A Huge Row July 30, 2008

That’s British slang, and row rhymes with cow, and it means argument.  Thank you, Sophie Kinsella, for introducing that terminology to me.

It’s 3:30 in the morning.  I haven’t been up this whole time, though.  I went to bed really early actually, and was awakened by a daughter who’d had a bad dream.  After holding her for a bit and then bringing her back to bed, I couldn’t get back to sleep because The Husband and I had a huge row discussion fight over something rather innocuous and I couldn’t (obviously still can’t) stop thinking about it.

The subject itself wasn’t worth getting heated over.  Most of them aren’t, right?  How many times do he and I get all bent out of shape over something small?  But it’s not really the subject matter that brings out our passionate tempers, it’s our failure to communicate effectively.  It’s how we both immediately go on the defensive when approached with something we aren’t familiar with or don’t agree with.  It’s our failure to listen to one another — really listen, not just hear the words while formulating a response.  That’s not listening, that’s just waiting to talk. 

It’s funny, we squabble a lot and most of the time it’s in a playful manner.  When we have fights, though, we go big.  Oh, so big.  I think if we fought more often we’d probably do something about the communication issue.  But it’s rare, so after it happens and we’ve made up, we forget about it and move on.  That’s a good thing until we have another hot topic (or a lukewarm one that we just disagree on) come up and we’re both surprised with how quickly we go from starting a simple conversation to ending World War III.

Ah, the beauty of a blog.  Written here for all to see, and as a personal reminder to myself to figure it out.  Until, you know, I go to Manage, click the box to this entry, and hit Delete.  Because after it’s over, there is very little desire to return to the scene of the crime and risk having another heated debate over what makes us get so heated in the first place.

Vicious cycle, that’s what it is.

The bright side: having a fight means having to make up.  Rock on!

Random 10 July 29, 2008

It is really difficult for me to find 10 things at a time to write about myself!  I feel like I’d just be redundant, because I don’t think I keep much to myself.  At least I don’t think I do.  Anyway, on with the list…

1.  I don’t like mouth noises.  You know when someone wakes up and they yawn or they smack their lips?  *shudder*  I also don’t like hearing kisses.  Bleah.  If I hear someone chewing or even sometimes just licking their lips, it makes my stomach turn.

2.  I am really enjoying Sophie Kinsella right now.  I have read 3 of her books (in basically a couple of hours for each), and I’m going to reserve more from the library.  I kind of want to throttle the main character in the Shopaholic series, but I’ve only read one of those books so I’m hoping I’ll get over that and read more.

3.  As I’ve been reading her books, I start to think in a British accent.  It’s more like Renee Zellweger’s accent in “Bridget Jones’ Diary,” so it’s a fake Britist accent.  I have no idea how close it is.  I also want to use words like “fab”, but not “bl–dy” because I heard once that that was the equivalent of the f-bomb.

4.  I have been told I look like Geena Davis (huh?), Linda Blair (NOT when she was in “The Exorcist,” thank you very much), but I think I look most like Kellie Martin from her “Life Goes On” days.

5.  I am not a fan of vegetables, especially green ones.  However, I have eaten asparagus twice now.  The first time was in California, at the urging of The Husband’s co-workers when we went to dinner our last night, and the appetizer they ordered was an asparagus bruschetta.  It was fab delish yummy!  The Husband included asparagus in our mixed veggies for dinner earlier tonight, and I ate it without even wrinkling my nose. 

6.  I am growing my hair out and plan on donating it to Beautiful Lengths.  My older daughter donated her hair to Locks of Love in February.  I’m wondering if it will take me until next February to get my hair long enough.

7.  I have never seen snow.

8.  I used to have a great memory.  Now I have to keep lists.  If I need to send an e-mail or 8, if I need to make a few phone calls, if I want to ask a friend a question — I need to write it down.  I carry a little notebook in my purse so I can jot things down when I think of them.

