I would never be a real farmer. I have no idea how keeping chickens and having big dogs would work other than really good fencing.
We are really thinking about moving out of town when we make the quantum leap from renting to buying, so we were casually looking at anything for sale, too. Moving to Virginia has put a real hold on our home-buying plans, because the real estate around here is so much more expensive than where we were in Texas. There, you can get a decent house in a decent neighborhood for $100,000-ish. For twice that, you can get a really nice house in an even better neighborhood. It's a cheap place to live. Don and I could afford something like that; we have enough saved to make a sizeable downpayment. Here... yeah, right! We just can't afford a $400,000 house. Or a $300,000. or a $250,000. You get the picture. Everybody wants to live here, and it makes land expensive. But homes are a little less expensive out of town. It would mean a long commute (although Don says that he wouldn't mind that.) And it would mean the kind of isolation that living away from a city might bring.
I'm a cities-and-suburbs kind of girl. Never lived in the country. Never lived more than a mile from a restaurant, gas station, coffee shop. I like living a life that is in contact with other people, even the most casual kind of contact. On the other hand, I have (very cliched) daydreams about living "out there". Being able to do things like have a clothes-line, chickens*, and more than one dog. I would love to be able to play my piano without checking to see if our neighbor is home, first. But, I wonder what the people are like, who live away from town. I don't know if it's a stereotype or not, but it seems like they would be more conservative, old-fashioned, and religious? Or is that outdated? Maybe the countryside is full of crunchy-granola hippie liberals now. In which case, yay!
Could I live 30 miles from the nearest Starbucks? Is there a house out there somewhere for under 200,000 dollars, that still has a decent roof and foundation? We're pretty much 'over' renting. We would have bought a house in Texas if it weren't for the fact that we knew we'd be leaving within a few years.
*I've always wanted to have a chicken. But I know that once she's too old to lay eggs, we would have to retire her on pension, not turn her into dinner. Don says I would never be a real farmer. I have no idea how keeping chickens and having big dogs would work other than really good fencing.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Anti V-Day Rant
Wow! I just checked my calendar and discovered that it's time for my annual anti-Valentine's Day rant! I can't believe I forgot.
Main Points:
1. If you are part of a couple, there is intense pressure to act in certain ways, all of which involve spending a lot of money: candy, flowers, jewelry, dinners out. While I like all of those things, I don't like being dicated to by our commercial culture about when and why to get them. Don and I would rather choose when to be "romantic", and we create our own definitions! Romance doesn't come with a price tag.
2. If you are single, Valentine's Day makes you feel pretty shitty. It really rubs your lack of coupledom in your face, even if you're happy to not be in a relationship. There is an equally commercial reason for this. The message is, 'you don't need boyfriend/husband to buy you chocolates or jewelry, you can buy it yourself!' As long as it's still getting bought. "Girls only" nights, alcohol, and chocolates especially are marketed as the "be your own Valentine".
3. Valentine's Day is essentially sexist and unbalanced. It is seen as a day for the men to buy stuff for the women. Gifts going in the other direction are generally a token, like a card. The implicit message is that the sex later will make up the difference, reinforcing the tired stereotype that men want it, women don't... yeah, right. This is why single women are seen by society as "missing out" on V-Day, while single men are seen as lucky for escaping the whole shebang. I like a little more balance between myself and Don. My birthday is all about me. His is about him. But our anniversary and etc are even-- there's no emphasis on giver/givee.
4. The commercial powers-that-be are spreading V-Day's influence, so that now it's seen as normal to give Valentines (cards, candy, etc.) to parents, kids, friends, siblings... it doesn't subtract from the romantic element of the holiday but creates an even wider buying field.
Main Points:
1. If you are part of a couple, there is intense pressure to act in certain ways, all of which involve spending a lot of money: candy, flowers, jewelry, dinners out. While I like all of those things, I don't like being dicated to by our commercial culture about when and why to get them. Don and I would rather choose when to be "romantic", and we create our own definitions! Romance doesn't come with a price tag.
2. If you are single, Valentine's Day makes you feel pretty shitty. It really rubs your lack of coupledom in your face, even if you're happy to not be in a relationship. There is an equally commercial reason for this. The message is, 'you don't need boyfriend/husband to buy you chocolates or jewelry, you can buy it yourself!' As long as it's still getting bought. "Girls only" nights, alcohol, and chocolates especially are marketed as the "be your own Valentine".
3. Valentine's Day is essentially sexist and unbalanced. It is seen as a day for the men to buy stuff for the women. Gifts going in the other direction are generally a token, like a card. The implicit message is that the sex later will make up the difference, reinforcing the tired stereotype that men want it, women don't... yeah, right. This is why single women are seen by society as "missing out" on V-Day, while single men are seen as lucky for escaping the whole shebang. I like a little more balance between myself and Don. My birthday is all about me. His is about him. But our anniversary and etc are even-- there's no emphasis on giver/givee.
4. The commercial powers-that-be are spreading V-Day's influence, so that now it's seen as normal to give Valentines (cards, candy, etc.) to parents, kids, friends, siblings... it doesn't subtract from the romantic element of the holiday but creates an even wider buying field.
Jargon
When I'm at work, I wonder sometimes if I've become too removed from the average customer, too knowledgeable about banking to understand where they are coming from. I worry that maybe this all seems so normal to me, so logical, that I don't get why THEY don't get it. I try to remember what I knew about THE SYSTEM back before I was a part of it. Because honestly, how hard is this? I deal with the same problems over and over again.
Losing your debit card. Happens to everyone. Has happened to me in the past. We don't charge anything for new debit cards, even though it's a pain to block the old one, order a fresh one, give out a temporary one. But I think there should be a reasonable limit to how many times someone can lose their card. I think that there should be a one-new-card-per-year free, and any losses after that should get charged. Because who loses two debit cards in, say, three months?
Overdrafts. Is this as hard to comprehend as the customers make it seem? I can't remember. I know that before I worked at the bank, I did overdraw my account. But, I understood WHY that happened. I knew that it was my own error and not the banks. Here's how banking works, and honestly, not that hard, right?
You put money in the account. You then spend the money, either with checks or with debit-card purchases. Responsible people keep some kind of record. The rest of us use online banking combined with a healthy just-in-case-I-forgot-something balance. If you are going to spend close to the edge (that is, spend right up to the whole balance of your account) then you better be damned sure that you're keeping track of your purchases, because here's the major catch: they don't always show up right away. If you write someone a check, they have six months to cash it, so don't forget that you wrote that check. Store purchases frequently take a few days to "post", so if you go to Starbucks on Tuesday, that may not be reflected in your balance Wednesday. YOU have to remember that you already spent that money. Let's say your balance at first is 100.00. You spend 5.00 at McDonalds. You check your balance, say at an ATM, and it says, "$100.00". You then buy concert tickets for 99.99. The next day, your balance is negative 24.99. Because you over-drew your account with the concert tickets, and got charged an over-draft fee on top of that.
What I'm trying to figure out is, have I been doing this for so long that it seems too obvious? Every day I have to explain that no, it's not a bank error, it's a customer error. YOU are the only person whose responsibility it is to not over-spend your account. The bank did not "let" your concert-ticket purchase "go through" in an attempt to "nail" you for the overdraft charge. The bank does not know about your McDonald's 5.00 purchase until it hard-posts to your account, which could be days later.
Sometimes I feel like one of those computer-expert-people on the phone, who start yabbering on in computer jargon as though you can just follow along. But banking... everybody does it. These people, they come to the bank at least once a week. Why do they look at the deposit slip as though it's a foreign item?
Losing your debit card. Happens to everyone. Has happened to me in the past. We don't charge anything for new debit cards, even though it's a pain to block the old one, order a fresh one, give out a temporary one. But I think there should be a reasonable limit to how many times someone can lose their card. I think that there should be a one-new-card-per-year free, and any losses after that should get charged. Because who loses two debit cards in, say, three months?
