Okay, so I suck at keeping up with my blog. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I'm a blogging failure? Cause you'd be right! And I've got nothing for excuses, other than they want me to actually work when I'm here (something about earning my paycheck), and at home I have an adorable baby and husband to attend to. So there you have it. Weak excuses, I know, but it's all I've got.
So Walker's tummy is continuing to be a pain in our collective asses. He's stopped the marathon pooping, though, but has now progressed into the occasional vomitting episode. Not just spit up, mind you. I'm talking full Exorcist pea soup projectile puking. Poor little thing. Though it really doesn't seem to bother him in the least. He barfs and then goes back to whatever little game he was playing before he evacuated his stomach. And it's not all the time. Just once a week-ish. And they weren't back to back. We did have a couple of weeks there where there were no delicate tummy issues. The doctor seems to think that he's just caught the stomach flu and is having a hard time getting rid of it. I'm hoping that's all it is.
On the up swing, he laughs all the time now and has mastered rolling from his tummy to his back, though back to tummy still remains elusive. I, personally, am of the opinion that he is resisting this feat because he can't see as much on his tummy as he can on his back, and he's a snoopy little thing. I'm not really sure where he gets that from. Must be from his father.
Trav's little sister got married in June, so Walker got a chance to meet his cousin from Alaska, who's merely one week older than him. I love that they're so close in age, though I wish Taya, Brian and Connor lived closer. Connor's cute as hell, though. And he's got more hair than I've seen on most adults, let alone a baby!! He's a little screamer, too. While Walker's been focusing on his physical development, Connor's been learning the intricacies of speech. Funny thing is that as soon as they had gone home to Alaska, Walker started screaming and Connor started rolling. Maybe it's better that they live so far apart!! If they're already playing off of one another in their babyhood, I'd hate to see them in their adolescence.
At any rate, I've got tons of pictures, so look for those coming soon to a blog near you.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The Joys of Motherhood
Walker's sick. And not just "Sniff, sniff, I have a cold" sick. I mean the four diapers in one changing, you'd better be quick on the draw, multiple clothing changes for he and I sick. Poor little thing!! Last night he was up all night, pooping and eye rubbing, and just when I'd get him to sleep, he'd poop again and we'd have to start all over again.
So needless to say, I wasn't in the greatest of moods this morning when I felt his little body wriggling next to me in bed. Yes, I was letting him sleep in the bed with us and I don't want to hear it! It was the only way I could get him to sleep and if he was asleep, then I could be asleep and that was really the goal there: Daddy, Mommy and Walker all asleep at the same time. So Travis got up with him this time, changed him, fed him, and tried to play with him, but Walker wanted none of it. He fussed and then the fussing turned into crying and by then I was awake, so I figured what the hell, I was supposed to be up a half hour ago, so I'll just get up.
And as soon as he saw me, Walker stopped crying and broke into the sweetest, brightest, amazing smile. So, of course, my heart melted and suddenly the fatigue was okay. And when I bent down to talk to him, the smile got bigger and open mouthed and he giggled. GIGGLED! As if to say "hey, Mom, all that stuff last night? No hard feelings, 'kay?" And there weren't.
So needless to say, I wasn't in the greatest of moods this morning when I felt his little body wriggling next to me in bed. Yes, I was letting him sleep in the bed with us and I don't want to hear it! It was the only way I could get him to sleep and if he was asleep, then I could be asleep and that was really the goal there: Daddy, Mommy and Walker all asleep at the same time. So Travis got up with him this time, changed him, fed him, and tried to play with him, but Walker wanted none of it. He fussed and then the fussing turned into crying and by then I was awake, so I figured what the hell, I was supposed to be up a half hour ago, so I'll just get up.
And as soon as he saw me, Walker stopped crying and broke into the sweetest, brightest, amazing smile. So, of course, my heart melted and suddenly the fatigue was okay. And when I bent down to talk to him, the smile got bigger and open mouthed and he giggled. GIGGLED! As if to say "hey, Mom, all that stuff last night? No hard feelings, 'kay?" And there weren't.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Lamentations of a Working Mommy
Last week I returned to work after three blissful months at home with my beautiful new son. Being at home alone with your first child is trying. The first day Travis had to return to work and I was officially on my own, I cried most of the day. I felt lonely and inadequate and very, very scared. Not that I didn't know how to care for an infant. I've done my fair share of sitting and nannying. But then I could defer to the parent when an important decision needed to be made. And if it's the wrong decision, well Damn The Man, baby. Wasn't my idea to do it that way. But now I am The Man. I am the one to whom people consult to make decisions on how to care for this perfect little baby. I am the one that has the potential to make or break the foundation on which this life will be built. How freakin' terrifying is that?!
And a newborn isn't exactly a sparkling conversationalist, so I longed for another adult to sit and chat with. Travis would come home for lunch and then at the end of the day, and I would talk from the moment his shoes hit the back hall Pergo until he closed the bathroom door for some privacy. And then I'd start up again when the door opened, before the toilet even finished flushing because I'd been hovering outside, waiting very impatiently for him to listen to my reports about how many naps were taken, how much formula was consumed and how many diapers were changed. I'd ramble on and on, all the while Travis just looking for five minutes of solace and quiet at the end of a long day at the office. The man deserves an award, I'm telling you, cause I'da punched me in the beak.
So I thought the adjustment of coming back to work would be a relatively easy one. I'd have the best of both worlds. I'd get to hang out with my friends at work (and maybe do a little work here and there) and then come home to spend quality time with Walker. Oh, how misguided was I?! My first day back, it was reported to me, Walker cried most of the day. And the separation anxiety was torture on me, as well. Since then Walker's done really well. He loves spending the days with Uncle Chris and the girls and even seems to enjoy Sofi, the Chihuahua's, company.
For me, however, it's gotten progressively worse. I thought that the first day would be the worst, but then it would get easier. Not true, my friend. The second day I cried the whole way home, and I could see the thought running through Travis' mind: "increase your Zoloft, increase your Zoloft." When I originally thought of the eight hours I put in at work, I neglected to take into consideration my lunch hour and then an hour travel time each way. I'm away from my baby almost twelve hours every day! And when we finally do pull into the garage and I throw myself out of the barely stopped car and run across the driveway to my sister's house to fetch him, I have to share our time together with Travis. Now, I know he misses the baby as much as I do. But I've gone from 24/7 to 4 hours if I'm lucky. I want to bogart.
Anymore a woman is crucified for wanting to stay home with her kids. She's looked at as only a mother. Yeah. Cause raising the next generation of humans is cake compared to building a career that ends with a cheap gold watch. Raising my children is all I want. I felt lonely at home with only the baby to keep me company, but I feel more alone here at work, surrounded by people, without my son. He was with me every minute of every day for 11 months. To suddenly be separated from him is almost unbearable. I want to have tummy time and spit up on my shirt. I want to fold laundry and change dirty bums. I want to clean the house and make dinner for my husband. I want to teach my son to clap and hold things in his hands.
Call me provincial or old fashioned. I don't care. It's far more important to me to be with my son than anything else in the world. We do have a plan to make that happen. I keep telling myself that this arrangement is only temporary. That, even if it's a year, we'll pay things off and I'll be able to stay home. Until then I'll just plaster the walls of my office with pictures of Walker and wait, though impatiently, for the day to arrive when I can quit and be a full time mommy again.
And a newborn isn't exactly a sparkling conversationalist, so I longed for another adult to sit and chat with. Travis would come home for lunch and then at the end of the day, and I would talk from the moment his shoes hit the back hall Pergo until he closed the bathroom door for some privacy. And then I'd start up again when the door opened, before the toilet even finished flushing because I'd been hovering outside, waiting very impatiently for him to listen to my reports about how many naps were taken, how much formula was consumed and how many diapers were changed. I'd ramble on and on, all the while Travis just looking for five minutes of solace and quiet at the end of a long day at the office. The man deserves an award, I'm telling you, cause I'da punched me in the beak.
So I thought the adjustment of coming back to work would be a relatively easy one. I'd have the best of both worlds. I'd get to hang out with my friends at work (and maybe do a little work here and there) and then come home to spend quality time with Walker. Oh, how misguided was I?! My first day back, it was reported to me, Walker cried most of the day. And the separation anxiety was torture on me, as well. Since then Walker's done really well. He loves spending the days with Uncle Chris and the girls and even seems to enjoy Sofi, the Chihuahua's, company.
For me, however, it's gotten progressively worse. I thought that the first day would be the worst, but then it would get easier. Not true, my friend. The second day I cried the whole way home, and I could see the thought running through Travis' mind: "increase your Zoloft, increase your Zoloft." When I originally thought of the eight hours I put in at work, I neglected to take into consideration my lunch hour and then an hour travel time each way. I'm away from my baby almost twelve hours every day! And when we finally do pull into the garage and I throw myself out of the barely stopped car and run across the driveway to my sister's house to fetch him, I have to share our time together with Travis. Now, I know he misses the baby as much as I do. But I've gone from 24/7 to 4 hours if I'm lucky. I want to bogart.