9.  I am a little too excited about the fact that we might get new pillows for our couch on Friday.  When I bought pillows for our beige/tan/blah couch and loveseat, I thought it was great when I found them in similar colors with a similar fabric.  Now I realize how boring that really is.  I want red pillows.  Or burgundy.  In a different fabric.  Maybe with a print!  I am so wild.

10.  I am going to bed.  I think.

Four Eyes July 24, 2008

Due to an unpleasant situation with my eyes, I’ve been wearing my glasses this week.  It’s kind of inconvenient for several reasons.  I’m squinting outside all the time, I long for my big sunglasses.  I have to take the glasses off to play with the girls.  I’m not wearing much makeup due to the aforementioned unpleasant situation, but when I want to put a little on, it requires narrowing my eyes and getting about an inch way from the mirror on the medicine cabinet.

Wearing my glasses also brings me back to a simpler time… A time long ago when I was known by such clever names as “Four Eyes” or “Beady-Eyed Beatty”.  (Okay, at least the second one was original.)  I know what I looked like then, and I have to say I was probably an easy target.  Kearsie, this click is for you.  Melissa, if you’re reading this at work, don’t click on the link or you’ll be caught giggling at your desk.

Who wouldn’t make fun of this girl?

I think the term that best describes that era was “unfortunate”.  Not only did I look like that, but I was short, I dressed poorly, and I was in the Gifted program.  Not a recipe for popularity!

I had several years like that.  Glasses, bad hair, bad clothes.  Even when I got rid of the glasses, my hair was so-so and I was thrust into braces.  I was picked on for my overall appearance, the fact that I was a nerd, my faith, my virginity.

Good times, good times.

Sure, I remember those things.  Do I cling to them with a death grip?  No.  If I did, I would harbor ill will toward any pretty people, and most men.   That would have really hindered me, especially considering my friends fall into the “pretty people” category, and The Husband is a good-looking man.  I built a bridge and got over it.  Let that which didn’t kill me make me stronger.  Put my behind in the past.

The truth is though, I’m still a four-eyed girl with plain brown hair who enjoys reading.  My clothes aren’t always right, I laugh a little too loud and I can’t dance.  I cling to my faith.  I post on message boards.  If I’m still a nerd, so be it.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Another ten. Or two fives? July 22, 2008

Five Things I Don’t Like About Myself

1. I have silly, girly emotions.  Useless in my opinion.  Practicality should reign.  Alas, I still suffer from those feminine hormones that make me jealous and hurt like I’m 14-years-old, and every time it happens I get thoroughly annoyed.  I want to shake myself or something.  And that’s not easy to do.
2. I have an extreme desire to work out and tone up before I can create a breeze when I wave, but lack in the willpower department.  It seems like I have to have a reason that feeds to my vanity.  The last time I exercised really well, I was about to be in 2 weddings.  Go figure.  Give me a reason to wear a strappy dress in front of a bunch of people, and apparently it motivates me more than good health and general wellness.  Disgusting.
3. It is very hard for me to disguise how I really feel.  I’m a pretty good actress, but that doesn’t seem to help when I am thoroughly annoyed or irritated, or just feeling like crap.  And I always look the worst when I want people to leave me the heck alone.   So if I look like I feel bad — you know it, I know it, and the American people know it.  Let it lie.
4. I’m a snob.  I don’t talk to my neighbors on a regular basis.  I give a little wave and smile, that’s about it. 
5. I get annoyed when people are surprised, more like shocked, when I’m out without my daughters.  Likewise, I get annoyed when people say, “Is The Husband watching the girls?”  Puh-lease, I can have some free time, and he’s being DADDY, for crying out loud!  Grr.  But I should be more understanding, and I know that.

Five Things I Like About Myself

1. I can survive on very little sleep.
2. I am much better at taking criticism than I used to be.  (That’s not an invitation.)
3. I can make people laugh.
4. I make a great apple pie.
5. I am a frugal shopper.