Overdrafts. Is this as hard to comprehend as the customers make it seem? I can't remember. I know that before I worked at the bank, I did overdraw my account. But, I understood WHY that happened. I knew that it was my own error and not the banks. Here's how banking works, and honestly, not that hard, right?
You put money in the account. You then spend the money, either with checks or with debit-card purchases. Responsible people keep some kind of record. The rest of us use online banking combined with a healthy just-in-case-I-forgot-something balance. If you are going to spend close to the edge (that is, spend right up to the whole balance of your account) then you better be damned sure that you're keeping track of your purchases, because here's the major catch: they don't always show up right away. If you write someone a check, they have six months to cash it, so don't forget that you wrote that check. Store purchases frequently take a few days to "post", so if you go to Starbucks on Tuesday, that may not be reflected in your balance Wednesday. YOU have to remember that you already spent that money. Let's say your balance at first is 100.00. You spend 5.00 at McDonalds. You check your balance, say at an ATM, and it says, "$100.00". You then buy concert tickets for 99.99. The next day, your balance is negative 24.99. Because you over-drew your account with the concert tickets, and got charged an over-draft fee on top of that.
What I'm trying to figure out is, have I been doing this for so long that it seems too obvious? Every day I have to explain that no, it's not a bank error, it's a customer error. YOU are the only person whose responsibility it is to not over-spend your account. The bank did not "let" your concert-ticket purchase "go through" in an attempt to "nail" you for the overdraft charge. The bank does not know about your McDonald's 5.00 purchase until it hard-posts to your account, which could be days later.
Sometimes I feel like one of those computer-expert-people on the phone, who start yabbering on in computer jargon as though you can just follow along. But banking... everybody does it. These people, they come to the bank at least once a week. Why do they look at the deposit slip as though it's a foreign item?
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Trojans and Mutts
Why look, it's my blog! I haven't been here in a while. For many reasons, or many excuses. First, I had a Very Bad Virus on my computer, and I really couldn't use my computer online till it was fixed. Usually, McAfee just finds the virus, Trojan or whatever, deletes it, and a little window pops up that says,
"Virus found and deleted!"
and disappears again. And I pat McAfee on the head for being such a good anti-virus software, being so diligent, protecting my computer! But this time, the window said,
"Trojan found, unable to delete"
which started all kinds of trouble. Many hours spend doing scans, visiting McAfee Help Online, visiting their forum boards, reading the FAQs, downloading their helpful mini-programs, running scans again. I eventually triumphed over the evil Trojan, which is now in quarantine. And I learned a lot about my computer and what to do with it. Like, Safe Mode. I didn't know what that was or how to use it, and now I do. This is the kind of thing I generally go to Don for, so it's nice to know that I can fix it myself if necessary.
And on Sunday, I had to work at the bookstore, when I've never had to work there before over the weekend. Everything I had planned to do-- you know, nothing interesting or fun but those little things that keep life moving like laundry, clean sheets on the bed, cleaning out the fridge-- didn't get done. So, no time to write. But, I've given my 2-weeks notice there. Starting in March, I will work just the one job, and just 35 hours a week.
I'm so exited that it's hard to describe. I'm trying to picture coming home from work on a Friday. It's about 5:00pm, and I have no other job to rush off to. The evening is mine, to spend with Don, to go out, to do as I wish. The weekend is mine. And all the evenings of the next week. It is an embarrassment of riches, this impending free time. The funny thing is that because the bank pays so much better per hour than the bookstore, I will barely be making any less money working 35 hours a week than I have been working 50-55 between the two of them these last three months.
Last night, Don and I watched the Westminster Dog Show, and Pedigree was running these commercials in order to raise money for their Adoption Drive . The first time this commercial came on, I cried. I think it's time to get another dog, or maybe, take some of my new free time and use it as volunteer time at the shelter here. Either way, I've decided to use dog-ness as a new judge of potential friends. I can't think of anyone worth knowing, off the top of my head, who doesn't like dogs.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
The Big Plunge
One of the nice things about working is that sometimes, we get bonuses. Extra money! Money that isn't already ear-marked in some way or another, for bills or for savings. I'm getting my year-end bonus at the beginning of March, and I think I know exactly what I want to do with it, but I'm scared. Last year, I was such a good girl. My bonus went straight into my fledgling little 401(k), every penny of it.
Only a few years out of college, and I'm still not used to this grown-up life that comes with paid vacation time, performance reviews, 401(k)'s, and bonus checks. The pay may be modest but the perks are OK.
The thing is, Don and I don't generally buy big things. We'd usually rather have $500.00 in the bank than have a 500-dollar-thingie at home and no money in the bank. We're saving to buy a house, saving to have emergency funds, for everything. Every time we think about buying something substantial, the thought fades away and we decide that the 'old one', whatever it is, should last awhile longer yet. That goes for the futon, Don's truck, our mattress, the dog... (just kidding about the dog). That doesn't mean that we're great at saving money or that we're really frugal. We still blow a lot of money on eating out, nights out, lattes, books, trips to Target or Lowes. It's easier to blow three hundred dollars by spending a little here, a little there until it's gone than to buy one three-hundred-dollar-thingie.
But here at the house we have a Laundry Situation, and it is not pretty. Our washer and dryer, they don't match. The dryer is an awesome dryer, a really fancy one, the kind that retails at over seven or eight hundred dollars. Don ended up bringing it home from work after it was discarded and no one else wanted it. One minor repair later and it is a dream dryer. The washer, though, is a piece of crap. We bought it for $50.00 from a relative of a coworker. It's probably as old as I am. It's 'belt' is broken, so when it tries to spin it vibrates all over the floor but the clothes are still soaking wet. It makes so much noise that I try to do laundry only when our downstairs neighbor isn't home. The clothes come out sudsy half the time, and have to go through another rinse. I'm pretty sure that it's only a few loads away from kicking the bucket completely.
So, I want to buy a new washer. But, I want to buy the dream-boat washer that would match our dryer, one that will eat up almost my whole bonus. At first I thought: maybe just a new, cheap machine. Something functional but basic. But if I do that, I'll want to replace it long before its time, because it won't have any of the features that I want: namely being a front-loader, being Energy-Star certified, and being crazy water-saving. Something like this, or this, or this. I want a washer that I will want to keep for as long as it survives, not a temporary machine. Washing machines last forever, I think; at least 8 or 9 years, judging by my parents' experience. (And obviously, by the dinosaur that I'm using right now, which could probably remember the Reagan Administration if washing machines had memory.) If I splurge right now and buy the good washer, it should last me a long, long, time. And it's not that hard to justify the cost if you calculate the cost per year if we can keep it working for, say, ten years. And, it will save money, too! Because of the Energy Star and the water-saving, and because if it actually wrings the clothes out during the spin cycle, the poor beleaguered dryer won't have to work quite as hard, either. But honestly, even the cheap washers spin. And it's hard to justify spending hundreds of dollars to save tens of dollars. But I want it. And I'll have the money to buy it, so what's the problem? I'm just going to do it. I am going to ignore that little voice that tells me to put the bonus check into my retirement account or into the House Down-payment Saving Account. It may not be a trip to Paris or a piece of jewelry, but it's what I want. Expect pictures of the Exiting New Washing Machine sometime in March.
ETA: I have become my mother. I am trying to justify the purchase of a prosaic, boring, useful appliance for the house, albeit an expensive one. How did I get so old so fast? Or have I always been this domesticated and not realized it till now?
Only a few years out of college, and I'm still not used to this grown-up life that comes with paid vacation time, performance reviews, 401(k)'s, and bonus checks. The pay may be modest but the perks are OK.
The thing is, Don and I don't generally buy big things. We'd usually rather have $500.00 in the bank than have a 500-dollar-thingie at home and no money in the bank. We're saving to buy a house, saving to have emergency funds, for everything. Every time we think about buying something substantial, the thought fades away and we decide that the 'old one', whatever it is, should last awhile longer yet. That goes for the futon, Don's truck, our mattress, the dog... (just kidding about the dog). That doesn't mean that we're great at saving money or that we're really frugal. We still blow a lot of money on eating out, nights out, lattes, books, trips to Target or Lowes. It's easier to blow three hundred dollars by spending a little here, a little there until it's gone than to buy one three-hundred-dollar-thingie.