Anymore a woman is crucified for wanting to stay home with her kids. She's looked at as only a mother. Yeah. Cause raising the next generation of humans is cake compared to building a career that ends with a cheap gold watch. Raising my children is all I want. I felt lonely at home with only the baby to keep me company, but I feel more alone here at work, surrounded by people, without my son. He was with me every minute of every day for 11 months. To suddenly be separated from him is almost unbearable. I want to have tummy time and spit up on my shirt. I want to fold laundry and change dirty bums. I want to clean the house and make dinner for my husband. I want to teach my son to clap and hold things in his hands.
Call me provincial or old fashioned. I don't care. It's far more important to me to be with my son than anything else in the world. We do have a plan to make that happen. I keep telling myself that this arrangement is only temporary. That, even if it's a year, we'll pay things off and I'll be able to stay home. Until then I'll just plaster the walls of my office with pictures of Walker and wait, though impatiently, for the day to arrive when I can quit and be a full time mommy again.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Triumphant Return to Blogging
So I haven't blogged in ages. I have no excuse, except that I got busy having a baby and, really, who reads this thing anyway? Being on maternity leave for the last three months I became very remiss in my blog reading obsession. Now that I'm back at work, though, I've used my down time to catch up on my usual sites, and even added a new one that, so far, has proved interesting.
I love reading blogs. I, like Crazy Aunt Purl, am a blog stalker. Something about being invited to snoop into other people's lives appeals to me. Makes my natural born "curiosity" feel a little less wrong, a little less dirty. I read blogs of my friends to catch up on what's happening in their lives and to stay in contact with them. And then I have my AnonoBlogs. You know, the blogs written by people I've never met, never will meet, but I love to read them anyway. My favorite is Dooce.com. I may not always agree with the things she says, but she's entertaining and insightful and always there. That's the best part. The "always there" part. There's something comforting in knowing that my day at work can be broken up by five minutes of blog-reading here and there.
Lately, though, I've found myself being very jealous of the throng of Mommy Bloggers out there who have made their blogs their jobs. Not that I find anything wrong with that at all. Quite the opposite, really. I love that there are people out there who make money from sharing their thoughts and ideas online. Seems no different to me than reading an article in a newspaper.
With the recent necessity of having to return to work after having my adorable baby, I've got a burning desire to become one of them. How exactly do these people break into the career field as a professional blogger? I mean, is there a BS of Blogging out there I need to obtain? Does one need to sleep with the Blogging Boss to get ahead in the Blogosphere? 'Cause at this point, I'm ready to take one for the team on this one.
Alas, I think the world of professional blogging will be forever closed to me. I will continue to blog, though. My words may not find a home. They may float out into the abyss and fade away, but I will have found an outlet. And really, that's what it's all about, this Hokey Pokey of life called blogging.
I love reading blogs. I, like Crazy Aunt Purl, am a blog stalker. Something about being invited to snoop into other people's lives appeals to me. Makes my natural born "curiosity" feel a little less wrong, a little less dirty. I read blogs of my friends to catch up on what's happening in their lives and to stay in contact with them. And then I have my AnonoBlogs. You know, the blogs written by people I've never met, never will meet, but I love to read them anyway. My favorite is Dooce.com. I may not always agree with the things she says, but she's entertaining and insightful and always there. That's the best part. The "always there" part. There's something comforting in knowing that my day at work can be broken up by five minutes of blog-reading here and there.
Lately, though, I've found myself being very jealous of the throng of Mommy Bloggers out there who have made their blogs their jobs. Not that I find anything wrong with that at all. Quite the opposite, really. I love that there are people out there who make money from sharing their thoughts and ideas online. Seems no different to me than reading an article in a newspaper.
With the recent necessity of having to return to work after having my adorable baby, I've got a burning desire to become one of them. How exactly do these people break into the career field as a professional blogger? I mean, is there a BS of Blogging out there I need to obtain? Does one need to sleep with the Blogging Boss to get ahead in the Blogosphere? 'Cause at this point, I'm ready to take one for the team on this one.
Alas, I think the world of professional blogging will be forever closed to me. I will continue to blog, though. My words may not find a home. They may float out into the abyss and fade away, but I will have found an outlet. And really, that's what it's all about, this Hokey Pokey of life called blogging.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The Little Fabric Tree
So this morning I was reading this article. And no, I'm not going to go into another rant on my thoughts and feelings on polygamy. What I'm thinking is this: how many of us as children, or even adults, for that matter, would be satisfied with the Christmases the author so fondly describes? I mean, a homemade doll and a pair of new shoes as opposed to an iPod for everyone and months and months of debt?
But it made me think of my husband telling me about his fondest Christmas. His family was living in St. George at the time, I think, and didn't have a penny to their name. There was no money for food or electricity, let alone a Christmas tree with presents piled all around. Trav and his siblings put lights on a small, tabletop fabric Christmas tree his mother had made and decorated it the way you would a full blown 9 foot tall tree from the lot. Then he and his sister (the only two kids old enough to work at the time) pooled their money, went to the store and bought five dollar presents so the other kids would have something to open on Christmas Day.
I've never had a Christmas like that. When I originally heard Travis and his siblings remembering that Christmas, my heart just bled for all of them, particularly my parents-in-law. I can only imagine how they must have felt wanting to give their children the world but having to tell them that Santa won't be coming this year, oh, and PS no Christmas dinner either. Even though the circumstances are totally out of your control (ie layoffs, medical problems, etc), that would kill a parent.
But instead of focusing on the sad, depressing part of the circumstance, they ended up having the best Christmas in my husband's memory. He never talks about that time as being miserable, but rather about how they all came together as a family and made the best out of a crappy situation. He remembers playing board games and chatting with his family rather than sitting around watching football or the millionth showing of A Christmas Story or It's a Wonderful Life. And now I think of how proud his parents must be that their kids actually got the point, even at a young age. I hope I can instill that in our child.
My mother in law made all of us a fabric Christmas tree for our table top and it's the only decoration that Travis really gets excited about. It's not that he's a full blown Grinch (though "the term 'Grinchy' may apply when Christmas cheer's in short supply"), but I think it's the one thing that doesn't seem so...commercial to him. I think that, though he'd never admit it lest he lose Man Points, it reminds him of the true meaning of Christmas and I frequently catch him looking nostalgically at our table with the little fabric tree and remembering his favorite Christmas ever.
But it made me think of my husband telling me about his fondest Christmas. His family was living in St. George at the time, I think, and didn't have a penny to their name. There was no money for food or electricity, let alone a Christmas tree with presents piled all around. Trav and his siblings put lights on a small, tabletop fabric Christmas tree his mother had made and decorated it the way you would a full blown 9 foot tall tree from the lot. Then he and his sister (the only two kids old enough to work at the time) pooled their money, went to the store and bought five dollar presents so the other kids would have something to open on Christmas Day.
I've never had a Christmas like that. When I originally heard Travis and his siblings remembering that Christmas, my heart just bled for all of them, particularly my parents-in-law. I can only imagine how they must have felt wanting to give their children the world but having to tell them that Santa won't be coming this year, oh, and PS no Christmas dinner either. Even though the circumstances are totally out of your control (ie layoffs, medical problems, etc), that would kill a parent.
But instead of focusing on the sad, depressing part of the circumstance, they ended up having the best Christmas in my husband's memory. He never talks about that time as being miserable, but rather about how they all came together as a family and made the best out of a crappy situation. He remembers playing board games and chatting with his family rather than sitting around watching football or the millionth showing of A Christmas Story or It's a Wonderful Life. And now I think of how proud his parents must be that their kids actually got the point, even at a young age. I hope I can instill that in our child.
My mother in law made all of us a fabric Christmas tree for our table top and it's the only decoration that Travis really gets excited about. It's not that he's a full blown Grinch (though "the term 'Grinchy' may apply when Christmas cheer's in short supply"), but I think it's the one thing that doesn't seem so...commercial to him. I think that, though he'd never admit it lest he lose Man Points, it reminds him of the true meaning of Christmas and I frequently catch him looking nostalgically at our table with the little fabric tree and remembering his favorite Christmas ever.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Coming to a Sad Realization
Last night I listened to the baby's heart beat with our rented doppler monitor (worth every penny) and counting the beats, making sure the baby was okay. Why, you ask? Since I began feeling him move a few weeks ago, I've been religiously paying attention to when he wiggles and when he doesn't. Usually, if I'm laying down trying to relax, he's up and ready to play. Which is fine with me, since I love feeling him move and he's still small enough that the kicks are cute rather than painful or obnoxious. For the past few nights, though, when I'm laying in bed waiting to drift off, he seems to be peacefully sleeping, because he's no longer kicking me furiously.
So I was just sure there was a problem. Hence the counting of the heartbeat and listening for anything abnormal. 'Cause if I actually HEARD anything abnormal, I'd be able to identify it right away. You know, because of all those pregnancy books I have.