Footloose and Fancy Free July 18, 2008

Miles and miles (and miles) away from home in San Diego, I sit in a hotel room, fairly certain that in the next room someone is smoking.  Two days were spent playing the part of a tourist, enjoying the gorgeous weather, the scenery, even going as far as to appreciate the architecture.  Two days were spent enjoying total peace and quiet, either reading in the room, or at the pool.  Giggling at people who complained about the humidity.

The Husband and I were even able to go see a movie on a whim.  No planning, no preparation.  Just, “Oh look, there’s a theater, wanna see a movie?”

__________

What’s a vacation without a mishap, though?

It was Tuesday morning and the whole day was ahead of me.  I had plans to meet someone, and being the frugal-minded individual that I am, I knew I could avoid a fee by parking in one area and taking public transportation to my desired destination.  I arrived at the transit center and an officer asked if he could help me.  I told him where I wanted to go, and he told me the Blue Line would get me there.  I purchased my $2 ticket at the kiosk and waited for the trolley (more like a train, really, it runs on tracks).  Two arrived at the same time, one was the Blue Line, the other was Green.  I hopped on the Blue and sat alone, then was joined by a professional looking young woman who went back and forth between reading her book and giggling at text messages. 

I looked up at the map inside the train and noticed that the Blue Line didn’t exactly go to my desired destination unless there was a special event going on.  Hm.  Interesting.  Even more interesting was that I’d be in Tijuana by the end of the trip.  When the reading/text messaging young woman got off, I did as well.  I found another officer and told him where I wanted to go.  Apparently I was supposed to transfer at some point to the Orange Line, and I could do that where I was.  So I did.  And found myself beyond my destination once again, and once again on my way to Mexico.

I chose to sit alone again, then was joined by a gentleman with a beverage and an incredibly smelly sandwich from 7-11.  Then a woman sat across from me who was doodling (quite well), and chuckling at her own creations.  I noticed her jewelry of choice was a candy necklace she’d wrapped twice around her wrist.  It was already melting on to her skin.

I didn’t want to look panicked, I especially didn’t want to look vulnerable, and I looked carefully at the map again.  A man who I thought was a tourist (because he was wearing a San Diego t-shirt and I figured only a tourist would do that) said, “You look lost.”  So much for appearances.  I explained simply that I’d been told twice to get on these particular trains and told him where I was going, and he pointed out the window.  “You want to go get on those,” he said.  I thanked him, hopped off the train, and gracefully stepped across the tracks to the next trolley station. 

Two officers were standing there.  One turned and asked if he could help me and I told him I wanted to be absolutely sure that the train would take me to my desired destination.  “Oh yeah,” he assured me, “or you could walk.” 

I COULD WALK?!?  I blinked at him and asked if he meant I could walk without passing out from exhaustion, and he said yes.  He pointed me on my way, and I found myself walking 1.2 miles through San Diego.  

__________

With all this free time, I feel relaxed and rather de-stressed.  The Husband and I were sitting at dinner and he said I’ve been quiet.  I wondered if maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d ever seen me de-stressed… After all, we were engaged 5 weeks after we met, so then I was a future bride preparing for her wedding.  Her wedding that was happening in less than 4 months.  Then we found out I was pregnant 2 months after we were married.  Then I was a mommy. 

A little time to just be me.  Fancy that.

2nd and 10! July 12, 2008

1.  I read and watch movies for an escape, so I don’t usually care for books or films with some kind of deep message. 

2.  I did like “Life is Beautiful” though.

3.  The first movie I saw with The Husband was “The Bourne Identity“.  It was our first date and I got to pick the movie.  I wanted The Husband to know I wasn’t afraid of a non-chick-flick, and I knew if there was any comment about just going because Matt Damon was in it I could honestly say I wasn’t into him. 

