![[Powered by Blogger]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_tJr7TbCU2IDaVbcLxGZ8QhkrHFk9ZbsMrMoYTIcmvuiG9BpLWIhcCd1iqW7xD0lBoVBYw_QIMLB2S5U9kXScMZjHB0etH1En4ykd-EfTzf=s0-d){kind=small}
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
Breaking into the 21st Century
Well, I finally broke down and got a cellular telephone. Cell phone, for you techies out there. I hemmed and hawwed about getting one for the past couple of years now. On one hand I really thought it could be a great convenience. On the other hand, it could be a huge pain in the ass. The pain in my ass won out for the conveniene of being able to call my beloved from the Wal-Mart to ask him if he prefers Ocean Breeze or Shower Fresh deoderant. Now who could argue with the necessity and practicality of that?
Off we go, the whole darn troop, to peruse the selection of wireless dealers in our area. We were in and out of carseats half a dozen times, comparing minutes, features, and shiny display screens all in the name of convenience. Let me tell ya, it fell really convenient. (psst that is sarcasm for you techies that got routed here, from a google search, on the ruse that I may be talking about the latest new thingy that came out) We finally decided that Verizon seemed to be the best option. That, and I was sold on the shiny silver phone that had lovely melodies for rings. The other dealers' phones may or may not have had that feature, I couldn't keep them straight, but Verizon's did, and we were there. An hour of paper work and speedy expalnations of the phone's features later, I was a proud owner of a cell phone.
We all get back in the van and I place my very first call. Or I try to. Hell, how does this bloody thing work anyhow? Aha, I finally place a call to the local time and temperature automated line. That was fun. And convenient. Next, I call my home answering machine, so I can leave a message for my personal listening pleasure at a later time. Awwww, my first cell phone call. Hmm, well so far I had called two machines. However, two machines that I wouldn't have been able to call before in the four minutes it take to drive to my house to use the phone there. Again, who can argue with that?
I spend the majority of the night trying to figure out how to answer this blasted piece of technology. It was my dad, I didn't really need to answer it, as I knew his exact purpose of the call...I had asked him to. None the less, I could not figure out how to answer the phone. One would assume you could push the button and proceed to talking. Nope, not so easy. Lucky for me, Tamara dropped by and was able to help me program all the necessary stuff to get me up and running. Ahhhh, now this is convenient.
Truth be told, the real reason I wanted to get the cell phone today, was to maximize our garage sale opportunites. Yep, you heard it here, the HUGE garage sale that we all go to (Corrie, Tamara, Kassy, Judy, my parents, myself, etc) is this weekend! Yowzah! So, now I am armed. Tamara and I can split up and start at different points, with lists of most sought after items for members of the opposite group, and be in near constant contact to insure that no deals are bypassed, no duplicates are purchased, and that we have twice, yes TWICE, the coverage of the average garage saler. BWAHAHAHAHAHA Oh yes, this my friend, is convenience!
Note to self: The road to convenience is often littered with INconvenience.
Well, I finally broke down and got a cellular telephone. Cell phone, for you techies out there. I hemmed and hawwed about getting one for the past couple of years now. On one hand I really thought it could be a great convenience. On the other hand, it could be a huge pain in the ass. The pain in my ass won out for the conveniene of being able to call my beloved from the Wal-Mart to ask him if he prefers Ocean Breeze or Shower Fresh deoderant. Now who could argue with the necessity and practicality of that?
Off we go, the whole darn troop, to peruse the selection of wireless dealers in our area. We were in and out of carseats half a dozen times, comparing minutes, features, and shiny display screens all in the name of convenience. Let me tell ya, it fell really convenient. (psst that is sarcasm for you techies that got routed here, from a google search, on the ruse that I may be talking about the latest new thingy that came out) We finally decided that Verizon seemed to be the best option. That, and I was sold on the shiny silver phone that had lovely melodies for rings. The other dealers' phones may or may not have had that feature, I couldn't keep them straight, but Verizon's did, and we were there. An hour of paper work and speedy expalnations of the phone's features later, I was a proud owner of a cell phone.