This morning, as I was leaving for work, Trav put his arms around me and started talking to my belly to say good morning to the baby (an adorable little ritual that began a week or two ago after Travis felt the first definite movement). This time, though, rather than just the "Good morning, baby! Be good! Daddy loves you!" that usually accompanies this bonding between father and son, there was this little gem: "And make sure you kick Mommy a lot, 'cause she worries. Now you and I both know that there's nothing to worry about, but she can't help it. So really kick today, okay?"
And that's when it hit me: in 16 short weeks, I am going to be outnumbered in this house and they're already plotting against me.
So I was just sure there was a problem. Hence the counting of the heartbeat and listening for anything abnormal. 'Cause if I actually HEARD anything abnormal, I'd be able to identify it right away. You know, because of all those pregnancy books I have.
This morning, as I was leaving for work, Trav put his arms around me and started talking to my belly to say good morning to the baby (an adorable little ritual that began a week or two ago after Travis felt the first definite movement). This time, though, rather than just the "Good morning, baby! Be good! Daddy loves you!" that usually accompanies this bonding between father and son, there was this little gem: "And make sure you kick Mommy a lot, 'cause she worries. Now you and I both know that there's nothing to worry about, but she can't help it. So really kick today, okay?"
And that's when it hit me: in 16 short weeks, I am going to be outnumbered in this house and they're already plotting against me.
Friday, October 05, 2007
It's a boy!
Travis and I found out a few weeks ago that we're having a little boy. We are so excited! Not that we wouldn't have been just as happy with a little girl. I've had a lot of people saying "oh, aren't you SO glad to be having a boy first!?" or "I would much rather have a boy than a girl!" Personally, I'm just glad we're able to have one that's healthy. I ceased being picky as soon as the first pregnancy went south. Healthy became my only priority. But so far it looks like we're on track: the integrated screening came back completely normal, and his spine has closed beautifully (according to an ultrasound tech).
We go in next week for our "medical ultrasound," which will check the baby's organs to be sure they all developed correctly. This will be our 7th ultrasound. Someone was saying "you're so lucky! I wish I had gotten to see the baby that often." I thought "yeah, lose one and then have some jacked up, bizarre pregnant but not situation and they'll pretty much give you as many as you want." I have to admit, though, it has been fun seeing the baby so much. I love watching how much he's grown and changed. It's fascinating to me how it all progresses from a little blob to a little person. So much so that two of the ultrasounds were at Fetal Fotos because I just couldn't wait to find out what he was. The first time he was cooperative, but his umbilical cord was not. The second time he was more than happy to let us see that he was, in fact, a boy. It was so clear that both Travis and I, who can rarely pick out the baby in the Magic Eye picture (think Rachel on Friends), could CLEARLY see that he was a he before the tech even said "well, we definitely have a boy here!"
I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I find myself being obsessive about the pregnancy, the baby, etc. There are two other women here at work who are pregnant and they seem to be able to function in society without making everything about crib sets and fetal development. I asked one of the other Preggies how far along she was (which was a total rouse...I know full well she's a little over 8 weeks ahead of me, but I had to bring up my new obsession somehow) and she had to stop and think about it. THINK ABOUT IT!! I can tell you practically down to the millisecond how far along I am: 19 weeks, 2 days, 16 hours, 41 minutes. Okay, so I made up everything but the hours and minutes. But I'm just saying! You had to pause and think?! I can't WAIT for Wednesdays to roll around so I can get on babycenter.com and see where the baby's development is now or get out one of my 5 pregnancy books (didn't even buy a-one...4 given to me, completely unsolicited, and one borrowed) to see what's happening and what there is to pay attention for.
Apparently I should be able to feel the baby moving consistently soon. I say consistently because for several weeks now I think I've been feeling him. Every now and again I feel like there is a little bubble popping in my stomach. Rumor has it that's probably the baby, but who knows? I have no idea what I'm supposed to be feeling for. But I can definitely feel the results of his movements. Suddenly I'll have to rush to the ladies room because he's shifted onto my bladder (thank heaven he can still shift off), or I'll feel a little lopsided because there's pressure in the left side of my abdomen and 10 minutes later, he's all on my right side. I figure those are all very good indicators that I'll feel his little movements all the time very soon.
We go in next week for our "medical ultrasound," which will check the baby's organs to be sure they all developed correctly. This will be our 7th ultrasound. Someone was saying "you're so lucky! I wish I had gotten to see the baby that often." I thought "yeah, lose one and then have some jacked up, bizarre pregnant but not situation and they'll pretty much give you as many as you want." I have to admit, though, it has been fun seeing the baby so much. I love watching how much he's grown and changed. It's fascinating to me how it all progresses from a little blob to a little person. So much so that two of the ultrasounds were at Fetal Fotos because I just couldn't wait to find out what he was. The first time he was cooperative, but his umbilical cord was not. The second time he was more than happy to let us see that he was, in fact, a boy. It was so clear that both Travis and I, who can rarely pick out the baby in the Magic Eye picture (think Rachel on Friends), could CLEARLY see that he was a he before the tech even said "well, we definitely have a boy here!"
I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I find myself being obsessive about the pregnancy, the baby, etc. There are two other women here at work who are pregnant and they seem to be able to function in society without making everything about crib sets and fetal development. I asked one of the other Preggies how far along she was (which was a total rouse...I know full well she's a little over 8 weeks ahead of me, but I had to bring up my new obsession somehow) and she had to stop and think about it. THINK ABOUT IT!! I can tell you practically down to the millisecond how far along I am: 19 weeks, 2 days, 16 hours, 41 minutes. Okay, so I made up everything but the hours and minutes. But I'm just saying! You had to pause and think?! I can't WAIT for Wednesdays to roll around so I can get on babycenter.com and see where the baby's development is now or get out one of my 5 pregnancy books (didn't even buy a-one...4 given to me, completely unsolicited, and one borrowed) to see what's happening and what there is to pay attention for.
Apparently I should be able to feel the baby moving consistently soon. I say consistently because for several weeks now I think I've been feeling him. Every now and again I feel like there is a little bubble popping in my stomach. Rumor has it that's probably the baby, but who knows? I have no idea what I'm supposed to be feeling for. But I can definitely feel the results of his movements. Suddenly I'll have to rush to the ladies room because he's shifted onto my bladder (thank heaven he can still shift off), or I'll feel a little lopsided because there's pressure in the left side of my abdomen and 10 minutes later, he's all on my right side. I figure those are all very good indicators that I'll feel his little movements all the time very soon.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
16 weeks!
Today we're officially 4 months pregnant! Honestly, I never thought we'd make it this far, but I'm SO excited we have!
Yesterday we made our first pilgrimage to Fetal Fotos to see if they could determine the baby's gender. Baby was actually quite cooporative and was in "the perfect position to find the sex." Unfortunately, the umbilical cord was not nearly as cooporative. After a half an hour of rolling onto one side or another, jiggling my belly and generally irritating the baby to see if it would kick the cord out of the way, we had to admit defeat. Fortunately the wonderful rad tech at Fetal Fotos gave us a voucher to come back in a week and try again.
So was I disappointed? Not really! No opportunity to see the baby could ever possibly be disappointing to me! We saw it's little spine very clearly and even got to watch it swallow some amniotic fluid (eew!!). It rubbed it's tiny face with a miniature fist, and kicked it's little feet. I found it very exciting. And now we get to do it again next week! Woo hoo!!
On the way home I started wondering which I would prefer. I came to the conclusion that I'm not really lying when I say either would be fine with me. I think of all the perks of having a little girl and get giddy with excitement. Then I think of all the bonuses that would come with a son and can hardly wait. The only downside to this attitude is that if it's a boy, I'll be a little bit bummed that it's not a girl and if it's a girl, I'll think of all the things I'll miss out on if it had been a boy. There's just no pleasing me!! But I have to just keep remembering that we have every intention of having more than one, so I don't need to have everything at once.
These days I can feel my uterus, which is kinda weird. I feel like I swallowed a volleyball that got stuck three quarters of the way through! But I figure that means I'm mere moments away from feeling the little alien move in me, which will be completely surreal. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's gotta feel like that scene from Alien when the baby alien tears out of that guy's stomach. But it will be OUR alien, so I think that'll make it all worth it!
Yesterday we made our first pilgrimage to Fetal Fotos to see if they could determine the baby's gender. Baby was actually quite cooporative and was in "the perfect position to find the sex." Unfortunately, the umbilical cord was not nearly as cooporative. After a half an hour of rolling onto one side or another, jiggling my belly and generally irritating the baby to see if it would kick the cord out of the way, we had to admit defeat. Fortunately the wonderful rad tech at Fetal Fotos gave us a voucher to come back in a week and try again.
