I'm testing a feed I set up to my Facebook page. Facebook might be the anti-Christ.
UPDATE--OK maybe not the anti-Christ. I just meant that it's got that attractiveness to it, and seems to be sucking myself and those I love into its social networking vortex. I'm just saying...
Sep 30, 2008
Stairway to Where??
Walking into PT today, there were several signs posted: "Such & Such PT on lower level." Fair enough. I looked for some stairs but all the doors nearby said "Employees only," so I relented and took the elevator down. It was very slow.
PT was fabulous. I'm always nervous when I visit a physical therapist for the first time. Are they going to know what I'm talking about? Will they believe me? Will they fix my arse so the rest of me will stop hurting? I was quickly reassured as I began telling my saga, and the PT nodded as she took notes. When I told her the whole thing started in high school softball she asked me where I went to school, because they don't have high school softball around here. Before I could bite my tongue I said "What's wrong with them?!" She nodded knowingly, but I still apologized and explained that I've been here only a month and am still integrating into the culture.
So anyway, she let me ramble and ramble, and said things like "You're really in tune with your body's responses; this is helpful to us," and made me feel all comfortable & confident, instead of nervous and sweaty. I loved her nearly instantly. Then she checked out my alignments and such, and called over the other PT in the practice saying "You wanna see a really nice SI Joint?" Now she was being sarcastic, because my SI joint was still pretty well out of whack at that moment. So the other lady came over, and she was so impressed. In my own warped way I was a little proud of how wacky my SI joint gets when it's misbehaving. I would much rather have no issues at all, but if it's going to cause trouble, why not cause a whole lot and impress the medical community, right?? I said, "I'm tellin' ya, you could write a paper on me." They chuckled.
***The Fridge DJ just started singing on its own. Usually you have to hit a button to make it work. That is dang creepy.***
Then the first PT showed the second (more experienced) PT what she'd found thus far to get some input. So they were looking at my bones & muscles, having me lift this and flex that, saying things like "look, this [official muscle name] is firing more when she flexes that side," and "this glute has a lot more girth than that one," which I took as a compliment because there really was no other option. "Why thank you, I've never been complimented on my glutes' girth before." No, I didn't say it.
All that is to say these PTs are fantastic, and within an hour after my appointment I felt much better. Completely fixed? That remains to be seen. Probably not, but I'll take much better any day.
Leaving PT was where the real adventure began. I went out the door and back toward the elevator. Just down the hall a bit I saw an exit sign, so I thought "Hey, a stairwell." Stairs are good for you, but mostly I don't like waiting for elevators; especially slow moving ones. So I took the stairs back up to ground level, and emerged into a very busy hallway. I thought "Oh I'm in a different part of the building than where I came in," and just followed the exit signs. The farther I walked, however, it became apparent that I was walking around inside a doctor's office. Normally this is when I'd panic and start sweating profusely, but no one was paying any attention to me so I made sure I was standing up straight, and kept right on walking like I knew exactly where I was going. Down this hall, past those rooms. Then I passed two guys who I'm pretty sure were doctors making fun of their patients. They weren't being mean or anything, just telling stories with great gusto. Kind of funny, actually. They gave me a sideways glance as I tried to appear both confident and nonjudgemental. Certainly they know we know they tell stories about us when we're not there. It's nothing to freak out about...
Just as I was starting to get concerned that I would never find my way out of this maze, I breezed past the appointment desk, through the waiting room, and finally--finally--into the building lobby and the sunny outdoors. No one came running after me to ask what I had been doing meandering through the doctor's office, so I chalked up a successful exit.
And anyway, it's not my fault the stairwell exits smack into the middle of someone's office. "Take the stairs, eat 5 veggies per day, drink water..." What do they expect??
I might even take them again the next time, just to stick it to the man a little...
PT was fabulous. I'm always nervous when I visit a physical therapist for the first time. Are they going to know what I'm talking about? Will they believe me? Will they fix my arse so the rest of me will stop hurting? I was quickly reassured as I began telling my saga, and the PT nodded as she took notes. When I told her the whole thing started in high school softball she asked me where I went to school, because they don't have high school softball around here. Before I could bite my tongue I said "What's wrong with them?!" She nodded knowingly, but I still apologized and explained that I've been here only a month and am still integrating into the culture.
So anyway, she let me ramble and ramble, and said things like "You're really in tune with your body's responses; this is helpful to us," and made me feel all comfortable & confident, instead of nervous and sweaty. I loved her nearly instantly. Then she checked out my alignments and such, and called over the other PT in the practice saying "You wanna see a really nice SI Joint?" Now she was being sarcastic, because my SI joint was still pretty well out of whack at that moment. So the other lady came over, and she was so impressed. In my own warped way I was a little proud of how wacky my SI joint gets when it's misbehaving. I would much rather have no issues at all, but if it's going to cause trouble, why not cause a whole lot and impress the medical community, right?? I said, "I'm tellin' ya, you could write a paper on me." They chuckled.
***The Fridge DJ just started singing on its own. Usually you have to hit a button to make it work. That is dang creepy.***
Then the first PT showed the second (more experienced) PT what she'd found thus far to get some input. So they were looking at my bones & muscles, having me lift this and flex that, saying things like "look, this [official muscle name] is firing more when she flexes that side," and "this glute has a lot more girth than that one," which I took as a compliment because there really was no other option. "Why thank you, I've never been complimented on my glutes' girth before." No, I didn't say it.
All that is to say these PTs are fantastic, and within an hour after my appointment I felt much better. Completely fixed? That remains to be seen. Probably not, but I'll take much better any day.
Leaving PT was where the real adventure began. I went out the door and back toward the elevator. Just down the hall a bit I saw an exit sign, so I thought "Hey, a stairwell." Stairs are good for you, but mostly I don't like waiting for elevators; especially slow moving ones. So I took the stairs back up to ground level, and emerged into a very busy hallway. I thought "Oh I'm in a different part of the building than where I came in," and just followed the exit signs. The farther I walked, however, it became apparent that I was walking around inside a doctor's office. Normally this is when I'd panic and start sweating profusely, but no one was paying any attention to me so I made sure I was standing up straight, and kept right on walking like I knew exactly where I was going. Down this hall, past those rooms. Then I passed two guys who I'm pretty sure were doctors making fun of their patients. They weren't being mean or anything, just telling stories with great gusto. Kind of funny, actually. They gave me a sideways glance as I tried to appear both confident and nonjudgemental. Certainly they know we know they tell stories about us when we're not there. It's nothing to freak out about...
Just as I was starting to get concerned that I would never find my way out of this maze, I breezed past the appointment desk, through the waiting room, and finally--finally--into the building lobby and the sunny outdoors. No one came running after me to ask what I had been doing meandering through the doctor's office, so I chalked up a successful exit.