We all get back in the van and I place my very first call. Or I try to. Hell, how does this bloody thing work anyhow? Aha, I finally place a call to the local time and temperature automated line. That was fun. And convenient. Next, I call my home answering machine, so I can leave a message for my personal listening pleasure at a later time. Awwww, my first cell phone call. Hmm, well so far I had called two machines. However, two machines that I wouldn't have been able to call before in the four minutes it take to drive to my house to use the phone there. Again, who can argue with that?
I spend the majority of the night trying to figure out how to answer this blasted piece of technology. It was my dad, I didn't really need to answer it, as I knew his exact purpose of the call...I had asked him to. None the less, I could not figure out how to answer the phone. One would assume you could push the button and proceed to talking. Nope, not so easy. Lucky for me, Tamara dropped by and was able to help me program all the necessary stuff to get me up and running. Ahhhh, now this is convenient.
Truth be told, the real reason I wanted to get the cell phone today, was to maximize our garage sale opportunites. Yep, you heard it here, the HUGE garage sale that we all go to (Corrie, Tamara, Kassy, Judy, my parents, myself, etc) is this weekend! Yowzah! So, now I am armed. Tamara and I can split up and start at different points, with lists of most sought after items for members of the opposite group, and be in near constant contact to insure that no deals are bypassed, no duplicates are purchased, and that we have twice, yes TWICE, the coverage of the average garage saler. BWAHAHAHAHAHA Oh yes, this my friend, is convenience!
Note to self: The road to convenience is often littered with INconvenience.
Friday, April 25, 2003
Mail Order Baby?
Now, I have heard of mail order clothes, CDs, and, yes, even brides. But, never babies. In all fairness, it is not the baby that comes bubble wrapped and packed in liquid nitrogen, it is the sperm needed to create a baby. Wow, now that is one stop shopping. A lady that I know, and like, not that that has anything to do with it, has recently become pregnant using her mail order sperm. That's....different. Not good, not bad, just different.
Let's start at the very beginning(a very good place to start....ala Sound of Music). First, one must order a cataolg of prospective fathers, if you will. It contains a bio of each donor that includes pertinent health information, familial history, and tidbits of frivolous information as well. Then, one is free to spend hours and hours pouring over each choice trying to find the perfect genes for her potential future child. No pressure there, sha. Once a decision has been made, THE ORDER is ready to be placed. Now, this is where I would get a wee bit squirrelly. I am just not sure if I could place an order for two vials of love juice, that would be delivered to me in inconspicuous brown packaging, that I would try to create a baby with. I think I would just waltz on down to the bar, place an order for several drinks, and a sailor. But that's just me.
Once the package, wrapped in plain brown packaging, as not to look sinister, has arrived, the fun begins. Temperatures need to be charted, cervical fluid is to be pulled and stretched to test it's sperm carrying ability, and turkey basters need to be sterilized. When all signs point to go, crack open a bottle of bubbly, put on some Barry White and roll that vial between your hands to thaw those puppies out! Ten minutes later, you're laying back on your bed, legs propped in the air against your wall, having a smoke.
All kidding aside, it is just really odd that you can just order that through the mail though. For all y'all reading this as a how-to manuel, these are not scientific directions. :P As baffled as I am that this is even a possibility, I am very happy for my friend. :)
Note to Self: Read the labels on the freezer containers before defrosting for soup.
Now, I have heard of mail order clothes, CDs, and, yes, even brides. But, never babies. In all fairness, it is not the baby that comes bubble wrapped and packed in liquid nitrogen, it is the sperm needed to create a baby. Wow, now that is one stop shopping. A lady that I know, and like, not that that has anything to do with it, has recently become pregnant using her mail order sperm. That's....different. Not good, not bad, just different.