But here at the house we have a Laundry Situation, and it is not pretty. Our washer and dryer, they don't match. The dryer is an awesome dryer, a really fancy one, the kind that retails at over seven or eight hundred dollars. Don ended up bringing it home from work after it was discarded and no one else wanted it. One minor repair later and it is a dream dryer. The washer, though, is a piece of crap. We bought it for $50.00 from a relative of a coworker. It's probably as old as I am. It's 'belt' is broken, so when it tries to spin it vibrates all over the floor but the clothes are still soaking wet. It makes so much noise that I try to do laundry only when our downstairs neighbor isn't home. The clothes come out sudsy half the time, and have to go through another rinse. I'm pretty sure that it's only a few loads away from kicking the bucket completely.
So, I want to buy a new washer. But, I want to buy the dream-boat washer that would match our dryer, one that will eat up almost my whole bonus. At first I thought: maybe just a new, cheap machine. Something functional but basic. But if I do that, I'll want to replace it long before its time, because it won't have any of the features that I want: namely being a front-loader, being Energy-Star certified, and being crazy water-saving. Something like this, or this, or this. I want a washer that I will want to keep for as long as it survives, not a temporary machine. Washing machines last forever, I think; at least 8 or 9 years, judging by my parents' experience. (And obviously, by the dinosaur that I'm using right now, which could probably remember the Reagan Administration if washing machines had memory.) If I splurge right now and buy the good washer, it should last me a long, long, time. And it's not that hard to justify the cost if you calculate the cost per year if we can keep it working for, say, ten years. And, it will save money, too! Because of the Energy Star and the water-saving, and because if it actually wrings the clothes out during the spin cycle, the poor beleaguered dryer won't have to work quite as hard, either. But honestly, even the cheap washers spin. And it's hard to justify spending hundreds of dollars to save tens of dollars. But I want it. And I'll have the money to buy it, so what's the problem? I'm just going to do it. I am going to ignore that little voice that tells me to put the bonus check into my retirement account or into the House Down-payment Saving Account. It may not be a trip to Paris or a piece of jewelry, but it's what I want. Expect pictures of the Exiting New Washing Machine sometime in March.
ETA: I have become my mother. I am trying to justify the purchase of a prosaic, boring, useful appliance for the house, albeit an expensive one. How did I get so old so fast? Or have I always been this domesticated and not realized it till now?
Monday, February 05, 2007
Sunday, February 04, 2007
"Leading Cause of Death" or, statistics
Heart disease is the 'leading cause of death' among women in this country. This is the month dedicated to "awareness", but what does "awareness" really mean? And what does "leading cause of death" really mean?
In any population, there are going to be several main causes of death. That is, you could pick maybe 10 "causes" that accounted for almost all of the deaths in that population. Something is always the leading cause of death. Throughout human history, the leading causes of death have remained fairly constant until the last century or so... you know, when everything changed. Until then, the leading causes of death for women were (first) infectious diseases like pneumonia, influenza, tuberculosis, and syphilis and (second) childbirth, although there is some overlap because one of the main 'ways' to die from childbirth was to contract a deadly infection from bad birthing hygiene.
"Leading cause of death" for children has changed dramatically, as well, thank God. According to one website, the leading causes of death for children in 1900 were "pneumonia and influenza, tuberculosis, and enteritis with diarrhea", and children under 5 accounted for 40% of those deaths.
So in 1900, if you were lucky enough to live through childhood without contracting a disease that would today be considered either extinct or curable; and you didn't contract one of those same diseases as an adult; and you were blessedly able to deliver your children into this world without dying in the process.... then you might worry about a 'later-adulthood' disease like heart disease.
That's the story for this country a hundred years ago, but life is still like that in countries right now. According to the World Health Organization, the world-wide leading cause of death is HIV/AIDS. Second: lower respiratory infections (as in pneumonia, bronchitis, tuberculosis...) Third: Diarrhea. Really. "Childhood Diseases" is still number six on the world's chart. All over the world, things like diarrhea and pneumonia are still leading causes of death, killing not the elderly but babies, children, young adults...
I guess what I'm trying to say is that as a country, we're damned lucky to claim heart disease as the "number-one-killer-of-women". It means that it's not childbirth. Not violence by men, by war, or by genocide. It's a disease that tends to strike later in life, and it indicates that as a population we're living long enough and healthy enough to get there.
I don't mean to say that "awareness" is not important. We should know what the top "killers" are, especially as the media tends to pick favorites (breast cancer, traffic fatalities) and publicize them. I'm not sure but I would guess that the average 40-something woman has been tested for breast cancer but maybe not for heart disease, and that's not right. We should definitely stop viewing heart disease as a men's problem when statistically it is killing more women. And of course we should make every attempt to eradicate heart disease, as we have with so many other things... polio, TB, syphilis.
But... we should not treat heart disease as some kind of "epidemic" that's "killing more people than ever before." Heart disease is not necessarily getting worse, or if it is, it is most likely due to lifestyle issues; our sedentary, overweight population is straining their hearts like never before. It's that we're dying so much less from everything else.
In any population, there are going to be several main causes of death. That is, you could pick maybe 10 "causes" that accounted for almost all of the deaths in that population. Something is always the leading cause of death. Throughout human history, the leading causes of death have remained fairly constant until the last century or so... you know, when everything changed. Until then, the leading causes of death for women were (first) infectious diseases like pneumonia, influenza, tuberculosis, and syphilis and (second) childbirth, although there is some overlap because one of the main 'ways' to die from childbirth was to contract a deadly infection from bad birthing hygiene.
"Leading cause of death" for children has changed dramatically, as well, thank God. According to one website, the leading causes of death for children in 1900 were "pneumonia and influenza, tuberculosis, and enteritis with diarrhea", and children under 5 accounted for 40% of those deaths.
So in 1900, if you were lucky enough to live through childhood without contracting a disease that would today be considered either extinct or curable; and you didn't contract one of those same diseases as an adult; and you were blessedly able to deliver your children into this world without dying in the process.... then you might worry about a 'later-adulthood' disease like heart disease.
That's the story for this country a hundred years ago, but life is still like that in countries right now. According to the World Health Organization, the world-wide leading cause of death is HIV/AIDS. Second: lower respiratory infections (as in pneumonia, bronchitis, tuberculosis...) Third: Diarrhea. Really. "Childhood Diseases" is still number six on the world's chart. All over the world, things like diarrhea and pneumonia are still leading causes of death, killing not the elderly but babies, children, young adults...
I guess what I'm trying to say is that as a country, we're damned lucky to claim heart disease as the "number-one-killer-of-women". It means that it's not childbirth. Not violence by men, by war, or by genocide. It's a disease that tends to strike later in life, and it indicates that as a population we're living long enough and healthy enough to get there.
I don't mean to say that "awareness" is not important. We should know what the top "killers" are, especially as the media tends to pick favorites (breast cancer, traffic fatalities) and publicize them. I'm not sure but I would guess that the average 40-something woman has been tested for breast cancer but maybe not for heart disease, and that's not right. We should definitely stop viewing heart disease as a men's problem when statistically it is killing more women. And of course we should make every attempt to eradicate heart disease, as we have with so many other things... polio, TB, syphilis.
But... we should not treat heart disease as some kind of "epidemic" that's "killing more people than ever before." Heart disease is not necessarily getting worse, or if it is, it is most likely due to lifestyle issues; our sedentary, overweight population is straining their hearts like never before. It's that we're dying so much less from everything else.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
AHHHHHHH!!!!
ok so I know I posted here only a few hours ago but in that time I discovered this:
That's THIS COMING SUMMER!
I could not be more exited, seriously. Have to go hyperventilate for awhile and call all similarly minded friends.