4.  In order to keep it real, I’ll admit that before The Husband I sometimes chose movies with eye candy.  One date suggested “Ocean’s Eleven” and I figured even if the date wasn’t so great, at least I’d get to watch George Clooney and Brad Pitt for a couple of hours.  I’m only human.

5.  I think my favorite movie is “The Prestige” and it distresses me that I don’t know if it’s because it was a great movie (it really was) or that Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale were both in it.

6.  I don’t think movies are great first dates.  You don’t really get to know much about a person when you’re sitting quietly in the dark for an hour and a half.  Unless you’re paying attention to what parts they laugh at.  Or finding out that they fidget and talk the whole time, and that would really bother you in a long-term relationship.

7.  During the previews, there’s always at least one or two movies that I’ll say, “I want to see that!” about.  By the end of the movie, I’ve usually forgotten all about them.

8.  I’m the person in the movies who will go get an attendant or the manager if someone is making too much noise.  Or playing with a laser pointer.  Or using their cell phone.  You’ve been warned.

9.  There have been two instances in which The Husband insisted I go to a movie that I had zero interest in seeing.  He was sure I would like them.  I doubted him.  He was right.  He’s right a lot.

10.   I don’t think I have ever gone to a movie by myself.  I think that would be relaxing and enjoyable.

100? July 10, 2008

“Like, there goes another lemming!”

Following in the footsteps of Kearsie (hopefully aiding in her 100 facts withdrawals) and Missy, and others I’m sure, I begin the journey through 100 random factoids about myself.

1.  I stay up WAY too late.

2.  When I was in 6th grade, our teacher had us write a “sloppy copy” of an essay.  We were to bring them up to him when we were finished so he could make corrections.  When I brought mine, he scanned over it and didn’t mark anything.  I guess he was disappointed he wasn’t able to use his red pen, because he said, “This isn’t sloppy enough,” and proceeded to crumble up my paper.  He made a big show of it.  I was 12, short, wore glasses, had half a perm left in my hair and didn’t know how to dress.  I so didn’t need that from him.

3.  I prefer instant messaging to talking on the phone, but I prefer talking on the phone to texting.

4.  When I was in 8th grade, our English teacher had us write an ending to The Lady Or The Tiger.  She made a fuss over mine, saying she’d never seen anyone write the ending the way I did.  I wish I’d kept that paper.  She may have.

5.  I’m hungry.

6.  When I was in high school, our gifted class was supposed to re-write a fairy tale or children’s story.  I chose Chicken Little.  I remember writing about Chicken Little being so upset about the sky falling, and he thought it was because the ozone had been completely depleted.  He ran out to tell everyone, and to inform Al Gore.  He couldn’t get to Loosey Goosey because she was in the bushes with Lucky Ducky.  Foxy Woxy ended up tricking Chicken Little into following him to a fallout shelter, where a big clown with red hair was waiting.  There were illustrations for my book, and the last image was a box of Chicken McNuggets.

7.  I love free samples.  If I see a product that interests me, I’ll go to the website and see if they offer a sample.  I check walmart.com’s free sample area often.  Sometimes I get things I don’t really need, but I figure someone will.  I do not, however, have any Serenity pads in my home.

8.  When I was a senior in high school, I took AP English.  The teacher intimidated the snot out of me.  I think I got my first C for something I wrote in her class.  She asked us to write an essay about Margaret Atwood’s poem “All Bread”.  I never understood poetry so I just wrote anything that I thought sounded deep, even related it to Christianity.  I received high praise, and I believe an A, on that essay.  I may have spent 15 minutes writing it.

9.  I don’t care for most vegetables. 

10.  I remember times when I would mumble a snide comment or joke in classes and someone else would repeat what I’d said for everyone to hear, and they’d get the laughs.  That was okay with me.

No ifs, ands or butts. July 8, 2008

I know how I spelled it.  It was intentional.

Now, if you are sensitive about TMI, this might not be the blog post for you.  I’m warning you now, look away!  Click on one of the links to the right!  Head to Facebook and add flair!  NOW!