And anyway, it's not my fault the stairwell exits smack into the middle of someone's office. "Take the stairs, eat 5 veggies per day, drink water..." What do they expect??
I might even take them again the next time, just to stick it to the man a little...
Sep 29, 2008
Where's the Dang Camera?!?
Our pack continues to grow here at Casa de Skerrib. Our newest member is a 12-lb poodle mix named Max, who joined us late on Saturday afternoon.
I'll elaborate later, but for now the nutshell: He's 6 years old, roughly the same coloring as Zoe, similar in temperament but a little more laid-back. He has jumped right in and fits well with our crazy brood. Zoe's a better walker, but Max is a better runner. We thought about changing his name, but Max really suits him, so Max it is. He's fairly well behaved in general and has already earned nighttime bed privileges.
Zoe was a little freaked out but is starting to calm down some. The two of them even played a little tonight, which I took as a very good sign that we're all getting acquainted and adjusted.
As near as we can tell, he's part poodle & part terrier, making him a Perrier. More specifically our best guess is Scottie (Scoodle) or Westie (Westie-Poo). They offered DNA testing at the Humane Society, but we decided not to pursue it further because we don't care that much.
The camera is here somewhere, I swear. Pics to come as soon as I find it.
There has been some question as to the Cat Daddy's pseudonym, especially in light of our canine acquisition. Just because Pim is no longer with us doesn't mean we don't consider ourselves his parents anymore. Plus, I can't think of anything else to call the Cat Daddy (anything that would appropriate on a family-friendly blog, that is), so until I do, the Cat Daddy will remain as such.
Back to PT tomorrow...not sure if it's the sacrum or something else outta whack. It feels different than my normal maladies, but I'm hesitant to make a diagnosis; mostly due to my lack of a PT or medical degree. Either way I'm grateful there are people who can give me relief. Back pain = no fun. At all. Ever.
And I made a spectacular pot roast tonight. Good Eats recipe--delicious. Or as the Cat Daddy called it, "deciduous." I replied "You're saying the pot roast loses its leaves every year?" and he said, "Yes."
Okay then...
I'll elaborate later, but for now the nutshell: He's 6 years old, roughly the same coloring as Zoe, similar in temperament but a little more laid-back. He has jumped right in and fits well with our crazy brood. Zoe's a better walker, but Max is a better runner. We thought about changing his name, but Max really suits him, so Max it is. He's fairly well behaved in general and has already earned nighttime bed privileges.
Zoe was a little freaked out but is starting to calm down some. The two of them even played a little tonight, which I took as a very good sign that we're all getting acquainted and adjusted.
As near as we can tell, he's part poodle & part terrier, making him a Perrier. More specifically our best guess is Scottie (Scoodle) or Westie (Westie-Poo). They offered DNA testing at the Humane Society, but we decided not to pursue it further because we don't care that much.
The camera is here somewhere, I swear. Pics to come as soon as I find it.
There has been some question as to the Cat Daddy's pseudonym, especially in light of our canine acquisition. Just because Pim is no longer with us doesn't mean we don't consider ourselves his parents anymore. Plus, I can't think of anything else to call the Cat Daddy (anything that would appropriate on a family-friendly blog, that is), so until I do, the Cat Daddy will remain as such.
Back to PT tomorrow...not sure if it's the sacrum or something else outta whack. It feels different than my normal maladies, but I'm hesitant to make a diagnosis; mostly due to my lack of a PT or medical degree. Either way I'm grateful there are people who can give me relief. Back pain = no fun. At all. Ever.
And I made a spectacular pot roast tonight. Good Eats recipe--delicious. Or as the Cat Daddy called it, "deciduous." I replied "You're saying the pot roast loses its leaves every year?" and he said, "Yes."
Okay then...
Sep 27, 2008
REALLY Cool Toys...
My friend Joe is a woodworker. He was also a big corporate financial guy until he & Mrs. Joe decided that he would stay home with their boys so they could all be together as a family more. Fantastic idea, I say. I'm all for more family time.
He builds tons of stuff from cabinets, tables, and shelves, to wooden toys. His toys are so cool that people have been clamoring to buy them, so he has opened up his own shop called Market Street Co.
I'd gush about how talented and creative he is, but you'd be going, "Oh come on Skerrib, you're biased." And maybe I am. So go to his shop and see if you don't agree with me. And if you find something you like, why not help feed the children (of Mr. & Mrs. Joe).
There's a link to his site over there under "Fantastic Finds," or you can click here.
UPDATE: Site's up & running. Yay for Joe. Now go see his toys!
He builds tons of stuff from cabinets, tables, and shelves, to wooden toys. His toys are so cool that people have been clamoring to buy them, so he has opened up his own shop called Market Street Co.
I'd gush about how talented and creative he is, but you'd be going, "Oh come on Skerrib, you're biased." And maybe I am. So go to his shop and see if you don't agree with me. And if you find something you like, why not help feed the children (of Mr. & Mrs. Joe).
There's a link to his site over there under "Fantastic Finds," or you can click here.
UPDATE: Site's up & running. Yay for Joe. Now go see his toys!
Sep 26, 2008
Kill! Kill!
We have flies. Not a plague or anything, but at any given moment we probably have 3 or so flies circling over our heads, divebombing any food we bring out. There are several factors contributing to this. What it boils down to is that the weather hasn't cooled off quite yet, so on warm days we open windows and doors to let the air circulate. We have AC, but we also have differing philosophies on when to actually use the AC, and in this situation I am not willing to go to battle. The Cat Daddy thinks we should take out the trash more often. I think we should stop leaving the back door wide open, or at least remember to close the screendoor. Installing a dog door wouldn't hurt either, but that's neither here nor there.
In the meantime we have differing philosophies on how to rid ourselves of annoying little creatures. We have differing philosophies on a lot of things.
Under most circumstances, I prefer to live & let live. The two main exceptions to this are things that find their way into the bathroom and mosquitoes. I hate mosquitoes. They'll pick me out of a crowd and I just can't abide that. They all need to die NOW. The Cat Daddy's approach is more of an ignore-them-until-you-explode type of deal. A couple years ago we had a gross-but-harmless infestation of teeny tiny moths emanating from the closet where we kept the dog food. I would smush-&-grab them with a paper towel as I could. The Cat Daddy, suddenly alarmed by their presence one evening, vaccuumed them out of the air for approximately 20 minutes straight.
Similarly with the flies. Knowing that their lifespan is something like a couple weeks, I'll swat at them when they're nearby, but otherwise let them be. No biggie--sooner or later they'll die of old age, and before too terribly long it will be so cold that no insect life will thrive long enough to make it into the house. Plus they're not trying to drink my blood.