Heck, I'll be calling even the friends that couldnt' care less, just to talk their ears off a bit.
February-yay!
I thought this year that instead of making a grand list of New Year's Resolutions or Goals, I'd make one small goal each month. Keeps life more interesting that way, and I think it's easier to achieve. Having year-long goals makes it too easy to fall off the wagon, get depressed and angry about it and say, "Screw all the goals!" But at the other end, making no goals at all is tantamount to saying, "My self and my life are absolutely perfect, nothing here that needs any kind of improvement". My little goal for January was to get my 'extra room' into order, so that it was neat and usable instead of being crammed with unpacked boxes. Check!
For February, I'm trying something different. The bank where I work, it's in a building on the university grounds that houses all kinds of stuff-- student services, game rooms, cafeterias, a coffee place. Within the cafeteria (which is maybe 20 feet from the bank), is this stand that sells roast chicken, turkey and gravy, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, peach cobler... it's wonderful and it all tastes homemade-from-scratch. The macaroni? It's as good as the stuff I make at home. The gravy is not McCormick's, it tastes like Thanksgiving gravy. And I've been eating there two or three times a week, because it is SO GOOD, and yet it is SO BAD for me. So this month, I will abstain from the roast-chicken stand. Instead, I will go either to the sushi bar for non-fishy sushi (yes, I know. I know.) or get a fruit cup and yogurt, or bring something healthy from home. One month with no turkey-n-gravy-n-mashed . . .can I do it? I told my plan to both of my coworkers, so that they will hassle me should I waver. It's not that I'm trying to lose weight (although that would be OK too) so much as that I'm sure it's bad to eat as though it's Thanksgiving a couple of times a week.
For February, I'm trying something different. The bank where I work, it's in a building on the university grounds that houses all kinds of stuff-- student services, game rooms, cafeterias, a coffee place. Within the cafeteria (which is maybe 20 feet from the bank), is this stand that sells roast chicken, turkey and gravy, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, peach cobler... it's wonderful and it all tastes homemade-from-scratch. The macaroni? It's as good as the stuff I make at home. The gravy is not McCormick's, it tastes like Thanksgiving gravy. And I've been eating there two or three times a week, because it is SO GOOD, and yet it is SO BAD for me. So this month, I will abstain from the roast-chicken stand. Instead, I will go either to the sushi bar for non-fishy sushi (yes, I know. I know.) or get a fruit cup and yogurt, or bring something healthy from home. One month with no turkey-n-gravy-n-mashed . . .can I do it? I told my plan to both of my coworkers, so that they will hassle me should I waver. It's not that I'm trying to lose weight (although that would be OK too) so much as that I'm sure it's bad to eat as though it's Thanksgiving a couple of times a week.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
What have I done?
Sunday night, Don and I were 'social'. We 'went out' and 'did stuff with other people'... the dog was confused. Where did they go? Why aren't they at home? His company's holiday party first, held in the hotel. I've gotten so used to working with a very small group of people that seeing the crowd that Don works with is a little overwhelming. Where I work, you know not only your coworkers names but their life stories as well. Where Don works, half the people there are on a nod-and-smile-because-you-can't-remember-their-names basis. Afterwards we changed and went to play darts with some friends from the bookstore.
Darts. Who knew? I have always stayed away from darts, and anyone who knows me and my pitiful klutziness would understand why... sharp pointy objects being thrown? Not a good idea for Mara, right? I kind of figured that I would completely, totally suck at darts, extrapolating from 'sucking at pool', 'sucking at bowling', and 'sucking at all sports'. But darts is so much better than any of those things! First of all, anyone can at least hit the dartboard at least most of the time.
Unlike bowling, where the ball will dive into the gutter any chance it gets, or pool, where maybe you get your ball in, or maybe you accidentally get your opponent's ball in, scoring a point for them, or maybe you get the cue ball in, which for some reason doesn't count. But in darts, once the dart is thrown at the board, there's maybe a 30% chance of it hitting something that is helpful for your team. For example, twice I hit a bulls-eye (the little red circle in the middle, for the uninitiated) and once got a triple-19, just by sheer dumb luck. That almost never happens in, say, bowling, where so much strength and skill is required that luck doesn't count for much. And, my arm didn't even hurt the next day. Also, in darts the total score is scribbled on a chalk board, but unlike electronically-scored bowling, nothing is keeping track of every gutter-ball in an embarrassing fashion, showing a neat line of zeros marching alongside your strange bowling-alley abbreviated name.
Don loves darts. He is wonderfully skilled, but is that any surprise? Any game played in a bar, he is good at. He used to hustle pool. He plays left-handed to give himself a handicap, to make it more challenging. Sunday was the first time in maybe six years that he's played darts and he still kicked ass. At the end of the night, when Jen-from-the-bookstore-and-Co. were determining when we'd play again, it went kind of like this: "So we'll do this again two weeks from now, and Don, you come and PLAY ON OUR TEAM and oh yeah, Mara, you come too..."
And Don's playing again after so long, it's like reigniting a fire, or falling off the wagon or something. On the way home, he rhapsodized about the many ways we can now incorporate darts into our lives... "We can buy darts! And a dartboar, and hand it in your room, and we can practice at home before going out! But not the cheap plastic kind... real darts"
What have I done?
Darts. Who knew? I have always stayed away from darts, and anyone who knows me and my pitiful klutziness would understand why... sharp pointy objects being thrown? Not a good idea for Mara, right? I kind of figured that I would completely, totally suck at darts, extrapolating from 'sucking at pool', 'sucking at bowling', and 'sucking at all sports'. But darts is so much better than any of those things! First of all, anyone can at least hit the dartboard at least most of the time.
Unlike bowling, where the ball will dive into the gutter any chance it gets, or pool, where maybe you get your ball in, or maybe you accidentally get your opponent's ball in, scoring a point for them, or maybe you get the cue ball in, which for some reason doesn't count. But in darts, once the dart is thrown at the board, there's maybe a 30% chance of it hitting something that is helpful for your team. For example, twice I hit a bulls-eye (the little red circle in the middle, for the uninitiated) and once got a triple-19, just by sheer dumb luck. That almost never happens in, say, bowling, where so much strength and skill is required that luck doesn't count for much. And, my arm didn't even hurt the next day. Also, in darts the total score is scribbled on a chalk board, but unlike electronically-scored bowling, nothing is keeping track of every gutter-ball in an embarrassing fashion, showing a neat line of zeros marching alongside your strange bowling-alley abbreviated name.
Don loves darts. He is wonderfully skilled, but is that any surprise? Any game played in a bar, he is good at. He used to hustle pool. He plays left-handed to give himself a handicap, to make it more challenging. Sunday was the first time in maybe six years that he's played darts and he still kicked ass. At the end of the night, when Jen-from-the-bookstore-and-Co. were determining when we'd play again, it went kind of like this: "So we'll do this again two weeks from now, and Don, you come and PLAY ON OUR TEAM and oh yeah, Mara, you come too..."
And Don's playing again after so long, it's like reigniting a fire, or falling off the wagon or something. On the way home, he rhapsodized about the many ways we can now incorporate darts into our lives... "We can buy darts! And a dartboar, and hand it in your room, and we can practice at home before going out! But not the cheap plastic kind... real darts"
What have I done?
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Please Don't Annoy the Barista, Part 2
Things to do while ordering in a coffee shop that will slowly drive the person behind the counter to insanity:
1. Mispronounce everything. I don't mean the overly-complicated Italian names--anyone can get those wrong. But the simple stuff? Latte is pronounced by most of us as LAH-tay, not lah-TAY. Man do I hate hearing "I'll have a tall vanilla lah-TAY, heavy on the vanilla." Lah-TAY sounds both pretentious and misguided. A lots of people precede their drink order by the word "caffe". It means "coffee", basically, but that doesn't mean they're pronounced the same way. It's a little confusing/annoying to hear "I want a 'coffee' latte." Because of course we also sell... coffee. What do you want exactly?