So was I disappointed? Not really! No opportunity to see the baby could ever possibly be disappointing to me! We saw it's little spine very clearly and even got to watch it swallow some amniotic fluid (eew!!). It rubbed it's tiny face with a miniature fist, and kicked it's little feet. I found it very exciting. And now we get to do it again next week! Woo hoo!!
On the way home I started wondering which I would prefer. I came to the conclusion that I'm not really lying when I say either would be fine with me. I think of all the perks of having a little girl and get giddy with excitement. Then I think of all the bonuses that would come with a son and can hardly wait. The only downside to this attitude is that if it's a boy, I'll be a little bit bummed that it's not a girl and if it's a girl, I'll think of all the things I'll miss out on if it had been a boy. There's just no pleasing me!! But I have to just keep remembering that we have every intention of having more than one, so I don't need to have everything at once.
These days I can feel my uterus, which is kinda weird. I feel like I swallowed a volleyball that got stuck three quarters of the way through! But I figure that means I'm mere moments away from feeling the little alien move in me, which will be completely surreal. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's gotta feel like that scene from Alien when the baby alien tears out of that guy's stomach. But it will be OUR alien, so I think that'll make it all worth it!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
So at long last and after much ado....
I'm PREGNANT!!!
When we found out we were pregnant...again...the doctor ordered an ultrasound to make sure that we didn't have another "pregnant but not" situation. The ultrasound tech had the personality of a wet mop and argued about "what exactly does your doctor hope to see???" How about a viable pregnancy, Witch Woman?!??! Now look in my tummy! She was much nicer once she saw Travis' and my reaction. She even printed the above picture for us, which now we kind of chuckle at. The yolk sac is bigger than the baby! But a baby was there, none the less, with a heart rate of 114...MUCH better than the first time. We were cautiously optimistic.
It was this ultrasound I was dreading, because this was the point during the first pregnancy when there was nothing there. But our blob had grown and the heartbeat was still present and accounted for!! The doctor didn't have a guage to see what the exact heart rate was, but she estimated that it was going at "at least 150 beats per minute." This was also the ultrasound that earned the baby the nickname "Blobbie." Okay, yeah, not really nice. But, come on. It's a little blob! A damned cute blob, if I do say so myself.
I found online after this ultrasound that once you've seen a strong heart beat (which we didn't the first time), then your chances of miscarriage go down to 2%. I don't know if that's true, but it made me feel better, so I ran with it.
This is our baby during a completely unexpected ultrasound. I was having the integrated screening to rule out a myriad of different birth defects and thought I was only getting blood drawn. Poor Travis wasn't even there. The point of getting this ultrasound was to look at the fluid on the back of the baby's neck to rule out Down's syndrome. Stubborn little thing woudn't roll over, though. So they looked every way they could, jiggling my tummy (that'll make you feel pretty) to get it to change positions, and it would just wiggle around disgustedly and settle right back into it's soft little spot on my cervix. Okay, so I don't know that it was disgusted, but since I'm growing it, I get to apply little personalities to it. And let's face it: it's a Walker-Tabbal hybrid. Trust me, it's stubborn. Heart rate at this appointment was 162. So far so good!
And now we're at 14 weeks. Sadly, no new ultrasound pictures. In lieu of pictures, though, we've rented a fetal doppler and can listen to the heart beat whenever we want, provided, of course, that our stubborn little one will move out from behind my placenta and then hold still long enough for me to find it!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Memories of my Gram
So my Grandma died late Sunday night (or really early Monday morning, depending on how you look at it). I'm bummed, though I know it's what she wanted. She was 94 and had outlived her husband, many of her siblings and friends, and one of her children. She was ready to go.
I'm supposed to speak at the funeral on Friday, which I am honored to do, but I'm afraid I won't do her justice, or tell really inappropriate stories (ie the time Gram saw Travis naked). So I figured I'd brainstorm here and see what I could remember and what might be good for the service.
My Gram was a hip old bird. I was the only high school senior who didn't have a boyfriend, but who's 82 year old grandma had two. She liked to play the field. :) She always was ahead of her time, though. When she and my grandpa got married, it was illegal to be a female teacher and be married, so they lived apart for several years, pretending she was still single. I think it was only her pregnancy with my father that blew their cover.
Grandma was never happier than when she was with her family. As long as I can remember we had Sunday dinners at her house. She would slave all day long cooking for us and would refuse to let anyone else help her. We kids would play in her living room, lining up the footstools and jumping from one to the other until it was time to eat. Then we'd eat and chat, the adults talking about the events of the past week and reminiscing and us kids fighting over the black olives, putting them on our fingers and pretending to have black witch's nails.
I remember when I was little Gram would read to me on the old green couch in her living room. We'd read certain literary masterpieces over and over again like "Stand Back," Said the Elephant "I'm Going to Sneeze." And at one point we had a children's song book and I would make her sing "Skip to My Lou" over and over as I danced around her living room. And she never once complained, though the monotony must have driven her insane.
She was the picture perfect grandma. She always had some kind of treat around, even if it was just some frosting leftover from a cake spread between two saltine crackers. Every morning before school my sister and I would go to Gram's house for Cocoa Puffs and Mr. Gadget. After school it was Channel One and MathNet and playing outside while she worked in her garden. Wednesday nights were my parents' bowling nights, and we'd go to Grandma's, eat dinner with Uncle Niel, Aunt Cec and Gram, and watch Perfect Strangers on TV. I literally cannot remember one day of my childhood without Gram.
I remember one summer my dad was remodeling Gram's bathroom, Grandma wasn't home and Dad got some wild idea to smash out two walls and make Gram's front entry way lead into the family room as well as the living room. He handed me a hammer and said "Hey, go smash out that wall, will ya?" I guess I must have looked at him like he was insane, because he said "She's not gonna kill YOU." So I knocked it down and when Gram came home, she just looked at it for a minute and then went on to tell us all about the ADK meeting she had just been to. It was like she expected nothing less after raising three boys than to come home to find her house in a shambles.
She was SO generous, too, not just with her time, but with her money as well. She would go on vacation for a month or two and "hire" me as the dog sitter. This basically amounted to me hanging out at her house, free to munch on the treats she would leave, watch TV, having sleepovers with my friends, and play with TK, her dog, letting her out every now and again. Gram would get home and pay me for what "work" I had done. Later, after high school, I would do her nails and when her checks were WAY more than any salon would have charged her, I was informed that it was her money to do with as she pleased.
She was always a quiet and calm spot in our lives. I remember one family trip to Disneyland when we got lost driving around and spent the next hour making each other crazy. Eventually we got to laughing about our respective roles in the car: Beth was the Frazzled Driver, Dad was the Questionable Navigator, Mom was the Backseat Driver, Connie was the Whiner, I was the Grump, Dustin was the Instigator, and Grandma was Switzerland, just watching patiently out the window, happy and enjoying the ride.
I'm supposed to speak at the funeral on Friday, which I am honored to do, but I'm afraid I won't do her justice, or tell really inappropriate stories (ie the time Gram saw Travis naked). So I figured I'd brainstorm here and see what I could remember and what might be good for the service.
My Gram was a hip old bird. I was the only high school senior who didn't have a boyfriend, but who's 82 year old grandma had two. She liked to play the field. :) She always was ahead of her time, though. When she and my grandpa got married, it was illegal to be a female teacher and be married, so they lived apart for several years, pretending she was still single. I think it was only her pregnancy with my father that blew their cover.
Grandma was never happier than when she was with her family. As long as I can remember we had Sunday dinners at her house. She would slave all day long cooking for us and would refuse to let anyone else help her. We kids would play in her living room, lining up the footstools and jumping from one to the other until it was time to eat. Then we'd eat and chat, the adults talking about the events of the past week and reminiscing and us kids fighting over the black olives, putting them on our fingers and pretending to have black witch's nails.
I remember when I was little Gram would read to me on the old green couch in her living room. We'd read certain literary masterpieces over and over again like "Stand Back," Said the Elephant "I'm Going to Sneeze." And at one point we had a children's song book and I would make her sing "Skip to My Lou" over and over as I danced around her living room. And she never once complained, though the monotony must have driven her insane.
She was the picture perfect grandma. She always had some kind of treat around, even if it was just some frosting leftover from a cake spread between two saltine crackers. Every morning before school my sister and I would go to Gram's house for Cocoa Puffs and Mr. Gadget. After school it was Channel One and MathNet and playing outside while she worked in her garden. Wednesday nights were my parents' bowling nights, and we'd go to Grandma's, eat dinner with Uncle Niel, Aunt Cec and Gram, and watch Perfect Strangers on TV. I literally cannot remember one day of my childhood without Gram.
I remember one summer my dad was remodeling Gram's bathroom, Grandma wasn't home and Dad got some wild idea to smash out two walls and make Gram's front entry way lead into the family room as well as the living room. He handed me a hammer and said "Hey, go smash out that wall, will ya?" I guess I must have looked at him like he was insane, because he said "She's not gonna kill YOU." So I knocked it down and when Gram came home, she just looked at it for a minute and then went on to tell us all about the ADK meeting she had just been to. It was like she expected nothing less after raising three boys than to come home to find her house in a shambles.