Zoe will pass the time trying to catch them in mid-air (and eat them). I'm not sure that she's actually gotten one yet, but it provides an endless source of amusement for those watching her efforts.
As for the Cat Daddy, just like with the teeny moths he reached a breaking point and took matters into his own hands. He grabbed a dish towel and began swatting, murmuring "Kill...Kill..." Then, noticing His Highness toddling around after him, he said "Say it with me, Your Highness--Kill! Kill!"
To which His increasingly verbal Highness replied "Ki! Ki!" Nice. So the two of them enjoyed snapping the towel at flies until they killed them all, and then they enjoyed the Cat Daddy snapping the towel at His Highness, until one of them started to whine and that was that.
All was quiet-ish again for about 10 minutes, when His Highness again went up to the Cat Daddy saying "Ki! Ki! Ki! Ki!" This was funny for about 2 minutes, until it became ever-so-slightly-disturbing. Thankfully in this case, ignoring it (along with giving His Highness a little something for the road) made it go away...
Sep 24, 2008
Turn Around, Bright Eyes...
Things might be starting to turn around.
I'm not saying I like Cheyenne yet. But I don't think I hate it. Eh--"hate" is such a strong word. Poor Cheyenne never did anything to me. It's not Cheyenne's fault this is where the AF decided to send the Cat Daddy (BTW I'm fully aware that God is fully aware of where the AF sends the Cat Daddy, and don't think that I haven't talked to Him about it).
Anyway, a list of good things about Cheyenne (however short)--
--The Cheyenne Greenway--a network of parks, walking paths, and the like throughout the city. Some are connected and some aren't, but all provide a nice path for walking, biking, etc., and plenty of grass & greenery to admire. There's a sizeable chunk of greenway within jogging distance of the house, and His Highness and I have already been up several times. They have a frisbee-golf course and a rolling creek, stream-like thing throughout, which has cool little footbridges should one wish to cross. The best thing about the greenway, in my opinion, is the multitude of places to seek a geocache. Just remember the bug repellant. The best thing about the jog TO the greenway--the goat farm off the dirt road. Baaaaaaa!
--The medical clinic on base might be starting to redeem itself. Due to insurance and other issues, I got a really bad first impression of the clinic. In my harsher moments I figured the place was being run by untrained monkeys who had not read the benefits manual. After much searching and a little bashing my head against the wall I managed to find some very kind and competent people to help me out. Then I actually met with a doctor in person, and found that he was very competent, and he listened to me, and took my philosophies seriously, even though they didn't quite align with his.
One fantastic side effect of all the frustration here was that I didn't care anymore about carefully framing my views or trying to be agreeable. Suddenly I was saying what I thought, simply and concisely. Even with the doc I ended up going "look, I'm a nervous-type, and here's my health in a nutshell," intermingled with my residual surfer-vibe and growing cowboy twang. I really should do that more often. It's much easier to just say what I want.
I didn't really care about being polite either, but on that one I talked it over with myself and decided that common courtesy and respect were still in order. I'm glad I did.
--Sonic, Barnes & Noble, Safeway, and King Soopers (aka Kroger, aka Fry's)
--Sunshine--they've got a lotta wind here. A lotta wind. But they also have a lotta sun. Beautiful, bright, sunny sun. Good for the disposition, I always say.
Yee-haw...
I'm not saying I like Cheyenne yet. But I don't think I hate it. Eh--"hate" is such a strong word. Poor Cheyenne never did anything to me. It's not Cheyenne's fault this is where the AF decided to send the Cat Daddy (BTW I'm fully aware that God is fully aware of where the AF sends the Cat Daddy, and don't think that I haven't talked to Him about it).
Anyway, a list of good things about Cheyenne (however short)--
--The Cheyenne Greenway--a network of parks, walking paths, and the like throughout the city. Some are connected and some aren't, but all provide a nice path for walking, biking, etc., and plenty of grass & greenery to admire. There's a sizeable chunk of greenway within jogging distance of the house, and His Highness and I have already been up several times. They have a frisbee-golf course and a rolling creek, stream-like thing throughout, which has cool little footbridges should one wish to cross. The best thing about the greenway, in my opinion, is the multitude of places to seek a geocache. Just remember the bug repellant. The best thing about the jog TO the greenway--the goat farm off the dirt road. Baaaaaaa!
--The medical clinic on base might be starting to redeem itself. Due to insurance and other issues, I got a really bad first impression of the clinic. In my harsher moments I figured the place was being run by untrained monkeys who had not read the benefits manual. After much searching and a little bashing my head against the wall I managed to find some very kind and competent people to help me out. Then I actually met with a doctor in person, and found that he was very competent, and he listened to me, and took my philosophies seriously, even though they didn't quite align with his.
One fantastic side effect of all the frustration here was that I didn't care anymore about carefully framing my views or trying to be agreeable. Suddenly I was saying what I thought, simply and concisely. Even with the doc I ended up going "look, I'm a nervous-type, and here's my health in a nutshell," intermingled with my residual surfer-vibe and growing cowboy twang. I really should do that more often. It's much easier to just say what I want.
I didn't really care about being polite either, but on that one I talked it over with myself and decided that common courtesy and respect were still in order. I'm glad I did.
--Sonic, Barnes & Noble, Safeway, and King Soopers (aka Kroger, aka Fry's)
--Sunshine--they've got a lotta wind here. A lotta wind. But they also have a lotta sun. Beautiful, bright, sunny sun. Good for the disposition, I always say.
Yee-haw...
Sep 23, 2008
The Newest Ice Cream Flavor Craze...
The Cat Daddy always has the best ideas. He just peeked out from the basement:
CD: "Hey Skerrib, are your b00bies still making milk?" [we only use correct anatomical terminology in our house, thank you]
Me: "Umm, why?"
CD: "Start pumping now!"
Me: "Now?"
CD: "PETA wants Ben & Jerry to start using breastmilk in their ice cream, instead of cows' milk, and you could make some serious money!"
Me: "No way! I could make way more selling breastmilk on the black market than giving it to an ice cream company."
Let me throw in some qualifiers and say that I'm not certain exactly what the black market is, or even that it actually exists. I've just heard rumors that if it did exist, breastmilk would go for a pretty penny.
Apparently some place in Switzerland is going to field test the human milk approach by substituting 75% human milk in its ice cream and other items. The reasoning is along the lines of significantly reducing the mistreatment of dairy cows and their young, as well as sparing people from the dangers of dairy products. Because Dr. Spock said so.
My favorite, though, was Ben & Jerry's response:
"We applaud PETA's novel approach to bringing attention to an issue, but we believe a mother's milk is best used for her child."