2. Over-ordering. Not too much stuff, just too many words. You don't need the 'caffe' part of caffe mocha-- 95% of customers seem to understand that just a simple "mocha" works fine. And "caffe mocha latte"? Redundancy slows us down. "Breve latte"? SO redundant.
3. Use the word "just" out of context. "Just" implies that you're going to order something very basic and simple. "Just a small cup of coffee for me tonight" is correct. "I'll just have a Venti caramel Frappuccino, make that Lite, with whipped cream and extra drizzle" There is nothing JUST about that statement. What are you trying to imply, that it's somehow less work if you vocally minimize it with a "just"? That you honestly don't realize that you're a complicated, high-maintenance orderer?
4. Me: (smiling) "Hi, how're you doing this eve--"
Her: (interrupting) "I need a whatever, large, extra this and that."
OK. I try to be friendly or at least cheerful with every customer. The damned least you can do is let me finish saying hello before you barge ahead, unsmiling, with your order.
5. Claim to "need" your drink. You don't NEED a white-chocolate mocha. You WANT a mocha. Perhaps you WOULD LIKE a mocha. It really rankles to hear people claim to "need" specialty $4.00 coffee drinks as though it's a roof over their head or a winter coat on their back. I read somewhere that the average American family has $9,000 in credit card debt and basically nothing in savings-- how much does confusing needs with desires contribute to that situation, I wonder? A polite order would sound like this: "Hi, I would like..."
6. Order caffeinated drinks for your kids. Just a hint: those mocha Frappuccinos have as much caffeine as a latte, even if they do taste like a coffee milkshake. Mochas and flavored lattes are caffeinated as well, unless you specify decaf. I guess if you let your kids drink Coke then giving them a cup of coffee doesn't make the biggest difference, but have you ever thought about limiting the quantities of drugs in their systems until they hit adolescence? And, it might contraindicate the Ritalin.
7. Demonstrate a complete lack of irony. One woman comes to the counter to buy a book and a drink. The book is Weight Loss Wisdom: 365 Successful Dieting Tips . The drink is a venti toffee-nut latte, made with whole milk and whipped cream. The drink has 580 calories. 25 grams of fat. I think that may be in the book somewhere, and no, I don't think the book was for a friend.
On the bright side, last night I went to bed, fell asleep, and stayed asleep for 6 hours! I never thought something so simple could make me so happy. If I could only have slept in, too, instead of getting up for work... But still. My head is clear for the first time in days. I'm not fantasizing about taking a nap.
1. Mispronounce everything. I don't mean the overly-complicated Italian names--anyone can get those wrong. But the simple stuff? Latte is pronounced by most of us as LAH-tay, not lah-TAY. Man do I hate hearing "I'll have a tall vanilla lah-TAY, heavy on the vanilla." Lah-TAY sounds both pretentious and misguided. A lots of people precede their drink order by the word "caffe". It means "coffee", basically, but that doesn't mean they're pronounced the same way. It's a little confusing/annoying to hear "I want a 'coffee' latte." Because of course we also sell... coffee. What do you want exactly?
2. Over-ordering. Not too much stuff, just too many words. You don't need the 'caffe' part of caffe mocha-- 95% of customers seem to understand that just a simple "mocha" works fine. And "caffe mocha latte"? Redundancy slows us down. "Breve latte"? SO redundant.
3. Use the word "just" out of context. "Just" implies that you're going to order something very basic and simple. "Just a small cup of coffee for me tonight" is correct. "I'll just have a Venti caramel Frappuccino, make that Lite, with whipped cream and extra drizzle" There is nothing JUST about that statement. What are you trying to imply, that it's somehow less work if you vocally minimize it with a "just"? That you honestly don't realize that you're a complicated, high-maintenance orderer?
4. Me: (smiling) "Hi, how're you doing this eve--"
Her: (interrupting) "I need a whatever, large, extra this and that."
OK. I try to be friendly or at least cheerful with every customer. The damned least you can do is let me finish saying hello before you barge ahead, unsmiling, with your order.
5. Claim to "need" your drink. You don't NEED a white-chocolate mocha. You WANT a mocha. Perhaps you WOULD LIKE a mocha. It really rankles to hear people claim to "need" specialty $4.00 coffee drinks as though it's a roof over their head or a winter coat on their back. I read somewhere that the average American family has $9,000 in credit card debt and basically nothing in savings-- how much does confusing needs with desires contribute to that situation, I wonder? A polite order would sound like this: "Hi, I would like..."
6. Order caffeinated drinks for your kids. Just a hint: those mocha Frappuccinos have as much caffeine as a latte, even if they do taste like a coffee milkshake. Mochas and flavored lattes are caffeinated as well, unless you specify decaf. I guess if you let your kids drink Coke then giving them a cup of coffee doesn't make the biggest difference, but have you ever thought about limiting the quantities of drugs in their systems until they hit adolescence? And, it might contraindicate the Ritalin.
7. Demonstrate a complete lack of irony. One woman comes to the counter to buy a book and a drink. The book is Weight Loss Wisdom: 365 Successful Dieting Tips . The drink is a venti toffee-nut latte, made with whole milk and whipped cream. The drink has 580 calories. 25 grams of fat. I think that may be in the book somewhere, and no, I don't think the book was for a friend.
On the bright side, last night I went to bed, fell asleep, and stayed asleep for 6 hours! I never thought something so simple could make me so happy. If I could only have slept in, too, instead of getting up for work... But still. My head is clear for the first time in days. I'm not fantasizing about taking a nap.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
In My Room
There are a lot of things that I love about this house here in Virginia. I like that it is really a house instead of an apartment; a house in a tree-filled, walkable neighborhood instead of a concrete-covered complex. I love the fact that because it's tiny, it's a breeze to clean; and almost every room is a corner room with windows on two sides. But the single best, number-one thing has got to be having a second bedroom again. I think for a couple living together, having some kind of separate space is important, a place to 'be' that is not the living room or bedroom. For me, it's this room. 
This is the desk that Don and I made from scratch last year. Remember this? Now it holds the computer and printer, desk supplies and files and stuff, so they're not in the living room anymore. No computer in the living room-- it's almost like we're not college students anymore! Oh, wait. We aren't.
This poor overworked bookcase is holding practically my entire collection of books-- lots more stacked above, and two more boxes beside. It's looking forward to the day that we put in some bookcases in the living room. Hello, Ikea! In the meantime, it's nice to have them out of the cartons and available. I missed them!
One day Don and I will buy a real sofa, something nice. Then we can move the futon into this room and make it a guest bedroom as well. And, our living room will look even less like a college place because, no futon!
It's actually really small, smaller than it looks here-- I was squished in the corner by the door to take this picture. Having a room that's a catch-all makes every other room serve it's own purpose a little better.
Having this table (Thirty dollar! And a place to keep the sawhorses!) means that the dining table in the kitchen is just for eating-- it's not covered in craft materials or puzzle pieces, the way the dining table in Texas perpetually was. It's nice to be able to sit down for dinner across the table from each other. It's like a restaurant, but with cooking your own food and doing dishes after. Ok, maybe it's just like having a kitchen table and chairs. 
This is the desk that Don and I made from scratch last year. Remember this? Now it holds the computer and printer, desk supplies and files and stuff, so they're not in the living room anymore. No computer in the living room-- it's almost like we're not college students anymore! Oh, wait. We aren't.
This poor overworked bookcase is holding practically my entire collection of books-- lots more stacked above, and two more boxes beside. It's looking forward to the day that we put in some bookcases in the living room. Hello, Ikea! In the meantime, it's nice to have them out of the cartons and available. I missed them!
One day Don and I will buy a real sofa, something nice. Then we can move the futon into this room and make it a guest bedroom as well. And, our living room will look even less like a college place because, no futon!
Insomnia
Since my birthday last week, I've had a single night of real sleep. I don't know what's wrong, but every night it's tossing and turning, waking every time I manage to fall asleep. I'm trying everything I can think of:
Cutting back on caffeine; not that I drink a lot of it, but I've cut back to the one mocha or macchiato of the morning. No caffeine after noon.