She was SO generous, too, not just with her time, but with her money as well. She would go on vacation for a month or two and "hire" me as the dog sitter. This basically amounted to me hanging out at her house, free to munch on the treats she would leave, watch TV, having sleepovers with my friends, and play with TK, her dog, letting her out every now and again. Gram would get home and pay me for what "work" I had done. Later, after high school, I would do her nails and when her checks were WAY more than any salon would have charged her, I was informed that it was her money to do with as she pleased.
She was always a quiet and calm spot in our lives. I remember one family trip to Disneyland when we got lost driving around and spent the next hour making each other crazy. Eventually we got to laughing about our respective roles in the car: Beth was the Frazzled Driver, Dad was the Questionable Navigator, Mom was the Backseat Driver, Connie was the Whiner, I was the Grump, Dustin was the Instigator, and Grandma was Switzerland, just watching patiently out the window, happy and enjoying the ride.
Gram was a short woman, so once we started growing, it was fun to stand next to her and tease her about how much taller we were and ask her if she was shrinking. She'd usually feign a disgusted look and poke us in the ribs.
Gram was a crazy driver. I can remember seeing someone run the stop sign at the fork in the road and hearing my mom go nuts saying "Who's the maniac! They should have their license revoked!" and then Gram would pass us and we'd all sit there in awe that my grandma was the maniac. I remember a few times when she'd go the wrong way down a one way road, or start to drive down the wrong side of a split highway. So when I turned 16 and got my licence, Gram would have me drive her around to places she needed to go. I loved it because I could drive with an adult who wouldn't back seat drive and even if she did, I was confident that I was still the better driver in the car.
Monday, May 07, 2007
My own pathetic delusions of grandeur
Ah, the joys of trying to reproduce and the mysteries of the female body. For about a week at the end of March, I thought I was pregnant again. After the miscarriage in January, my doctor thought it would be prudent to check my hormone levels with the new pregnancy to be sure that they were rising at the proper rate. Unfortunately they were not, and she thought that we probably had an ectopic pregnancy. After much ado, including having my blood drawn five times in one week and an ultrasound by a radiologist who should NEVER be allowed near a vagina ever again, they decided that there were some cells making up a non-viable pregnancy somewhere in my person, though not in my uterus, and that I would need a few shots of chemotherapy to kill the cells and make sure that they didn't spontaneously start growing, potentially rendering my infertile, if not kill me. And since death was not on my to do list, I figured, okay, let's get the shots.
My own personal opinion was that I was not actually pregnant again, but rather that there were a few leftover "pregnancy cells" that didn't get removed in the D&C and were still wreaking havoc with my hormone levels. Alas, no. The doctor assured me Friday that, after the miscarriage, I had gotten "pregnant again, but not." You'll notice the quotes around that last statement. That's a direct quote from a medical professional. "Pregnant again, but not."
How the hell does THAT work? you may be asking yourself. It was a question that sprang from my mouth before I found a nice, tactful way of saying "what the fuck?!?!?" Apparently I'm a medical anomaly. She said that what probably happened was that an egg was fertilized, but never attached anywhere in my body, but also never left the body, so it just floated off into the abyss that is my abdominal region. It was fertilized, thus pregnant, but since it never attached, not.
Huh. Okay then. So I asked if this was considered another miscarriage. Nope. Pregnant, but not. The whole situation made me feel strangely happy. If it never attached, I was never pregnant, therefore I'm not confirmed broken yet, and hopefully we can continue on to have a happy healthy baby one day soon.
During the whole Pregnant But Not Pregnancy Extravaganza, I became somewhat of a regular with the phlebotomists in the lab. After the 5 Draw Week, the chemo shots, and the subsequent blood work that confirmed the hormone levels were dropping (two draws that week, once in Phoenix), the doctor wanted to monitor the numbers to be sure they continue to drop, so I've had to go in once a week to have blood taken. Friday after my appointment I stopped in for my weekly visit. Tuesday morning's been my usual vist time, but last week it just didn't fit into the old schedule. So Friday afternoon, I stopped in to find a whole new staff works in the afternoons. Okay, no worries. I'm sure they're capable folk. But here's the alarming part. When the gal called my name, she said "oh, we were wondering if you were coming in this week!" Then two other phlebotomists, two that I had also never seen before, poked their heads into the room to take a look. Then they all looked at one another as if to say "Oh, so THIS is that Tabbal woman who's in here ALL THE TIME."
What the hell?!?! Have I become some kind of Phlebotomist's nightmare? I've now gained a spot in Hypochondria Folklore?! And then this morning when I called to get the results of my test, the office voicemail system no longer has the option to speak to the nurse. Have I been driving them all so crazy that they have altered office protocol in a vain attempt to avoid me? Have I become that woman, the one that you dread seeing walk through the doors of your office? The one that causes all employees to scatter like roaches when the light turns on?
I feel like going into their office yelling "I'm NOT crazy!!! I'm pregnant, but not! My hormones are all over the board!" 'Cause THAT wouldn't make them think I'm nuts.
My own personal opinion was that I was not actually pregnant again, but rather that there were a few leftover "pregnancy cells" that didn't get removed in the D&C and were still wreaking havoc with my hormone levels. Alas, no. The doctor assured me Friday that, after the miscarriage, I had gotten "pregnant again, but not." You'll notice the quotes around that last statement. That's a direct quote from a medical professional. "Pregnant again, but not."
How the hell does THAT work? you may be asking yourself. It was a question that sprang from my mouth before I found a nice, tactful way of saying "what the fuck?!?!?" Apparently I'm a medical anomaly. She said that what probably happened was that an egg was fertilized, but never attached anywhere in my body, but also never left the body, so it just floated off into the abyss that is my abdominal region. It was fertilized, thus pregnant, but since it never attached, not.
Huh. Okay then. So I asked if this was considered another miscarriage. Nope. Pregnant, but not. The whole situation made me feel strangely happy. If it never attached, I was never pregnant, therefore I'm not confirmed broken yet, and hopefully we can continue on to have a happy healthy baby one day soon.
During the whole Pregnant But Not Pregnancy Extravaganza, I became somewhat of a regular with the phlebotomists in the lab. After the 5 Draw Week, the chemo shots, and the subsequent blood work that confirmed the hormone levels were dropping (two draws that week, once in Phoenix), the doctor wanted to monitor the numbers to be sure they continue to drop, so I've had to go in once a week to have blood taken. Friday after my appointment I stopped in for my weekly visit. Tuesday morning's been my usual vist time, but last week it just didn't fit into the old schedule. So Friday afternoon, I stopped in to find a whole new staff works in the afternoons. Okay, no worries. I'm sure they're capable folk. But here's the alarming part. When the gal called my name, she said "oh, we were wondering if you were coming in this week!" Then two other phlebotomists, two that I had also never seen before, poked their heads into the room to take a look. Then they all looked at one another as if to say "Oh, so THIS is that Tabbal woman who's in here ALL THE TIME."
What the hell?!?! Have I become some kind of Phlebotomist's nightmare? I've now gained a spot in Hypochondria Folklore?! And then this morning when I called to get the results of my test, the office voicemail system no longer has the option to speak to the nurse. Have I been driving them all so crazy that they have altered office protocol in a vain attempt to avoid me? Have I become that woman, the one that you dread seeing walk through the doors of your office? The one that causes all employees to scatter like roaches when the light turns on?
I feel like going into their office yelling "I'm NOT crazy!!! I'm pregnant, but not! My hormones are all over the board!" 'Cause THAT wouldn't make them think I'm nuts.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Hey, where's my soapbox????
You know what I hate? I mean, absolutely loathe??? When people say that they're not teaching their child about a religion because they "want their child to make their own decision about religion when they grow up." Because inevitably the speakers parents shoved one religion or other down their throats as a child and now their determined to go to the opposite extreme and not give their child any guidance at all about religion. But naturally, one extreme is OBVIOUSLY better than another extreme, right? No need for happy middles here, folks.
Now, it's not that I hate the fact that people would let their kid grow up and decide that their religion is something other than my religion, because that's not the case at all. Frankly I don't much care what religion a person is. If you're an asshole, you're an asshole, regardless of faith, color or creed. The thing I hate about the statement "my child will make their own decision when they grow up" is that if you don't teach your kid about religion, ANY religion, how do you expect them to make a decision regarding that religion or any other? I mean, you wouldn't avoid swimming pools, lakes or ponds and then one day look at your kid and say "so, what kind of stroke do you plan to swim across this body of water with? The crawl? Sidestroke? How about a good old fashioned breast stroke?"
I mean, really, pick SOMETHING? Or if you don't subscribe to any one religion at all, at least teach the poor little bastard about your belief system in general or teach them about a bunch of different religions (which I think would be a good idea for more parents to do anyway) so that at least when the time comes for them to cross the ocean, they're not flung in with not even a fundamental knowledge of how to stay afloat.