CD: "Hey Skerrib, are your b00bies still making milk?" [we only use correct anatomical terminology in our house, thank you]
Me: "Umm, why?"
CD: "Start pumping now!"
Me: "Now?"
CD: "PETA wants Ben & Jerry to start using breastmilk in their ice cream, instead of cows' milk, and you could make some serious money!"
Me: "No way! I could make way more selling breastmilk on the black market than giving it to an ice cream company."
Let me throw in some qualifiers and say that I'm not certain exactly what the black market is, or even that it actually exists. I've just heard rumors that if it did exist, breastmilk would go for a pretty penny.
Apparently some place in Switzerland is going to field test the human milk approach by substituting 75% human milk in its ice cream and other items. The reasoning is along the lines of significantly reducing the mistreatment of dairy cows and their young, as well as sparing people from the dangers of dairy products. Because Dr. Spock said so.
My favorite, though, was Ben & Jerry's response:
"We applaud PETA's novel approach to bringing attention to an issue, but we believe a mother's milk is best used for her child."
Sep 18, 2008
They Say It's My Birthday...
...and it's true. I turned 31 today. Yee-haw.
Let me recommend to all you ladies who will have the opportunity, to time your pregnancies so that you are not going thru first-trimester queasies on your birthday. Totally gets in the way of choosing a fantastic dinner, and can make cake outright impossible.
Sonic wasn't my original choice, but due to some extenuating toddler circumstances, that's where we ended up. Which is fine; just not as good as Applebees would have been if an Oriental Chicken Salad didn't sound completely repulsive to me at this moment. I knew that I would probably regret having dessert, but come on, I had to have something. So I ordered the Junior Banana Split. Awesome. It was so good that I plan to go back in a couple months and have a full sized one. We lamented the fact that Mrs. Bee wasn't with us to enjoy the goods--she'd have been pleased.
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Got to talk to several family members and feel all special and stuff. Went shopping with the Cat Daddy in the afternoon. Blah blah blah. All around, a nice day. Other than the queasy parts...
Let me recommend to all you ladies who will have the opportunity, to time your pregnancies so that you are not going thru first-trimester queasies on your birthday. Totally gets in the way of choosing a fantastic dinner, and can make cake outright impossible.
Sonic wasn't my original choice, but due to some extenuating toddler circumstances, that's where we ended up. Which is fine; just not as good as Applebees would have been if an Oriental Chicken Salad didn't sound completely repulsive to me at this moment. I knew that I would probably regret having dessert, but come on, I had to have something. So I ordered the Junior Banana Split. Awesome. It was so good that I plan to go back in a couple months and have a full sized one. We lamented the fact that Mrs. Bee wasn't with us to enjoy the goods--she'd have been pleased.
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Got to talk to several family members and feel all special and stuff. Went shopping with the Cat Daddy in the afternoon. Blah blah blah. All around, a nice day. Other than the queasy parts...
Sep 16, 2008
Christian Ska. Or Something...
Camille has a knack for finding the best inspirational videos out there--
I think "zap" is the sound of my being struck by lightning for laughing so hard. Is that Carmine back there on the drums??
Rock on, Sal. Rock on...
I think "zap" is the sound of my being struck by lightning for laughing so hard. Is that Carmine back there on the drums??
Rock on, Sal. Rock on...
Sep 14, 2008
Ratting Out...
The Cat Daddy wanted me to rat out one of his fantasy football constituents who hasn't yet paid his/her fee for the fantasy-beyond-fantasy whatever it is that makes the whole thing even more fun. But I told him my blog would not be a venue for such humiliation.
That being said, if you are one of said constituents and still need to pay your fee, please do, so that I can get back to blogging about more important things, like heartburn, drugs, and answering nature's call in the wilds of Cheyenne. Yee-haw.
Stay tuned...
That being said, if you are one of said constituents and still need to pay your fee, please do, so that I can get back to blogging about more important things, like heartburn, drugs, and answering nature's call in the wilds of Cheyenne. Yee-haw.
Stay tuned...
Sep 13, 2008
Why Sesame Street Rocks...
If you have any knowledge whatsoever of "High School Musical," you will love this. His Highness has never even heard of HSM, and he still got a big ol' kick out of it...
Sep 12, 2008
Feel the Feeling...
I wanted to clarify something from my post a few days ago. I do not equate living in Minot to having tuberculosis. I almost certainly would rather live in Minot than have tuberculosis. I think. It depends on the duration of each, and the success rate of treatment for TB, which I don't know all that much about. But I'm nearly positive I'd take Minot.
My point was the random nature of the statement. Being sent to Minot was a concern at one time, but is no longer up front on my radar, much like the possibility of catching TB. While it would not be a fun thing in my mind, it's not something I generally worry about. So to compare it to the things up front on my radar doesn't quite match up. It's like looking at someone's brown banana and saying "Hey, at least you don't have a bruised apple." Not having the bruised apple, while good, doesn't change the fact that there's still a brown banana to be dealt with, which many will agree is no fun when it comes to eating bananas. The silver lining, of course, is that smushed-up brown bananas make fantastic banana bread. But that's a post for another day.
I think we all can slip into this. When we're trying to help our friends feel better, sometimes we're also trying to make ourselves feel better. It's uncomfortable to see our friends' discomfort. Because discomfort is, by definition, uncomfortable. So to help everyone involved, we try to think of something really, really bad to help put things in perspective. And it is a noble thing to want to help our friends feel better. I just don't think "At least..." is the best way because, as my friend smiller pointed out, it tends to have the effect of minimizing our friends' feelings, sending the subtle (or not) message that they should or shouldn't feel a certain way. "How can you feel that way when when there's all this good stuff over here? What's wrong with you?"
But feelings don't work that way, even for math nerds. I don't get up daily, tally up the good & bad in my life, and see how they compare so that I can decide, logically and rationally, how I should feel that day. At any given moment I could have a myriad of feelings about countless observations and personal circumstances, without them conflicting. Or even several different feelings about a single event. Furthermore, the weight of any situation can vary vastly between two different people due to individual personality, or even within one person depending on mood or relation to other situations and their respective weights.
Which is all to say that when you try to quantify events and feelings to see how you should feel, it all gets very complicated, and honestly (and perhaps ironically?) I think it gives the feelings more power than they deserve. We can drive ourselves crazy trying to avoid negative feelings, but I think in the long run it's more productive to go "hey, I have that feeling," and allow ourselves to remain in the feeling for a bit, even when it hurts (and to throw an arm around our friends when they're in theirs). I think when we allow the bad feeling to come, it doesn't stay as long as it would if we desperately kept trying to ignore it or deny its existence altogether. Feelings like to bang on the door like obnoxious solicitors. They keep coming back until someone answers. Once you let them come in, and sit through their spiel, it's much more convincing when you send them on their way.