Still with me?  Very well.

Imagine you are a 25-year-old female.  You’re single and you live in the sweetest, tiniest apartment.  You have your own new car.  Okay, it’s a Hyundai, but it’s all yours.  You have a great group of friends to spend time with.  Life is pretty good.

Then you go to the bathroom and something isn’t right.  It’s not “that time of the month” and you see blood.

Ew.

Okay, it could be a one-time thing, right?  Except that it keeps happening.  You ask your mom about it, and your Granny since she’s always inquiring about your BMs.  (Those are serious business to seniors.)  They both tell you to go to the doctor.  Well, duh.

However, it isn’t that easy.  After all, you’re a 25-year-old female and the last thing you want is to go to your general physician and endure the indignities that accompany this type of ailment, and then relive those same indignities at a specialist’s office.

Alas, go you must.  Because there should never be blood when you aren’t expecting it.

So you go to your general physician and explain the situation to the nurse and then to him.  You know what’s going to happen next, but you’ve chosen not to think about it.  The nurse comes back in the room, the gloves go on, and you are facedown on the sheet of paper protecting you from the germs left on the table by the last poor sap in the room.  The exam is over.  There is no explanation.  Of course, because he’s a general physician he has to send you to a specialist, so you go, you wait 45 minutes, and you repeat the process.

Then you hear a word that you didn’t expect to hear for another 25 years.  COLONOSCOPY.

It can’t be all that bad.  Katie Couric went on national TV and had one done, right?

You schedule the procedure.  Unfortunately, you’re 25 and it’s January 2002 so you’re fasting for 48 hours prior and the prep is still the nastiest conconction ever, plus a couple of enemas for good measure.  You are driven to the surgery center, put in one of those fabulous backless gowns (which, for this, is actually quite necessary), and hooked up to an IV.  Then they wheel you into the room and the doctor says, “So you’re here for the lobotomy?”  You choose to not to reply, “Only if my head is up my…”  He explains that you’ll have a metallic taste in your mouth from the anesthesia and asks you to start counting backwards from 100.  “100… 99…”  Zzzzzzz…

You wake up groggy and giggly.  You are told a polyp was removed, and there’s something about follow-up with the general physician.

You’re 25, though, and thought that since the polyp was removed, so was any problem.  Out of sight, out of mind.  (Although it never really was in sight in the first place, was it?)

Fast forward 6 years.  You’re 31-years-old and you’ve had 2 children.  There’s a commercial about getting colonoscopies.  You remember that the doctor suggested you get one every 5 years.  Eek.  It’s about that time.  You find the doctor’s name and make an appointment. 

When you arrive at the office, the nurse informs you that they’ve been trying to contact you for 2 years.  Why?  Because they thought it best that you get another colonoscopy in 3 years rather than 5.  Why?  Because that polyp was actually a tubulovillous adenoma.  Precancerous.  You blink a few times while absorbing that information (and realizing that the general physician never contacted you himself), and go through the exam (without the embarrassing part because you aren’t currently seeing blood where there shouldn’t be), and schedule your next fun-filled colonoscopy.

This time the prep is easier (pills!), the anesthesia has you up 15 minutes after the procedure ended, and you are told that nothing was found.  You are free to wait another 5 years for your next colonoscopy, and then 10 years if that one is clean.

Aren’t you glad, though, that you went ahead and endured the indignities?  Imagine the alternative.

Keep that thought in mind whenever something just isn’t right and you think you’re too busy to have it checked out.  If you’re young and can’t imagine something being seriously wrong.  If you’re a mom and you spend more time on everyone else’s health before your own.  Blood in the toilet?  Go to the doctor.  Lump in your breast?  Go to the doctor.  Anything unusual that you aren’t sure of?  GO TO THE FREAKIN’ DOCTOR.

The Dark Side July 7, 2008

Sorry, no cookies.