Because really, in the end, of course your child will make his or her own decision. And hopefully you've taught them enough for their decision to be an educated one.
Now, it's not that I hate the fact that people would let their kid grow up and decide that their religion is something other than my religion, because that's not the case at all. Frankly I don't much care what religion a person is. If you're an asshole, you're an asshole, regardless of faith, color or creed. The thing I hate about the statement "my child will make their own decision when they grow up" is that if you don't teach your kid about religion, ANY religion, how do you expect them to make a decision regarding that religion or any other? I mean, you wouldn't avoid swimming pools, lakes or ponds and then one day look at your kid and say "so, what kind of stroke do you plan to swim across this body of water with? The crawl? Sidestroke? How about a good old fashioned breast stroke?"
I mean, really, pick SOMETHING? Or if you don't subscribe to any one religion at all, at least teach the poor little bastard about your belief system in general or teach them about a bunch of different religions (which I think would be a good idea for more parents to do anyway) so that at least when the time comes for them to cross the ocean, they're not flung in with not even a fundamental knowledge of how to stay afloat.
Because really, in the end, of course your child will make his or her own decision. And hopefully you've taught them enough for their decision to be an educated one.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Step away from the Prius!!!
The trip down was relatively uneventful. Being Friday the 13th, I was just sure that some horrific event was going to befall us. Scenes from The Hills Have Eyes ran through my head, so when we made it all the way to Phoenix without becoming the playthings of toothless hill-folk, I was pretty excited. We visited with Travis' grandma in from Hawaii and his dad for a bit, then decided we'd go check into the hotel, wash the stench of the road off of ourselves, pick my mother in law up from the airport, and come back for a relaxing dinner with the family. Ah, but no.
One block away from my in-laws' apartment, some STUPID illegal immigrant BITCH decided that in the good old US, traffic lights are mere suggestions rather than actual laws you should obey (kind of like the immigration laws she so brazenly disregarded when she hopped the fence) and ran a red light, smashing into the car in front of us, ricocheted off of that car, glanced off the front of our little Prius, removing that pesky license plate and several coats of paint, not to mention a big chunk of our bumper and KEPT RIGHT ON DRIVING, until her car, so completely jacked up by her inability to decipher the complicated color codes that are traffic lights, died in the middle of the road.
Now there are several things about this episode that piss me off. Here are the top 5:
1. That this woman, who shouldn't even be here in the first place, did some thing so freakin' stupid with her TWO CHILDREN in the car!! One MAYBE 2 years old and the other one 4ish months old.
2. That this same illegal never once hit her brakes, not even after hitting the car in front of us.
3. That, though she could afford an Infinity SUV, the gas to drive this SUV, but CLEARLY couldn't be bothered to pay for car insurance.
4. That she was cited for having no license, no insurance (total shocker, I know), and running a red light and then allowed to go about her merry way despite the fact that I overheard one of the cops telling another cop that she has a record for doing shit like this and did I mention that SHE'S FREAKIN' ILLEGAL!!!
5. This is the third time this poor Prius has been dented up since we bought it one year ago, and the second time it's been messed up by a damned ILLEGAL!!
6. That everyone was trying to be cool, even though this was her FREAKING FAULT and asking her if she and her kids were okay, and she never once asked if anyone in the two cars she hit was okay. And the claim that she doesn’t speak English doesn’t really hold water since she understood everyone asking her if SHE was okay, and her ability to understand English suddenly vanished once the 5-0 showed up.
Okay, that's 6 things, but really, that last one was just insult to injury. Now, I know it doesn't seem to be a very popular opinion to say that illegal immigrants shouldn't be here, but come on. They SHOULDN'T BE HERE!!! Particularly when they're breaking the damned laws. And I'm not just assuming that this woman wasn't a citizen because she was Mexican. I saw her Mexican ID card. And they weren't just visiting because her husband was on his way home from his job at Sherwin Williams.
Travis and I have come to the conclusion that if you're illegal and you're caught breaking a law (besides the one you broke when you snuck into the country in the first place), you should be immediately deported, regardless of how minor the law you broke is. HOWEVER, if you're the victim of a crime and you're illegal, we'll go ahead and give you a pass and not deport you when you call the police. I don't want anyone getting beaten up or anything and being afraid to report the asshole that did it to them.
I just get so freakin' irritated when people make excuses for illegal immigrants. Here are the top 5 I hate and my rebuttals:
1. They're just trying to make a better life for themselves. Fair enough. However, if you spent half as much time improving your own country as you've spent trying to sneak into ours, your life would probably get better just because of that AND you'd have the added bonus of knowing that millions of other people will have a better life because of your contribution.
2. They're taking the jobs that Americans won't do. No, they're taking the jobs that employers don't want to PAY an American to do. Why would you pay minimum wage when you can get an illegal immigrant to do it for $2.00 an hour cheaper. Plus I'm sure there are millions of homeless people who would LOVE to have a job so they can get themselves a home. Furthermore, that’s not only insulting to the unemployed Americans, but also to the immigrant who is getting the shaft in their paycheck.
3. Their country is so corrupt that they have to get out to make a better life for themselves. Last time I checked, the folks that jumped off the boat from their various countries of origin didn't walk right into a perfect way of life when they hit good old Plymouth Rock. They forged one out of nothing to create a fair government that everyone could live with, and the freedom to pipe up if you didn't think something was so fair. PS With 12 MILLION illegals in America today, you're telling me you can't put something together to overthow the government that you claim is holding you down?! We’ll help you! That’s our main thing these days: helping the underdog and getting crucified for it.
4. We don't have the resources to round up all the illegal immigrants who are already here. Again, that's a valid argument. But my bitch is when the illegal immigrants fall right into the laps of the authorities, like the idiot bitch who ran the red light. There's no need to round her up. She's right there. Hell, load her up and I'll drive her fat ass back to Mexico myself.
5. We don't have the resources to keep illegal immigrants out. My wonderful husband came up with a great solution to this problem: if you're caught in this country illegally (based on the Zero Tolerance for Illegals Breaking the Law Program outlined above), then before we ship you back, you are required to help build 10 feet of fence between the Mexican-American border and/or the Canadian-American border before we toss you out on your asses. If you're caught illegally in the country a second time, then your amount of fence triples.
Okay, now that I've gotten that off my chest, here is the list of things that made the fact that I now have to pay my deductible to fix a problem I didn't cause completely worth it:
1. Seeing Travis' grandma hug him like she hadn't seen him in 15 years
2. Watching my father in law walk across the podium and accept his Masters of Secondary Education Degree and the subsequent walk back to his seat reminiscent of Rocky jumping at the top of The Philadelphia Museum of Art stairs.
3. Wrestling in the living room with Travis' niece and nephews
4. Watching Travis' 2 year old nephew hug his Great-Grandma and giving his Auntie Taya a kiss for some gum
5. Spending time with Travis' sister Taya in from Alaska and his grandma in from Hawaii
One block away from my in-laws' apartment, some STUPID illegal immigrant BITCH decided that in the good old US, traffic lights are mere suggestions rather than actual laws you should obey (kind of like the immigration laws she so brazenly disregarded when she hopped the fence) and ran a red light, smashing into the car in front of us, ricocheted off of that car, glanced off the front of our little Prius, removing that pesky license plate and several coats of paint, not to mention a big chunk of our bumper and KEPT RIGHT ON DRIVING, until her car, so completely jacked up by her inability to decipher the complicated color codes that are traffic lights, died in the middle of the road.
Now there are several things about this episode that piss me off. Here are the top 5:
1. That this woman, who shouldn't even be here in the first place, did some thing so freakin' stupid with her TWO CHILDREN in the car!! One MAYBE 2 years old and the other one 4ish months old.
2. That this same illegal never once hit her brakes, not even after hitting the car in front of us.
3. That, though she could afford an Infinity SUV, the gas to drive this SUV, but CLEARLY couldn't be bothered to pay for car insurance.
4. That she was cited for having no license, no insurance (total shocker, I know), and running a red light and then allowed to go about her merry way despite the fact that I overheard one of the cops telling another cop that she has a record for doing shit like this and did I mention that SHE'S FREAKIN' ILLEGAL!!!
5. This is the third time this poor Prius has been dented up since we bought it one year ago, and the second time it's been messed up by a damned ILLEGAL!!
6. That everyone was trying to be cool, even though this was her FREAKING FAULT and asking her if she and her kids were okay, and she never once asked if anyone in the two cars she hit was okay. And the claim that she doesn’t speak English doesn’t really hold water since she understood everyone asking her if SHE was okay, and her ability to understand English suddenly vanished once the 5-0 showed up.
Okay, that's 6 things, but really, that last one was just insult to injury. Now, I know it doesn't seem to be a very popular opinion to say that illegal immigrants shouldn't be here, but come on. They SHOULDN'T BE HERE!!! Particularly when they're breaking the damned laws. And I'm not just assuming that this woman wasn't a citizen because she was Mexican. I saw her Mexican ID card. And they weren't just visiting because her husband was on his way home from his job at Sherwin Williams.