Eliminating alcohol: drinking even a little bit seems to keep me up at night.
Going to bed earlier, getting up earlier. Trying to maintain a consistent pattern. Although it's hard to get up earlier when you haven't had much sleep to begin with.
Having Don sleep in the living room, to avoid the snoring. Didn't help, although it helped his neck a lot. But I still didn't sleep. And it was even worse without him there, I think.
Sex.
Hot baths or showers before bed.
Avoiding the tv before bedtime. You know, all the colors and noise and ideas. Last night we just never turned it on.
And I'm still getting outside with the dog everyday for a little fresh air and exercise. This is basically every physical thing I can think of, and none of it has helped for shit. I'm not upset or emotionally worked up over anything. Not depressed. Not stressed out. Everything in my life seems like it's going ok, so I really don't think it's an emotional issue. And I don't usually have to be at work until 11:00 in the morning, so even not sleeping at night isn't as stressful as it might be-- you know with that "Oh crap it's 3:00am now and I have to be at work at 8:30 which means I have to be up by 7:00 at the latest which means that I won't have even 5 hours of sleep which means I'll probably screw something up at work and get in trouble..."-- none of that, even.
I know that insomnia can come with the onset of old age, but I wouldn't think it'd be like, "Ding! 26! Time to stop sleeping!" I'm getting just enough every night, maybe 4 hours or so, to stay sane and not completely lose it. The good news is that I'm definitely getting an increase of hours at the bank to almost-full-time, so I'll be able to quit Job #2 at the end of February. I'm thinking that might help, because I work until midnight 3 times a week, which might be messing with my sleep cycles. Although why that would only start now when I've been working there since November I've no idea.
I'm also getting some new responsibilities at the bank soon-- opening accounts, doing wire transfers, that kind of thing. I don't know if it's an actual promotion or raise or just more work, but either way I'm glad. I'd rather be learning new things, trying something new than just doing the same-old same-old. The idea of another raise already is almost scary, like too much good news or something... although I'm sure I'll adjust to the idea quickly if it happens!
I spent all weekend cleaning the house and sorting out my room. My room! The second bedroom of the house, also known as the study/library/sewing room/guest room. It's where all the extra boxes of stuff have been stored since the move, mainly boxes of books since we don't have bookcases here. It's all sorted now, all boxes have dissapeared except for two remaining cartons of books that just won't have a home until we buy shelves. My desk looks great in here, and I have a new worktable, too-- it will be a sewing place soon but right now is the jigsaw puzzle table. It's just a hollow-core closet door from Lowe's ($30!) on top of Don's sawhorses. Cheap and perfect.
Pictures of my wonderful little room to follow, as soon as I can get it together to take picture and post them.
Cutting back on caffeine; not that I drink a lot of it, but I've cut back to the one mocha or macchiato of the morning. No caffeine after noon.
Eliminating alcohol: drinking even a little bit seems to keep me up at night.
Going to bed earlier, getting up earlier. Trying to maintain a consistent pattern. Although it's hard to get up earlier when you haven't had much sleep to begin with.
Having Don sleep in the living room, to avoid the snoring. Didn't help, although it helped his neck a lot. But I still didn't sleep. And it was even worse without him there, I think.
Sex.
Hot baths or showers before bed.
Avoiding the tv before bedtime. You know, all the colors and noise and ideas. Last night we just never turned it on.
And I'm still getting outside with the dog everyday for a little fresh air and exercise. This is basically every physical thing I can think of, and none of it has helped for shit. I'm not upset or emotionally worked up over anything. Not depressed. Not stressed out. Everything in my life seems like it's going ok, so I really don't think it's an emotional issue. And I don't usually have to be at work until 11:00 in the morning, so even not sleeping at night isn't as stressful as it might be-- you know with that "Oh crap it's 3:00am now and I have to be at work at 8:30 which means I have to be up by 7:00 at the latest which means that I won't have even 5 hours of sleep which means I'll probably screw something up at work and get in trouble..."-- none of that, even.
I know that insomnia can come with the onset of old age, but I wouldn't think it'd be like, "Ding! 26! Time to stop sleeping!" I'm getting just enough every night, maybe 4 hours or so, to stay sane and not completely lose it. The good news is that I'm definitely getting an increase of hours at the bank to almost-full-time, so I'll be able to quit Job #2 at the end of February. I'm thinking that might help, because I work until midnight 3 times a week, which might be messing with my sleep cycles. Although why that would only start now when I've been working there since November I've no idea.
I'm also getting some new responsibilities at the bank soon-- opening accounts, doing wire transfers, that kind of thing. I don't know if it's an actual promotion or raise or just more work, but either way I'm glad. I'd rather be learning new things, trying something new than just doing the same-old same-old. The idea of another raise already is almost scary, like too much good news or something... although I'm sure I'll adjust to the idea quickly if it happens!
I spent all weekend cleaning the house and sorting out my room. My room! The second bedroom of the house, also known as the study/library/sewing room/guest room. It's where all the extra boxes of stuff have been stored since the move, mainly boxes of books since we don't have bookcases here. It's all sorted now, all boxes have dissapeared except for two remaining cartons of books that just won't have a home until we buy shelves. My desk looks great in here, and I have a new worktable, too-- it will be a sewing place soon but right now is the jigsaw puzzle table. It's just a hollow-core closet door from Lowe's ($30!) on top of Don's sawhorses. Cheap and perfect.
Pictures of my wonderful little room to follow, as soon as I can get it together to take picture and post them.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
January Franklin Awards
About a month ago I mentioned creating a new award, like a Darwin Award for banking, the Franklin. I think I've found this month's contender, a girl who brings financial knowledge to a whole new low. This is an (I swear!) un-embellished conversation between this customer and my coworker, Kristin.
Girl: Um yeah, hi. I'm trying to find out why I haven't gotten a statement for my credit card yet in the mail.
Kristin: Ok. How long have you had the card? Because it takes a few weeks, sometimes a month.
Girl: I've had this card for a couple of months now! I keep using it but haven't gotten anything in the mail for it.
Kristin: A couple of months with no statement? Let me check it out. (brings up girl's accounts on the computer system.) I'm not seeing a credit card under your profile... are you sure the card is with this bank?
Girl: Of course it is! It says (insert bank's name) right on the card!
Kristin: If you have the card with you I can take a look at it. (Gets card from girl.) Ummm... this isn't a credit card, it's a debit card. Like, a check card?
Girl: I know that, but whenever they ask me 'credit or debit', I say 'credit'! That makes it a credit card, right?
Kristin: .....
Kristin: (mightily refraining from inappropriate comments like 'How did you ever get into this university' or 'Are you blond underneath') No, hon, all it does is make you sign for it instead of using your PIN. Any time you use your check card that money's gonna come right out of your checking account. It never works like a credit card. A credit card is something you have to apply for separately, and it won't say 'debit' on the front.
Girl: .... (thinking seriously)
Girl: So is that why those transactions keep showing up on my checking account statement?
Girl: Um yeah, hi. I'm trying to find out why I haven't gotten a statement for my credit card yet in the mail.
Kristin: Ok. How long have you had the card? Because it takes a few weeks, sometimes a month.
Girl: I've had this card for a couple of months now! I keep using it but haven't gotten anything in the mail for it.
Kristin: A couple of months with no statement? Let me check it out. (brings up girl's accounts on the computer system.) I'm not seeing a credit card under your profile... are you sure the card is with this bank?
Girl: Of course it is! It says (insert bank's name) right on the card!
Kristin: If you have the card with you I can take a look at it. (Gets card from girl.) Ummm... this isn't a credit card, it's a debit card. Like, a check card?
Girl: I know that, but whenever they ask me 'credit or debit', I say 'credit'! That makes it a credit card, right?
Kristin: .....
Kristin: (mightily refraining from inappropriate comments like 'How did you ever get into this university' or 'Are you blond underneath') No, hon, all it does is make you sign for it instead of using your PIN. Any time you use your check card that money's gonna come right out of your checking account. It never works like a credit card. A credit card is something you have to apply for separately, and it won't say 'debit' on the front.