Before I begin this journey into the innermost workings of my heart and soul, I would like to say one thing.  It’s DEFINITELY.  Not definately.  D-E-F-I-N-I-T-E-L-Y.  There’s even a website.

*whew*  Glad I got that off my chest.

One of my friends is having some medical testing done this week for something that could be serious, and she was telling me how she feels like she needs to have so much stuff in order, just in case.  Even just in case she has to be kept overnight in the hospital.  She wants to have the laundry done, the house cleaned up, and have information out so her husband and other family members know what kid needs to go where when, etc.  She’s even given thought to putting on paper the kinds of things she would like said at her service.

I know just what she’s talking about.

I am so happy that The Husband and I were not squeamish about taking care of our wills.  I told him I didn’t care if we only had two pennies to our name, we were designating where each one was going!   Somewhere I have a list of all my various accounts with the logins and passwords so all of the friends I have living in the computer would be able to find out if something happened to me.

You may call that morbid, I call it practical.

My friend was talking about how she’d like someone to read something she’d written about those that were especially special to her.  I’ve thought about that before, a little something to tell my loved ones just how much I love them, what they’ve done for me, etc.

I’ve never actually done it though.  First of all, it would take forever.  Secondly, every time I think about doing it, I wonder why these people have to find out they’re special to me after I’m gone.  Why am I not telling them now?  Is it pride?  I don’t want my family and friends to know that they mean so much to me?  I don’t want to make myself vulnerable, telling someone how much they’ve done for me only to have them look at me like I have two heads?

Long ago, when I was a member of one of the best youth groups EVER, our youth minister had us do something called “Warm Fuzzies.”  (Geez, I’m such a wimp, tears are already coming to my eyes.)  We would get in a circle, and everyone had two warm fuzzies.  One by one we would sit in the middle of the circle, and two or three people would come up and present you with a little fuzz ball and tell you something they liked about you, or why they loved you.

Maybe I need to suck it up and be the two-headed freak that goes around and tells people how great I think they are.  Maybe I need to be warmer and fuzzier.  Would that be difficult?  Sadly, yes.  Would it be worth it when it’s all said and done?  Definitely.

PDA July 5, 2008

No, not Personal Digital Assistant.  Public Displays of Affection.  I like PDA.

I’m not talking about making out on a bench in the middle of the mall or something.  That’s tacky and just plain gross.

Holding hands, hugs, and sweet little kisses.  That’s all PDA.  All acceptable, too.  Get this — even when you’re married!   Unmarried young adult couples and newlyweds do not have the PDA market to themselves.

I love Sunday mornings.  I love it when The Husband and I sit in church.  There’s the music, there’s the message, and there’s time for us to sit still together.  When we stand to sing, if our hands are resting on the chairs in front of us, often times our fingers are intertwined.  Other times his arm will be around my waist.  During the message, his arm will lay across the back of my chair and his hand will rest on my shoulder — even if it turns him the wrong way.

Wherever we are, I don’t care if someone knows I’m whispering sweet (or dirty) nothings into his ear, he’s my husband and I’m allowed to do that.  I don’t care if I can’t disguise the fact that I’m totally enamored with him.

Of course there are times when all I want is to not have someone touching me.  There is a lot of physical contact involved in parenting.  It starts at conception and lasts until the kids don’t want you holding their hands or hugging on them.  You’re always sharing your body, and dealing with a smaller person’s as well.  However, recalling 1 Corinthians 7:3-6, my body belongs to The Husband and there’s no exception because I have kids.  As a matter of fact, I think the girls seeing a little PDA is a good thing.  (Notice I said a little.)  How’s that saying go?  “The best gift a father can give his children is to love their mother.”

It’s sweet to see couples holding hands.  We always ooh and ahh at “little old couples” holding hands as they stroll down the street.  Why do we have to wait until we’re little and old?  Reach out and touch someone now.  Show those young adults and newlyweds what they have to look forward to!