Travis and I have come to the conclusion that if you're illegal and you're caught breaking a law (besides the one you broke when you snuck into the country in the first place), you should be immediately deported, regardless of how minor the law you broke is. HOWEVER, if you're the victim of a crime and you're illegal, we'll go ahead and give you a pass and not deport you when you call the police. I don't want anyone getting beaten up or anything and being afraid to report the asshole that did it to them.
I just get so freakin' irritated when people make excuses for illegal immigrants. Here are the top 5 I hate and my rebuttals:
1. They're just trying to make a better life for themselves. Fair enough. However, if you spent half as much time improving your own country as you've spent trying to sneak into ours, your life would probably get better just because of that AND you'd have the added bonus of knowing that millions of other people will have a better life because of your contribution.
2. They're taking the jobs that Americans won't do. No, they're taking the jobs that employers don't want to PAY an American to do. Why would you pay minimum wage when you can get an illegal immigrant to do it for $2.00 an hour cheaper. Plus I'm sure there are millions of homeless people who would LOVE to have a job so they can get themselves a home. Furthermore, that’s not only insulting to the unemployed Americans, but also to the immigrant who is getting the shaft in their paycheck.
3. Their country is so corrupt that they have to get out to make a better life for themselves. Last time I checked, the folks that jumped off the boat from their various countries of origin didn't walk right into a perfect way of life when they hit good old Plymouth Rock. They forged one out of nothing to create a fair government that everyone could live with, and the freedom to pipe up if you didn't think something was so fair. PS With 12 MILLION illegals in America today, you're telling me you can't put something together to overthow the government that you claim is holding you down?! We’ll help you! That’s our main thing these days: helping the underdog and getting crucified for it.
4. We don't have the resources to round up all the illegal immigrants who are already here. Again, that's a valid argument. But my bitch is when the illegal immigrants fall right into the laps of the authorities, like the idiot bitch who ran the red light. There's no need to round her up. She's right there. Hell, load her up and I'll drive her fat ass back to Mexico myself.
5. We don't have the resources to keep illegal immigrants out. My wonderful husband came up with a great solution to this problem: if you're caught in this country illegally (based on the Zero Tolerance for Illegals Breaking the Law Program outlined above), then before we ship you back, you are required to help build 10 feet of fence between the Mexican-American border and/or the Canadian-American border before we toss you out on your asses. If you're caught illegally in the country a second time, then your amount of fence triples.
Okay, now that I've gotten that off my chest, here is the list of things that made the fact that I now have to pay my deductible to fix a problem I didn't cause completely worth it:
1. Seeing Travis' grandma hug him like she hadn't seen him in 15 years
2. Watching my father in law walk across the podium and accept his Masters of Secondary Education Degree and the subsequent walk back to his seat reminiscent of Rocky jumping at the top of The Philadelphia Museum of Art stairs.
3. Wrestling in the living room with Travis' niece and nephews
4. Watching Travis' 2 year old nephew hug his Great-Grandma and giving his Auntie Taya a kiss for some gum
5. Spending time with Travis' sister Taya in from Alaska and his grandma in from Hawaii
6. Getting a picture of Travis' dad with all of his kids
7. Seeing my mother-and-father-in-law greet each other with a huge hug and a big sloppy kiss (that actually made Travis turn a little green and throw up a little in his mouth) after spending a month apart while my father-in-law finished up his degree.
8. After 3 months of looking for furniture, we found some after 5 minutes in the Lane Furniture store in Phoenix
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
A Smile at the End of a Crappy Day
Okay, so the day probably wasn't THAT crappy. Just one of those days. Couldn't get out of bed to save my life, then got stuck in American Legion/Condolezza Rice/Donald Rumsfeld traffic, couldn't get into the building parking lot because of all the LDS business college students who don't understand the "No Student Parking" signs (or maybe they just haven't gotten to the reading semester yet) and had to back out of the driveway, 40 gajillion errands to run today, including getting the massively stupid hair fubar fixed by a professional (I'll never dye my hair myself again), and then I got this:
http://www.chriscummins.com/like/I_like_you.swf
Laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants, so I thought I'd share it with the group!
http://www.chriscummins.com/like/I_like_you.swf
Laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants, so I thought I'd share it with the group!
Monday, August 14, 2006
One week in!
This is what I call progress! After months of meetings, approvals and permits, we've come leaps and bounds in only a week! This is a picture my brother in law took about an hour ago of the cement truck pumping the concrete to pour our foundation. One short week ago they were just breaking ground. Less than a week ago we were getting footings poured. Then it was a bit of a waiting game to get the foundation forms put up. Apparently the crew that was scheduled to install the forms got busted drinking on another job and got fired. A bit of a set back, yes, but thank goodness they got caught before they came to the old Tabbal house!
It's so exciting to see our home being built bit by bit! I've always known that one day I would build a house in Herriman on the family ground, but to actually see it happening and to have such a wonderful husband by my side makes it so much different. And I haven't missed the symbolism of Travis and I watching our home being built as we continue to build our lives together. Such a lovely metaphor. I just hope that in the end, both the house and our lives are everything we've hoped they would be. So far so good, though, right?
On a more wistful note, Travis and I drove by our old house in Salt Lake Saturday night. It was dark and somewhat hard to see, but all in all everything looked pretty much the same. The Albanians seem to be keeping up on the yard and taking really good care of our first home. It did make me somewhat sad, I'll admit, but seeing the potted plants that Mrs. Albanian put on the front porch and the care being given to the old place made me feel so happy that our house was being loved as much as we loved it. Now I can breathe easier as we watch our new home come to life.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
A "hole" lotta shakin' goin' on!
On the way home from work on Friday I drove past the house (well, big empty field, really, but you get the picture) to find a backhoe parked, bucket poised, ready to dig the first scoop and begin our home. Yeah, I'm not going to lie, I took pictures. After 4 gruelling months, seeing ANY progress was exciting. Monday morning, though, the backhoe broke down before the first bucketful, but, luckily (for them), they got another one in and dug our pretty little hole. Tuesday the footings went in and it's only a matter of time before the foundation is poured.
So on Monday, August 7th the construction on our home officially began! We now own a big gaping hole in a field! I never thought I'd ever be so excited about something like that, but there you have it. I've taken anyone willing to be dragged over there and exclaimed proudly "yep...that's my hole!" Sounds dirty, I know, but I promise it's not. Well, there is a lot of dirt but...
Now we're looking (VERY optimistically) at moving into our new home around Christmas time. On one hand I think that having our new house be a Christmas present to us would be AWESOME, but then again, moving at during all the hussle and the bussle of Christmas can't be very fun. Of course, when is moving EVER fun, right? That's provided nothing at all goes wrong, which would suck. But even if it does, it's going wrong while we can SEE something happening. That I can live with.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Babies On My Mind
Here are a few pictures of Trav with my friends' babies.
This one is the son of one of my oldest and dearest friends, Emily (Travis is the one making the baby smile and smile). They waited 9 years to get little Miles, and I think we can all agree it was worth the wait! Their experience with trying to get pregnant makes me feel pretty guilty for getting frustrated with no pregnancy after only 4 months of trying.
This tiny one is the daughter of another of my dear friend's, Rachel. Madeline is getting so chubby it makes you smile just to look at her.
Seeing how wonderful Travis is with babies only reaffirms my love for him. Not only is he the best husband I could have ever hoped for, but I know he's going to be the perfect father for our children. I can't wait to give him babies and watch him care for them, though I know I'll need to cherish the nine-month pregnancy, since, after they're born, I won't be able to get them away from their Daddy long enough to hold them again. :)
My boss' son is in Vietnam right now adopting a beautiful little girl. I know that, in the even that we can't get pregnant (yes, I know I'm jumping the gun after only four months, but I like to have plans for every situation...better to be safe than sorry...that's my policy), there are millions of little ones out there that need good parents. Hell, we could even get a little brown one to match Trav!! They'd be lucky to get a daddy like Trav!
This one is the son of one of my oldest and dearest friends, Emily (Travis is the one making the baby smile and smile). They waited 9 years to get little Miles, and I think we can all agree it was worth the wait! Their experience with trying to get pregnant makes me feel pretty guilty for getting frustrated with no pregnancy after only 4 months of trying.
This tiny one is the daughter of another of my dear friend's, Rachel. Madeline is getting so chubby it makes you smile just to look at her.
Seeing how wonderful Travis is with babies only reaffirms my love for him. Not only is he the best husband I could have ever hoped for, but I know he's going to be the perfect father for our children. I can't wait to give him babies and watch him care for them, though I know I'll need to cherish the nine-month pregnancy, since, after they're born, I won't be able to get them away from their Daddy long enough to hold them again. :)
My boss' son is in Vietnam right now adopting a beautiful little girl. I know that, in the even that we can't get pregnant (yes, I know I'm jumping the gun after only four months, but I like to have plans for every situation...better to be safe than sorry...that's my policy), there are millions of little ones out there that need good parents. Hell, we could even get a little brown one to match Trav!! They'd be lucky to get a daddy like Trav!