Not to get all freaky-deaky, or touchy-feely, or anything...
My point was the random nature of the statement. Being sent to Minot was a concern at one time, but is no longer up front on my radar, much like the possibility of catching TB. While it would not be a fun thing in my mind, it's not something I generally worry about. So to compare it to the things up front on my radar doesn't quite match up. It's like looking at someone's brown banana and saying "Hey, at least you don't have a bruised apple." Not having the bruised apple, while good, doesn't change the fact that there's still a brown banana to be dealt with, which many will agree is no fun when it comes to eating bananas. The silver lining, of course, is that smushed-up brown bananas make fantastic banana bread. But that's a post for another day.
I think we all can slip into this. When we're trying to help our friends feel better, sometimes we're also trying to make ourselves feel better. It's uncomfortable to see our friends' discomfort. Because discomfort is, by definition, uncomfortable. So to help everyone involved, we try to think of something really, really bad to help put things in perspective. And it is a noble thing to want to help our friends feel better. I just don't think "At least..." is the best way because, as my friend smiller pointed out, it tends to have the effect of minimizing our friends' feelings, sending the subtle (or not) message that they should or shouldn't feel a certain way. "How can you feel that way when when there's all this good stuff over here? What's wrong with you?"
But feelings don't work that way, even for math nerds. I don't get up daily, tally up the good & bad in my life, and see how they compare so that I can decide, logically and rationally, how I should feel that day. At any given moment I could have a myriad of feelings about countless observations and personal circumstances, without them conflicting. Or even several different feelings about a single event. Furthermore, the weight of any situation can vary vastly between two different people due to individual personality, or even within one person depending on mood or relation to other situations and their respective weights.
Which is all to say that when you try to quantify events and feelings to see how you should feel, it all gets very complicated, and honestly (and perhaps ironically?) I think it gives the feelings more power than they deserve. We can drive ourselves crazy trying to avoid negative feelings, but I think in the long run it's more productive to go "hey, I have that feeling," and allow ourselves to remain in the feeling for a bit, even when it hurts (and to throw an arm around our friends when they're in theirs). I think when we allow the bad feeling to come, it doesn't stay as long as it would if we desperately kept trying to ignore it or deny its existence altogether. Feelings like to bang on the door like obnoxious solicitors. They keep coming back until someone answers. Once you let them come in, and sit through their spiel, it's much more convincing when you send them on their way.
Not to get all freaky-deaky, or touchy-feely, or anything...
Sep 11, 2008
I Remember. Oh Yes I Do...
Sept 11, 2001--The Cat Daddy and I had just moved to Ohio to begin his first assignment. He had to go to work while I moved our pets and most basic belongings (we'd sent most everything with the movers) into our little apartment behind Wright State University.
As I was taking in the first load of stuff a college student came up to me and said, "Dude, did you hear?" and I said "What?" and he said "A plane just crashed into the pentagon," and I gave him a quizzical look, because I thought he looked like he might've been smoking the fancy cigarettes, and I just didn't know what to make of what he was saying. And he said "Just go turn on the TV."
Well, I didn't have a TV right then, so once I unloaded our little pickup truck I plugged in the clock-radio and the dog, cat, and I plopped ourselves on the living room floor and listened there. To be honest, I was just numb--I already felt displaced, and adding a national crisis on top of that was completely discombobulating.
I didn't have a cell phone at the time, but thankfully our land line had been hooked up and to his great credit the Cat Daddy called to keep me posted about how things were going on his end. At that point the base had been completely locked down, so we couldn't have gotten to each other if we'd tried.
And then of course I checked in with the fam (or maybe they checked in with me), because here's my husband, brand-new to the military, and we just didn't know what that looked like yet--so it was mostly a quick "yeah we're fine" and definitely "I love you."
Then I went to McDonalds because I needed lunch anyway, and they had TVs to watch. After hearing about it on the radio, actually seeing the footage was stunning. The mood everywhere was somber, and even a little eerie. Because the gravity of the situation was just so massive, and the situation itself was more than a little eerie.
The Cat Daddy made it home mid-afternoon, and we called our sponsors--now our good friends--the Bees, and they let us come over for the evening. I think we ate, and we talked, and we sat there in disbelief. Ohio was also where there were some loud bangs in the sky that day, which of course freaked us out all the more. I'm not sure that we ever found out exactly what happened, but the accepted story is that it was a couple of sonic booms from some AF planes taking off (possibly to help with Air Force One security). Where normally they'd have waited longer before going supersonic, they were probably in a hurry, intentionally or not.
Then we all went to find some ice cream. The initial plan was to go to Friendly's, but they were closed. As was most everyone else. McDonalds was still open, but believe it or not I think they were flat out of ice cream. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that we ended up with any ice cream at all that night. And I never made it back to Friendly's until several years later, when we were all living in Mass and I finally partook of the goodness with Mrs. Bee.
So that's where I was and how I remember the day...
As I was taking in the first load of stuff a college student came up to me and said, "Dude, did you hear?" and I said "What?" and he said "A plane just crashed into the pentagon," and I gave him a quizzical look, because I thought he looked like he might've been smoking the fancy cigarettes, and I just didn't know what to make of what he was saying. And he said "Just go turn on the TV."
Well, I didn't have a TV right then, so once I unloaded our little pickup truck I plugged in the clock-radio and the dog, cat, and I plopped ourselves on the living room floor and listened there. To be honest, I was just numb--I already felt displaced, and adding a national crisis on top of that was completely discombobulating.
I didn't have a cell phone at the time, but thankfully our land line had been hooked up and to his great credit the Cat Daddy called to keep me posted about how things were going on his end. At that point the base had been completely locked down, so we couldn't have gotten to each other if we'd tried.
And then of course I checked in with the fam (or maybe they checked in with me), because here's my husband, brand-new to the military, and we just didn't know what that looked like yet--so it was mostly a quick "yeah we're fine" and definitely "I love you."
Then I went to McDonalds because I needed lunch anyway, and they had TVs to watch. After hearing about it on the radio, actually seeing the footage was stunning. The mood everywhere was somber, and even a little eerie. Because the gravity of the situation was just so massive, and the situation itself was more than a little eerie.
The Cat Daddy made it home mid-afternoon, and we called our sponsors--now our good friends--the Bees, and they let us come over for the evening. I think we ate, and we talked, and we sat there in disbelief. Ohio was also where there were some loud bangs in the sky that day, which of course freaked us out all the more. I'm not sure that we ever found out exactly what happened, but the accepted story is that it was a couple of sonic booms from some AF planes taking off (possibly to help with Air Force One security). Where normally they'd have waited longer before going supersonic, they were probably in a hurry, intentionally or not.