Girl: .... (thinking seriously)
Girl: So is that why those transactions keep showing up on my checking account statement?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Low-Rise Long Johns and Airborne Birthday Cake
It finally got cold here in Virginia, in keeping with the rest of the country. I leave Texas looking for snowier climes, and who gets the winter storm? Texas. Here we just have clear, cold, and breezy. Yesterday I was reduced to wearing long underwear under my dress pants for work, because the pants are thin and I have a quarter-mile walk after I get to work. Everything worked fine except for the waistband, which is higher than I'd ever wear a pair of pants and required strategic stuffing, tucking and rolling in order not to show over the pants waist. So attention, underwear manufacturers: the time is right for low-rise long johns. Something that will fit cleanly beneath the sleekest, most stylish trousers.
Yesterday: my birthday, the big 2-6. I feel newly old, wise, mature... yeah right! Maybe if I didn't keep getting mistaken for a University student. It was actually a wonderful birthday and I was surprised, because the first part was kind of...meh. Had to work, work was crazy, etc etc. But when I got home there was a package from my parents waiting on the porch. My mom sent, in addition to birthday presents...
One homemade carrot cake
One tub of frosting
One plastic knife
A package of birthday candles
Detailed instructions regarding the cake, including "Have Don sing Happy Birthday" and "Make a wish"
Enough to make someone cry, really. My mom makes the best carrot cake. Then Don came home and took me out to dinner; to a fancy place, the kind of restaurant you dress up for. And gave me a beautiful necklace. And... yeah. A good birthday.
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P.S. If there's anyone out there who happens to turn 26 on January 21st... Happy Birthday and God bless.
Yesterday: my birthday, the big 2-6. I feel newly old, wise, mature... yeah right! Maybe if I didn't keep getting mistaken for a University student. It was actually a wonderful birthday and I was surprised, because the first part was kind of...meh. Had to work, work was crazy, etc etc. But when I got home there was a package from my parents waiting on the porch. My mom sent, in addition to birthday presents...
One homemade carrot cake
One tub of frosting
One plastic knife
A package of birthday candles
Detailed instructions regarding the cake, including "Have Don sing Happy Birthday" and "Make a wish"
Enough to make someone cry, really. My mom makes the best carrot cake. Then Don came home and took me out to dinner; to a fancy place, the kind of restaurant you dress up for. And gave me a beautiful necklace. And... yeah. A good birthday.
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P.S. If there's anyone out there who happens to turn 26 on January 21st... Happy Birthday and God bless.
Monday, January 15, 2007
New Song
Apparently, Don and I have a new 'our' song. I was not consulted about this, but we seem to have migrated from heavy metal to country, from sexy to sappy sweet. But, who can complain? Every time we're in the car and this song comes on, he sings along (off-key) and pokes me in the leg for any lyrics he finds applicable.
"She's Everything"
Brad Paisley
She's a yellow pair of running shoes
A holey pair of jeans
She looks great in cheap sunglasses
She looks great in anything
She's I want a piece of chocolate
Take me to a movie
She's I can't find a thing to wear
Now and then she's moody
She's a Saturn with a sunroof
With her brown hair a-blowing
She's a soft place to land
And a good feeling knowing
She's a warm conversation
That I wouldn't miss for nothing
She's a fighter when she's mad
And she's a lover when she's loving
And she's everything I ever wanted
And everything I need
I talk about her, I go on and on and on
'Cause she's everything to me
She's a Saturday out on the town
And a church girl on Sunday
She's a cross around her neck
And a cuss word 'cause its Monday
She's a bubble bath and candles
Baby come and kiss me
She's a one glass of wine
And she's feeling kinda tipsy
She's the giver I wish I could be
And the stealer of the covers
She's a picture in my wallet
Of my unborn children's mother
She's the hand that I'm holding
When I'm on my knees and praying
She's the answer to my prayer
And she's the song that I'm playing
She's the voice I love to hear
Someday when I'm ninety
She's that wooden rocking chair
I want rocking right beside me
Everyday that passes
I only love her more
Yeah, she's the one
That I'd lay down my own life for
And she's everything I ever wanted
And everything I need
She's everything to me
Yeah she's everything to me
Everything I ever wanted
And everything I need
She's everything to me
And I'll have you know that it takes more than one glass of wine to make me tipsy... more like one and a half. And really, who doesn't steal covers?
"She's Everything"
Brad Paisley
She's a yellow pair of running shoes
A holey pair of jeans
She looks great in cheap sunglasses
She looks great in anything
She's I want a piece of chocolate
Take me to a movie
She's I can't find a thing to wear
Now and then she's moody
She's a Saturn with a sunroof
With her brown hair a-blowing
She's a soft place to land
And a good feeling knowing
She's a warm conversation
That I wouldn't miss for nothing
She's a fighter when she's mad
And she's a lover when she's loving
And she's everything I ever wanted
And everything I need
I talk about her, I go on and on and on
'Cause she's everything to me
She's a Saturday out on the town
And a church girl on Sunday
She's a cross around her neck
And a cuss word 'cause its Monday
She's a bubble bath and candles
Baby come and kiss me
She's a one glass of wine
And she's feeling kinda tipsy
She's the giver I wish I could be
And the stealer of the covers
She's a picture in my wallet
Of my unborn children's mother
She's the hand that I'm holding
When I'm on my knees and praying
She's the answer to my prayer
And she's the song that I'm playing
She's the voice I love to hear
Someday when I'm ninety
She's that wooden rocking chair
I want rocking right beside me
Everyday that passes
I only love her more
Yeah, she's the one
That I'd lay down my own life for
And she's everything I ever wanted
And everything I need
She's everything to me
Yeah she's everything to me
Everything I ever wanted
And everything I need
She's everything to me
And I'll have you know that it takes more than one glass of wine to make me tipsy... more like one and a half. And really, who doesn't steal covers?
Friday, January 12, 2007
New Year
I finally got pictures up from the trip. We took almost 400, so I just kind of picked a few. Every day with the hiking and the mountains and the canyons--it was wonderful. I feel so blessed, so grateful to have such a close-knit family; even though my sister and I are grown we still take family vacations together with my parents. It's a bittersweet feeling, because that was probably the last time that it will ever be just the five of us. Don was invited on this trip but couldn't make it, next time he'll be with us, and maybe my sister's boyfriend, and eventually we'll have our own family as well.
My parents have bought a vacation house in New Mexico that we will all be using from now on-- they've given Don and me carte blanche to crash there whenever, and probably K and her guy as well. It looks beautiful, and I keep imagining future vacations-- just the two of us, or my entire clan, or maybe with new babies-- mine? My sister's? I think, I hope that having this family vacation place will help to keep us close, even as we branch out. I want us to remain the kind of family that voluntarily spends time together-- hard-earned vacation time. Maybe we'll take up skiing.
So it's January again. I love January, and not just because it's my birthday month either. I love the clean, fresh-washed feel of a new year; all the decadence and splurge of Christmas washed away; everyone looking forwards with goals and resolutions. I went back through my blog to look up last year's goals to see how I'd done in 2006. Answer... not bad. Not great, but decent. The most-achieved category were the financial goals, the least being dietary changes. It was harder than I thought it'd be to stay out of debt, and I've got a bit now that needs paying off again. Yo-yo dieting? No, try yo-yo budgeting.
But, I try to look at debt as a income-to-debt ratio. If you make, say, $25,000 (just an example, read nothing into that please) and have $1,000 in debt, that's like what, 1/25? Equal to one (gross) 2-week paycheck. But if you make $25,000 and have $6,000 in debt, you owe like a quarter of your yearly income before it's even made! This makes me feel pretty good about the little bit o' debt that I have, because I know I can pay it off in the next few weeks-- it's not even enough to make a goal over. And, my Discover card is back in hiding and out of my wallet. My 401(k) goal rocked. Seriously, I didn't know how easy it'd be to set it up and put money there. I only kept track of my spending for 3 months, but really that was enough. I'm not that 'detail oriented', really.