Four Months And Nary a Hole Was Dug
Well, we're getting ready to enter month four of the Great Building Project and I am still the proud owner of an empty field. No hole in the ground. No foundation poured. No busy sound of saws sawing and hammers hammering. What we DO have is a whole lot of run around from the city. I think that between my builder (who is a lovely man, but definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed) and the city engineer (who seems to be a lazy forgetful moron), we're barely getting to the phase of the project where we're having final meetings and picking up building permits. The big plan is to dig on Monday, but we'll see. They did, however, go out and stake off where on the lot the digging guys need to dig, so we were happy to see SOMETHING being done.
On a happier note, Travis got a new job! WOO HOO!!! He's doing more software development, but it's totally different from Dentrix, so he's excited to be challenged again. He's working as a contractor and we're hoping that the company will do well, become a full fledged company with benefits and everything and he can become a real employee. But until then, we'll just sock away the extra money and keep our eyes out for other jobs, just in case.
On a happier note, Travis got a new job! WOO HOO!!! He's doing more software development, but it's totally different from Dentrix, so he's excited to be challenged again. He's working as a contractor and we're hoping that the company will do well, become a full fledged company with benefits and everything and he can become a real employee. But until then, we'll just sock away the extra money and keep our eyes out for other jobs, just in case.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Big Love Season Finale
So Travis and I finally watched the Big Love season finale last night. I must admit I've been pleasantly surprised by this show. Originally I thought "Oh, great! More ammo for those idiots of the world who think that Mormons still practice polygamy and have horns!" But it's been really good.
The thing that's surprised me most about it is the protective nature that's risen in me toward the polygamist family in the show. I mean, if everyone's a consenting adult what difference does it make if they want to live a polygamist lifestyle? I don't think I could do it...I'm far too selfish...but if someone else wants to, who am I to tell them that it's not okay? Hell, polygamy is much more prevalent in nature than monogamy, so why shouldn't humans participate if they so choose?
What I find REALLY strange is how in our society it's okay for men to have sex and father children with various women and then walk away from the situation, giving neither emotional or financial support to the women or their children. But if the man decides to provide for the women and children and all the women are adults and okay with it, it's morally WRONG for him to commit to taking care of his multiple families. Seems a little off in my mind.
Of course, then you get the Roman Grant's of the world who marry off 13 year old girls to 87 year old men who then sit on welfare for years and years rather than getting a job and trying to support their families and it just ruins it for the group. But really, who's going to hire an 87 year old perv for a decent wage? And the 13 year old can't get a job, since she's not old enough and already knocked up with Perv's 62nd child. Or there is the man who have multiple families in different cities and it's not until he dies do the various families find out about one another.
And what about the woman in the show who decides that it's up to her to "save" Bill and his wives from sin? What is THAT about?! Mind your own business, you self-righteous bigot!! I just don't understand why people can't live and let live when it comes to other's personal lives. No, I don't want to be a polygamist. I don't want to be a lesbian either, but I'm not going to judge someone who lives either of these lifestyles. Sure, send Perv and Roman Grant to prison. But not for polygamy, but rather for child molestation and what basically amounts to prostitution (on Roman's part).
Alright, I'm climbing down off my soap box now. Sorry to get off on a tangent!!! Trav and I have finally posted our Hawaii pictures online, if anyone's interested. http://www.tabbal.net/blog/wp-gallery2.php?g2_itemId=6750 You can tell how early/late in the trip it is by how stoned I look in the picture. The more stoned the appearance, the later in the trip, as it was very tiring. But, no, no Maui Wowi on our trip. Just lack of sleep that was well worth it. Eventually we're going to post our trip journal, in the event that anyone is bored enough to read it. :) It's long and we were just doing it for ourselves, but thought "What the hell?" There aren't any descriptions on the pictures yet (haven't gotten that far), but I plan to put a little something on each of them eventually.
The thing that's surprised me most about it is the protective nature that's risen in me toward the polygamist family in the show. I mean, if everyone's a consenting adult what difference does it make if they want to live a polygamist lifestyle? I don't think I could do it...I'm far too selfish...but if someone else wants to, who am I to tell them that it's not okay? Hell, polygamy is much more prevalent in nature than monogamy, so why shouldn't humans participate if they so choose?
What I find REALLY strange is how in our society it's okay for men to have sex and father children with various women and then walk away from the situation, giving neither emotional or financial support to the women or their children. But if the man decides to provide for the women and children and all the women are adults and okay with it, it's morally WRONG for him to commit to taking care of his multiple families. Seems a little off in my mind.
Of course, then you get the Roman Grant's of the world who marry off 13 year old girls to 87 year old men who then sit on welfare for years and years rather than getting a job and trying to support their families and it just ruins it for the group. But really, who's going to hire an 87 year old perv for a decent wage? And the 13 year old can't get a job, since she's not old enough and already knocked up with Perv's 62nd child. Or there is the man who have multiple families in different cities and it's not until he dies do the various families find out about one another.
And what about the woman in the show who decides that it's up to her to "save" Bill and his wives from sin? What is THAT about?! Mind your own business, you self-righteous bigot!! I just don't understand why people can't live and let live when it comes to other's personal lives. No, I don't want to be a polygamist. I don't want to be a lesbian either, but I'm not going to judge someone who lives either of these lifestyles. Sure, send Perv and Roman Grant to prison. But not for polygamy, but rather for child molestation and what basically amounts to prostitution (on Roman's part).
Alright, I'm climbing down off my soap box now. Sorry to get off on a tangent!!! Trav and I have finally posted our Hawaii pictures online, if anyone's interested. http://www.tabbal.net/blog/wp-gallery2.php?g2_itemId=6750 You can tell how early/late in the trip it is by how stoned I look in the picture. The more stoned the appearance, the later in the trip, as it was very tiring. But, no, no Maui Wowi on our trip. Just lack of sleep that was well worth it. Eventually we're going to post our trip journal, in the event that anyone is bored enough to read it. :) It's long and we were just doing it for ourselves, but thought "What the hell?" There aren't any descriptions on the pictures yet (haven't gotten that far), but I plan to put a little something on each of them eventually.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
It's official!
Well, after much packing, dusting, lifting, vacuuming and driving (not to mention VERY little sleeping), Travis and I have officially moved out of our house and are living at Grandma's (amidst mountains of boxes with small trails throughout). We closed on our house yesterday and turned over the keys (the garage door openers) to the Albanians.
I'm not going to lie, I've got MAJOR anxiety about them changing anything in the house, or more specifically, in the yard. Logically I know that it's no longer our house and they're free to do with it as they see fit. Emotionally I think "What the hell is wrong with you?! Don't tear out my trees!! And you're thinking of getting rid of my roses?!? But they're starting to look so pretty! Just step away from the bushes! Go back to Albania if you want to start changing things, but here at the Former Tabbal Residence, the YARD WILL STAY THE SAME!!!" Yes, dear friends and family, I'm aware that this is not reasonable. Best part is that I don't even know that they're going to change anything. But they MIGHT. And that thought is more than I can handle. We worked so hard on making the yard pretty and homey, and yes, even more marketable for when we were ready to sell, but come on! Don't go changing stuff! Buy as is, man!!!
Now we're off to Hawaii for 10 days. WOO HOO!!! It's going to be interesting to see if we can find all the stuff we need to take with us, but even if we don't, I've heard from a reliable source (the girl that got back from Hawaii today) that there's a WalMart on Oahu, so anything we forget, we'll buy. Anything we can't buy, we'll steal. KIDDING!!
I'm not going to lie, I've got MAJOR anxiety about them changing anything in the house, or more specifically, in the yard. Logically I know that it's no longer our house and they're free to do with it as they see fit. Emotionally I think "What the hell is wrong with you?! Don't tear out my trees!! And you're thinking of getting rid of my roses?!? But they're starting to look so pretty! Just step away from the bushes! Go back to Albania if you want to start changing things, but here at the Former Tabbal Residence, the YARD WILL STAY THE SAME!!!" Yes, dear friends and family, I'm aware that this is not reasonable. Best part is that I don't even know that they're going to change anything. But they MIGHT. And that thought is more than I can handle. We worked so hard on making the yard pretty and homey, and yes, even more marketable for when we were ready to sell, but come on! Don't go changing stuff! Buy as is, man!!!
Now we're off to Hawaii for 10 days. WOO HOO!!! It's going to be interesting to see if we can find all the stuff we need to take with us, but even if we don't, I've heard from a reliable source (the girl that got back from Hawaii today) that there's a WalMart on Oahu, so anything we forget, we'll buy. Anything we can't buy, we'll steal. KIDDING!!
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