Then we all went to find some ice cream. The initial plan was to go to Friendly's, but they were closed. As was most everyone else. McDonalds was still open, but believe it or not I think they were flat out of ice cream. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that we ended up with any ice cream at all that night. And I never made it back to Friendly's until several years later, when we were all living in Mass and I finally partook of the goodness with Mrs. Bee.
So that's where I was and how I remember the day...
Sep 9, 2008
Sep 7, 2008
At Least...
While driving along last week, out of nowhere, the Cat Daddy said, "Look at it this way--at least God still hasn't sent you to Minot."
At first I tried really hard to agree and said "True, and it looks like he probably won't either; wow I'm so thankful," but the more I thought about it the more it bothered me. Wanna know what my true, inner, gut-level response was that followed?
"Cat Daddy, that's like saying 'Look at it this way--at least God hasn't given you tuberculosis yet.'"
Did I mention I'm not in the best of emotional places at the moment?
I dunno. Of course I'm grateful for the things I have. I'm grateful for the good things about where we live, and the fact that I don't have a particularly harsh respiratory illness.
And let me say that the Cat Daddy was entirely well meaning. His statement normally wouldn't make me bat an eye, except for our current timing with having just moved and all.
It just seems to me that I'm in that place where I need to grieve the things we've left, gained, and left this past year, so that I can move on to accepting what's here and even find things to be excited about. My perspective is a bit skewed at the moment, but that does tend to happen when we move. The good thing is that it tends to work itself out over the next few weeks, months, etc. If I try to strongarm myself into seeing things a certain way, I might miss out on what really is. So I prefer to let it ride for the time being.
But hey, at least I don't have tuberculosis...
At first I tried really hard to agree and said "True, and it looks like he probably won't either; wow I'm so thankful," but the more I thought about it the more it bothered me. Wanna know what my true, inner, gut-level response was that followed?
"Cat Daddy, that's like saying 'Look at it this way--at least God hasn't given you tuberculosis yet.'"
Did I mention I'm not in the best of emotional places at the moment?
I dunno. Of course I'm grateful for the things I have. I'm grateful for the good things about where we live, and the fact that I don't have a particularly harsh respiratory illness.
And let me say that the Cat Daddy was entirely well meaning. His statement normally wouldn't make me bat an eye, except for our current timing with having just moved and all.
It just seems to me that I'm in that place where I need to grieve the things we've left, gained, and left this past year, so that I can move on to accepting what's here and even find things to be excited about. My perspective is a bit skewed at the moment, but that does tend to happen when we move. The good thing is that it tends to work itself out over the next few weeks, months, etc. If I try to strongarm myself into seeing things a certain way, I might miss out on what really is. So I prefer to let it ride for the time being.
But hey, at least I don't have tuberculosis...
Church Hunting--The Return...
Yes folks, today marked our second full Sunday in Cheyenne, and the first Sunday that we got our butts outta bed & went to church. In a movie theater. At the mall.
There are some fantastic advantages to this setup. To begin with, we arrived late. We were not late on purpose, but it occurred to me on the way there that it was probably a good tactic if we were going to keep up our bad-church-visitor-ness. I think I will try to keep being very-slightly-late until I get motivated to show up on time. But guess what? When you go to church at the mall on Sunday morning there's always plenty of parking, no matter how late you are.
Second, I don't know what the normal rental plans for movie theaters are, but this church occupied at least three "screens" that I'm aware of. Big church of course was in one. His Highness went to play with the toddlers in the front area of another, and in the process of finding the toddler room we managed to peek in on the kidz. They really spelled it that way on the signs, too. Because Z's are cool. That's all to say that there was plenty of room for everyone to spread out.
I was only mildly disappointed to find the concession stand closed. I think that would be a fantastic lure for unsuspecting seekers--free candy! It could be that there was free candy for those who showed up on time, but we'll never know. Unless we decide to show up on time, I guess.
In case I haven't mentioned it before, Cheyenne's population is very diverse in its occupation of the hipness & coolness spectrum. Up to now, we'd seen quite a variety of folks, but now we know that approximately 85% of the hip & cool people (the Christian ones, anyway) go to this church, and that most of them sit in the front section where no one likes to sit during a movie because of neck strain. Since we were late, we had to rely on the ushers to find us 2 open seats, which happened to be right among the hip & cool people. I did feel a touch more hip & cool after that.
So the general feel of this church is hip & cool, and not churchy at all, which as I've said before, is where we tend to gravitate. Rockin' music, casual feel, and all that. No one even turned to look when I got out my string cheese for a mid-morning munch. Most everyone was dressed casually, although I did notice a few ladies doing the nice-sweater-and pants thing, and one guy in the hip & cool section had a full suit on. Which was kinda cool. As I glanced around I spotted a sufficient number of tattoos to feel comfortable. The pastor was, like, a walking advertisement for hip & cool. Shaved head, cool specs, appropriately-distressed jeans. I thought I saw an earring in his left cartilage, but he had the cool earpiece-microphone in the way, so I couldn't tell for sure. He was also a walking advertisement for the church, as his (very hip & cool) shirt had the name of the church on it.
So, music--cool. Communion right after music--an interesting variation, but fine by me. They passed around these cool trays which held the cups and the bread, and the "bread" was a sort of hybrid between the thin wafers and Chiclets. I gotta say, I like when churches use real bread (French--yum), but since it's really about Jesus and not luscious loaves I got over it real quick. Besides, I still had my string cheese and was waiting until the message to break it out.
The message...sort of made me tired. The theme started out as "Lost," and finding one's place in God's kingdom, but then the pastor talked about the parable of the sown seeds, with the 4 different results, and whatnot. Which is an awesome passage, and I get what he was saying, I think. I'm not sure how it related to the "Lost" theme, but what it boiled down to was "Here are 4 different people. Don't be the bad three, be the good one!" and the he sort of left it there. And I sort of felt like saying, "How do I become the good one?" And anytime I'm left alone with that question it leaves me with the impression that I'm supposed to arbitrarily try harder, and the message of trying harder never sits well with me.
Now let me qualify this and say that I'm not in the best of places emotionally right now, so my perspective is likely skewed somewhat. Or a lot. If I cornered the pastor and started quizzing him about it, that would be rather presumptuous of me. But if I did it anyway, and if he overlooked my presumption, it's entirely possible that I'd hear God's grace coming thru loud & clear. Or maybe he's going to address it next week, I dunno. Plus, unless you're attending someone's personal manifesto lecture, I don't think it's wise to put a label on their theology based on one Sunday morning message.