Breakfast every day? Ha! Only if a Starbucks Grande non-fat Caramel Macchiato counts as breakfast. But, I didn't gain any weight for the year and even lost a few pounds in Big Bend-- must have been all the walking up and down mountains.
Don's and my real goal for 2006, though, was to get the heck out of Dallas and into greener pastures. Check! One cross-country move ticked off the list. This year I'm not going to make a list of goals . Rather, I'm going to go for smaller, monthly goals to keep things interesting--small changes, nothing major, just something to challenge. My goal for the weekend is to clean the apartment, set up my new work table w/ the sewing machine, and stock up on groceries. As I said... nothing major!
My parents have bought a vacation house in New Mexico that we will all be using from now on-- they've given Don and me carte blanche to crash there whenever, and probably K and her guy as well. It looks beautiful, and I keep imagining future vacations-- just the two of us, or my entire clan, or maybe with new babies-- mine? My sister's? I think, I hope that having this family vacation place will help to keep us close, even as we branch out. I want us to remain the kind of family that voluntarily spends time together-- hard-earned vacation time. Maybe we'll take up skiing.
So it's January again. I love January, and not just because it's my birthday month either. I love the clean, fresh-washed feel of a new year; all the decadence and splurge of Christmas washed away; everyone looking forwards with goals and resolutions. I went back through my blog to look up last year's goals to see how I'd done in 2006. Answer... not bad. Not great, but decent. The most-achieved category were the financial goals, the least being dietary changes. It was harder than I thought it'd be to stay out of debt, and I've got a bit now that needs paying off again. Yo-yo dieting? No, try yo-yo budgeting.
But, I try to look at debt as a income-to-debt ratio. If you make, say, $25,000 (just an example, read nothing into that please) and have $1,000 in debt, that's like what, 1/25? Equal to one (gross) 2-week paycheck. But if you make $25,000 and have $6,000 in debt, you owe like a quarter of your yearly income before it's even made! This makes me feel pretty good about the little bit o' debt that I have, because I know I can pay it off in the next few weeks-- it's not even enough to make a goal over. And, my Discover card is back in hiding and out of my wallet. My 401(k) goal rocked. Seriously, I didn't know how easy it'd be to set it up and put money there. I only kept track of my spending for 3 months, but really that was enough. I'm not that 'detail oriented', really.
Breakfast every day? Ha! Only if a Starbucks Grande non-fat Caramel Macchiato counts as breakfast. But, I didn't gain any weight for the year and even lost a few pounds in Big Bend-- must have been all the walking up and down mountains.
Don's and my real goal for 2006, though, was to get the heck out of Dallas and into greener pastures. Check! One cross-country move ticked off the list. This year I'm not going to make a list of goals . Rather, I'm going to go for smaller, monthly goals to keep things interesting--small changes, nothing major, just something to challenge. My goal for the weekend is to clean the apartment, set up my new work table w/ the sewing machine, and stock up on groceries. As I said... nothing major!
Monday, January 08, 2007
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Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Terlingua: Not a Ski Town
Man. I have about six post's worth of stuff swirling around right now, and no way to get it all out except for my favorite, the rambling stream of consciousness! This was seriously an amazing vacation. Amazing amazing amazing. I'm the first to admit that a hiking-based trip is not my favorite kind of vacation; give me a big city with cafes and art museums and I'm happy. But, hiking is good too! Who knew? My brother and I took about 400 photos between us-- coming soon to a blog near you!
So, my entire family-- parents, brother, sister, me-- squeeze into one vehicle and drive the 10 hours from Dallas to Big Bend National Park. Big Bend is that green area there in the very southern tip of Texas, bordered by the Rio Grande. My dad very recently purchased one of these new smaller SUV's and let me just say that they don't really comfortably hold 5 normal-sized adults with a week's worth of luggage. The fact that we were all still on speaking terms on arrival is kind of miraculous.
Because my new flight plans were made so suddenly, I got to be on the list for the Special Search every time I went through security, at each airport. Yay for the 15-minute search of the backpack, in which all the little Chanukah presents are poked through and swabbed for explosives; for the physical pat-down, the new air-puffy thing (also for explosives). I pointed out at Cincinnati that I'd just come off of an airplane and hadn't left the airport but it made no difference-- "detailed search" was apparently encoded into my ticket. I wonder if the hundred or so other passengers that I was originally scheduled to fly with had to do the same thing.
Still, if the original plane was broken, I'd much rather be canceled and re-routed and delayed than, you know, dead. I'd rather them figure out ahead of time that the plane needs repairs than search through wreckage trying to figure out what went wrong. I only got in six hours later than planned, and the flights themselves were perfect, so no harm.
So, my entire family-- parents, brother, sister, me-- squeeze into one vehicle and drive the 10 hours from Dallas to Big Bend National Park. Big Bend is that green area there in the very southern tip of Texas, bordered by the Rio Grande. My dad very recently purchased one of these new smaller SUV's and let me just say that they don't really comfortably hold 5 normal-sized adults with a week's worth of luggage. The fact that we were all still on speaking terms on arrival is kind of miraculous.
The drive between Interstate 20 and the park is very remote; we'd go half an hour at a time without seeing another vehicle. The park itself is remote, too. No cell phone reception, no TV's in the lodge rooms, no Internet. Hiking, kayaking the Rio Grande, and communing with nature are really the only things to do out there, but there's enough of that to go around. The nearest town is the ghost town Terlingua, which we visited twice. If you think that you know Texas because you've lived in Dallas your whole life (like me) and have maybe driven out to Austin and San Antonio a few times, let me tell you that you have to see this park, 'cause you don't know Texas. Texas has mountains! Cliffs! Gorges! Wild pig-like creatures called javalinas! Fantastic photos to follow soon, with explanatory text and stories!
My trip back to Virginia yesterday was... interesting. Had to be at DFW at 7:20am for my flight. They begin boarding. They stop the boarding. They reverse-board, because the plane is very broken-- something about loose screws ripping up fan-blades that are supposed to be perfectly calibrated. They announce that this particular aircraft is going to be "grounded" for a few days (I love that, because it sounds like the plane has misbehaved) and because they don't keep extra planes sitting around for things like this, our flight is canceled. Every single person on that flight has to be re-routed through other airlines, terminals, and cities to get where they're going-- the line for getting re-routed takes more than an hour. I get routed through Cincinnati on a flight that leaves from the other side of the airport four hours later. But, at DFW it's very easy to get from one terminal to another with the Sky-line-rail-thingie. I know I sound biased but DFW really is the best airport in it's class. Well-laid-out, easy to understand and navigate, heavy on the Starbucks. Especially compared with crazy places like the Cincinnati airport, which was utterly weird. I'm not exactly an airport virgin-- I've been through La Guardia and JFK, O'Hare and Detroit, Washington Dulles, San Fransisco. Never anything like yesterday, though... I was wandering around lost like some kind of hayseed. It seems like that place is stacked up in layers instead of being sprawled out horizontally, and the terminal at which I landed was some kind of reject leftover, tacked onto the very end.Because my new flight plans were made so suddenly, I got to be on the list for the Special Search every time I went through security, at each airport. Yay for the 15-minute search of the backpack, in which all the little Chanukah presents are poked through and swabbed for explosives; for the physical pat-down, the new air-puffy thing (also for explosives). I pointed out at Cincinnati that I'd just come off of an airplane and hadn't left the airport but it made no difference-- "detailed search" was apparently encoded into my ticket. I wonder if the hundred or so other passengers that I was originally scheduled to fly with had to do the same thing.
Still, if the original plane was broken, I'd much rather be canceled and re-routed and delayed than, you know, dead. I'd rather them figure out ahead of time that the plane needs repairs than search through wreckage trying to figure out what went wrong. I only got in six hours later than planned, and the flights themselves were perfect, so no harm.
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