There are some fantastic advantages to this setup. To begin with, we arrived late. We were not late on purpose, but it occurred to me on the way there that it was probably a good tactic if we were going to keep up our bad-church-visitor-ness. I think I will try to keep being very-slightly-late until I get motivated to show up on time. But guess what? When you go to church at the mall on Sunday morning there's always plenty of parking, no matter how late you are.
Second, I don't know what the normal rental plans for movie theaters are, but this church occupied at least three "screens" that I'm aware of. Big church of course was in one. His Highness went to play with the toddlers in the front area of another, and in the process of finding the toddler room we managed to peek in on the kidz. They really spelled it that way on the signs, too. Because Z's are cool. That's all to say that there was plenty of room for everyone to spread out.
I was only mildly disappointed to find the concession stand closed. I think that would be a fantastic lure for unsuspecting seekers--free candy! It could be that there was free candy for those who showed up on time, but we'll never know. Unless we decide to show up on time, I guess.
In case I haven't mentioned it before, Cheyenne's population is very diverse in its occupation of the hipness & coolness spectrum. Up to now, we'd seen quite a variety of folks, but now we know that approximately 85% of the hip & cool people (the Christian ones, anyway) go to this church, and that most of them sit in the front section where no one likes to sit during a movie because of neck strain. Since we were late, we had to rely on the ushers to find us 2 open seats, which happened to be right among the hip & cool people. I did feel a touch more hip & cool after that.
So the general feel of this church is hip & cool, and not churchy at all, which as I've said before, is where we tend to gravitate. Rockin' music, casual feel, and all that. No one even turned to look when I got out my string cheese for a mid-morning munch. Most everyone was dressed casually, although I did notice a few ladies doing the nice-sweater-and pants thing, and one guy in the hip & cool section had a full suit on. Which was kinda cool. As I glanced around I spotted a sufficient number of tattoos to feel comfortable. The pastor was, like, a walking advertisement for hip & cool. Shaved head, cool specs, appropriately-distressed jeans. I thought I saw an earring in his left cartilage, but he had the cool earpiece-microphone in the way, so I couldn't tell for sure. He was also a walking advertisement for the church, as his (very hip & cool) shirt had the name of the church on it.
So, music--cool. Communion right after music--an interesting variation, but fine by me. They passed around these cool trays which held the cups and the bread, and the "bread" was a sort of hybrid between the thin wafers and Chiclets. I gotta say, I like when churches use real bread (French--yum), but since it's really about Jesus and not luscious loaves I got over it real quick. Besides, I still had my string cheese and was waiting until the message to break it out.
The message...sort of made me tired. The theme started out as "Lost," and finding one's place in God's kingdom, but then the pastor talked about the parable of the sown seeds, with the 4 different results, and whatnot. Which is an awesome passage, and I get what he was saying, I think. I'm not sure how it related to the "Lost" theme, but what it boiled down to was "Here are 4 different people. Don't be the bad three, be the good one!" and the he sort of left it there. And I sort of felt like saying, "How do I become the good one?" And anytime I'm left alone with that question it leaves me with the impression that I'm supposed to arbitrarily try harder, and the message of trying harder never sits well with me.
Now let me qualify this and say that I'm not in the best of places emotionally right now, so my perspective is likely skewed somewhat. Or a lot. If I cornered the pastor and started quizzing him about it, that would be rather presumptuous of me. But if I did it anyway, and if he overlooked my presumption, it's entirely possible that I'd hear God's grace coming thru loud & clear. Or maybe he's going to address it next week, I dunno. Plus, unless you're attending someone's personal manifesto lecture, I don't think it's wise to put a label on their theology based on one Sunday morning message.
Which brought us to the end of the service, the altar call which is possibly weekly but I don't know yet, and the shuffling to the entrance withOUT our feet sticking to the floor, which is almost unheard of in a movie theater and entirely pleasant. In going out we caught sight of the folks who sat in back (up in back--stadium seating, you know), and found a diversity more representative of the dynamic that is Cheyenne. Which tells me there are lotsa different types of folks who go to this church, which is a good sign to me. Letting people be themselves is a good thing, and different types of people all being comfortable together is even better.
We were supposed to get t-shirts for being new, but they were out. Truthfully, I was a little disappointed about that, because all the church tees I saw were really cool, and I can always use a cool tee.
Now the main drawback to doing church in a movie theater in the mall is simply the state of being a port-a-church. As we picked up His Highness we were both acutely aware of how much work these folks are putting into the weekly setup & teardown. The schlepping of the drums alone is quite a task. Which I believe is why they're not staying in the theater for long. They are currently working to get their new property ready, and at some point will be moving in there permanently. I have no idea what it looks like (although the chairs will be red--the pastor demo'd one today as part of his message illustration), but I know the relief of going from port-a-church to permanent home. It's nice, and I'm glad for them.
Anyway, I think we both liked it enough to come back, but I think personally I've got a long way to go as far as getting fully back into the church groove. Maybe not before I start attending regularly, but probably before I get solidly plugged in. I felt like I had a deer-in-the-headlights look about me for the first 10 minutes or so (Wait--what? I'm standing, and there's music, and I know I'm supposed to do something. Oh right, sing), before I relaxed a little into the worship songs. Maybe it's just the disequilibrium of being in a new place. Or the first-trimester-queasiness. Or the perceived pressure of finding a place to belong in an area where I don't quite feel like I belong. Who knows, but I think next time I'll bring along some Tums...
Sep 3, 2008
Peanut Butter Tongue...
I would just like to announce that, due to the ridiculously sensitive nature of my gag reflex at the moment, I have resorted to hiding my vitamins and such in a glob of peanut butter so that they will go down and, more importantly, stay there. Like I've done for my various dogs over the years. Because I'm awesome.
It works amazingly well, but I do have a very slight case of peanut-butter-tongue. Dang it...
It works amazingly well, but I do have a very slight case of peanut-butter-tongue. Dang it...
Mountain Time...
The Cat Daddy and I were discussing our new time zone, trying to orient ourselves among the lower 50 in the way of the clock. It still takes me a minute when I figure out the time difference between myself and others, especially those in Arizona. This is because I grew up in Arizona, where the time doesn't change. And I prefer it that way.
So, for most of our tenure in CA we were on the same time as AZ, but now we're an hour ahead, until November 2, when we'll be the same time as AZ again and CA will be an hour earlier. And now we are always 2 hours behind our peeps on the East Coast, which is only one less hour difference than before, but somehow is way more bearable. For this reason I like living in the middle.
Our primetime starts at 7pm, just like the Central folks, and the TV show times do not change with the DST schedule. This is because, while people can adapt to changing the time completely, it would be simply inconceivable to adjust the TV schedules semi-annually. Not that there would be a reason to do such a thing; just something I wanted to point out.
Incidentally, this leaves the Central time zone as the only one we have yet to live in. I'm not sure how I feel about this. On one hand it would be nice to round out the Big Four along the way so I could speak from the greatest breadth of experience. Finally, after years of hearing "10:30, 9:30 Central" I would know firsthand the thought of "Oh, that's me," instead of having to wait for "10:30, 9:30 Central & Mountain," which always sounds to me like a reluctant inclusion. On the other hand, this adds a (very) small element of mystery to our lives, which some could (mis)construe as mildly nerve-wracking and/or exciting. What is it like in the Central zone? Are they regular people just like us? Or do they have some sort of knowledge the rest of us don't? Maybe. Or maybe it's just me.
Anyway, the discussion made me think of some friendly (I think) jabs my college roommate and I once exchanged on the topic. I said something snotty like "Yeah, AZ doesn't believe in arbitrarily changing the time," and she retorted "Well, at least we don't change time zones." At the time I didn't have a witty comeback. You could definitely look at it as Arizona switching between Mountain & Pacific times.
Now that I'm more educated on the DST sham/phenomenon (admittedly, from living it), however, I know the truth. Each zone vacillates between its respective standard and daylight time. Arizona, on the other hand, constantly remains on Mountain Standard Time. Everyone else: time & time zone change twice per year. Arizona: neither.
Now it's not like I want to get a time machine and go back to the original conversation and throw that little bit of insight in there--"Feh! Switch time zones? That's preposterous!"
OK maybe I do just a little bit. I'm just saying...
So, for most of our tenure in CA we were on the same time as AZ, but now we're an hour ahead, until November 2, when we'll be the same time as AZ again and CA will be an hour earlier. And now we are always 2 hours behind our peeps on the East Coast, which is only one less hour difference than before, but somehow is way more bearable. For this reason I like living in the middle.
Our primetime starts at 7pm, just like the Central folks, and the TV show times do not change with the DST schedule. This is because, while people can adapt to changing the time completely, it would be simply inconceivable to adjust the TV schedules semi-annually. Not that there would be a reason to do such a thing; just something I wanted to point out.
Incidentally, this leaves the Central time zone as the only one we have yet to live in. I'm not sure how I feel about this. On one hand it would be nice to round out the Big Four along the way so I could speak from the greatest breadth of experience. Finally, after years of hearing "10:30, 9:30 Central" I would know firsthand the thought of "Oh, that's me," instead of having to wait for "10:30, 9:30 Central & Mountain," which always sounds to me like a reluctant inclusion. On the other hand, this adds a (very) small element of mystery to our lives, which some could (mis)construe as mildly nerve-wracking and/or exciting. What is it like in the Central zone? Are they regular people just like us? Or do they have some sort of knowledge the rest of us don't? Maybe. Or maybe it's just me.
Anyway, the discussion made me think of some friendly (I think) jabs my college roommate and I once exchanged on the topic. I said something snotty like "Yeah, AZ doesn't believe in arbitrarily changing the time," and she retorted "Well, at least we don't change time zones." At the time I didn't have a witty comeback. You could definitely look at it as Arizona switching between Mountain & Pacific times.
Now that I'm more educated on the DST sham/phenomenon (admittedly, from living it), however, I know the truth. Each zone vacillates between its respective standard and daylight time. Arizona, on the other hand, constantly remains on Mountain Standard Time. Everyone else: time & time zone change twice per year. Arizona: neither.
Now it's not like I want to get a time machine and go back to the original conversation and throw that little bit of insight in there--"Feh! Switch time zones? That's preposterous!"
OK maybe I do just a little bit. I'm just saying...
Sep 2, 2008
Enchanted My Eye...
OK, since a certain Cat Daddy has spilled it to approximately half of my readership by now I might as well go public and say that Baby 2.0 is expected sometime around mid-April.
I get ultra-paranoid about the first trimester, so I don't like telling people early on. The Cat Daddy, on the other hand, would rather issue a press release and keep everyone informed of each little milestone, like on Babycenter. Just so you know, right now the kiddo is about the size of a kidney bean, and all the organs are formed. Not fully developed, but formed. Pretty cool if you ask me.
As for me, apparently things are going well because the day after we unloaded the moving truck, the first trimester knocked me on my a$$. With His Highness I didn't have morning sickness, per se. It was more like afternoon queasiness. With this one I seem to have all-day queasiness, but if anyone mentions twins, their reward will be a swift scissor kick to the head (patented by my blog buddy Bee). And I discovered yesterday that if anyone brings garlic within 10 feet of me (or mentions twins, apparently) they'd better be prepared to deal with the wrath of Skerrib.
It's hard to tell if the fatigue is kid-related or merely a result of the altitude. But by the time we're adjusted to the altitude, the other symptoms had better be history (do you hear me little one?!?). Then I can commence with the glowing and smiling serenely, and other things that make "enchanted" a lovely descriptor, especially compared with "pregnant," a term which I've never liked.
Moderate exercise seems to put off the queasies for a bit, so His Highness and I are going to see if we can get farther than 2 miles in 30 minutes this time. And there's a fresh crop of geocaches waiting for us, right in our neighborhood, so today will be #1. Ciao...
I get ultra-paranoid about the first trimester, so I don't like telling people early on. The Cat Daddy, on the other hand, would rather issue a press release and keep everyone informed of each little milestone, like on Babycenter. Just so you know, right now the kiddo is about the size of a kidney bean, and all the organs are formed. Not fully developed, but formed. Pretty cool if you ask me.
As for me, apparently things are going well because the day after we unloaded the moving truck, the first trimester knocked me on my a$$. With His Highness I didn't have morning sickness, per se. It was more like afternoon queasiness. With this one I seem to have all-day queasiness, but if anyone mentions twins, their reward will be a swift scissor kick to the head (patented by my blog buddy Bee). And I discovered yesterday that if anyone brings garlic within 10 feet of me (or mentions twins, apparently) they'd better be prepared to deal with the wrath of Skerrib.
It's hard to tell if the fatigue is kid-related or merely a result of the altitude. But by the time we're adjusted to the altitude, the other symptoms had better be history (do you hear me little one?!?). Then I can commence with the glowing and smiling serenely, and other things that make "enchanted" a lovely descriptor, especially compared with "pregnant," a term which I've never liked.
Moderate exercise seems to put off the queasies for a bit, so His Highness and I are going to see if we can get farther than 2 miles in 30 minutes this time. And there's a fresh crop of geocaches waiting for us, right in our neighborhood, so today will be #1. Ciao...
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