Let's start at the very beginning(a very good place to start....ala Sound of Music). First, one must order a cataolg of prospective fathers, if you will. It contains a bio of each donor that includes pertinent health information, familial history, and tidbits of frivolous information as well. Then, one is free to spend hours and hours pouring over each choice trying to find the perfect genes for her potential future child. No pressure there, sha. Once a decision has been made, THE ORDER is ready to be placed. Now, this is where I would get a wee bit squirrelly. I am just not sure if I could place an order for two vials of love juice, that would be delivered to me in inconspicuous brown packaging, that I would try to create a baby with. I think I would just waltz on down to the bar, place an order for several drinks, and a sailor. But that's just me.
Once the package, wrapped in plain brown packaging, as not to look sinister, has arrived, the fun begins. Temperatures need to be charted, cervical fluid is to be pulled and stretched to test it's sperm carrying ability, and turkey basters need to be sterilized. When all signs point to go, crack open a bottle of bubbly, put on some Barry White and roll that vial between your hands to thaw those puppies out! Ten minutes later, you're laying back on your bed, legs propped in the air against your wall, having a smoke.
All kidding aside, it is just really odd that you can just order that through the mail though. For all y'all reading this as a how-to manuel, these are not scientific directions. :P As baffled as I am that this is even a possibility, I am very happy for my friend. :)
Note to Self: Read the labels on the freezer containers before defrosting for soup.
Not again
In the past month I have received not one, but two, speeding tickets. What is up with that, I never speed. Well, almost never. I don't know what has come over me lately.
On both occasions I did not even know that I was speeding. We're not talking 4 miles over either. Granted, I was super excited because I was on my way to attend, for the very first time ever, a birth. I was excited, nervous, afraid I would miss it, but mostly just oblivious. It was 1 am and I had the road all to myself. What a better time to take the ole minivan out to stretch her legs. That was my first ticket in all my years of driving.
The second ticket was bestowed upon me yesterday as Tamara and I were coming home from Decatur. I attribute this to our visit to the Mocha Room, where I had two huge, yummy mixed coffees chalk full of caffeine(and chocolate, and caramel, and hazelnut...yum). Yowser, I do not drink caffeine. My hands were doing their own little jig every time I tried to hold them away from my body. And to top that high off, we found wonderful deals at consignment shops and used book stores. I was just was too geeked for my own good. (Did I just say 'geeked'?) So we were cruising on home after all of our good deals, and I drove through a school zone a wee bit(SHUT UP Tamara) too fast. It is at the very edge of town, where the road turns into highway speed within 100 yards or so, and the blinking lights just came on to lower the speed limit ever more. Sigh.
I was so worried about telling Matt about getting yet another ticket. He was so good about it. He knows that I don't normally drive so crazily, and was very forgiving. So I am turning in my wings and slowing down Driving Miss Daisy style. Hell, I have a freakin minivan, so blue hair is the obvious next step anyhow.
Note to Self: Slow the hell down. Take time to smell the exhaust fumes.
In the past month I have received not one, but two, speeding tickets. What is up with that, I never speed. Well, almost never. I don't know what has come over me lately.
On both occasions I did not even know that I was speeding. We're not talking 4 miles over either. Granted, I was super excited because I was on my way to attend, for the very first time ever, a birth. I was excited, nervous, afraid I would miss it, but mostly just oblivious. It was 1 am and I had the road all to myself. What a better time to take the ole minivan out to stretch her legs. That was my first ticket in all my years of driving.
The second ticket was bestowed upon me yesterday as Tamara and I were coming home from Decatur. I attribute this to our visit to the Mocha Room, where I had two huge, yummy mixed coffees chalk full of caffeine(and chocolate, and caramel, and hazelnut...yum). Yowser, I do not drink caffeine. My hands were doing their own little jig every time I tried to hold them away from my body. And to top that high off, we found wonderful deals at consignment shops and used book stores. I was just was too geeked for my own good. (Did I just say 'geeked'?) So we were cruising on home after all of our good deals, and I drove through a school zone a wee bit(SHUT UP Tamara) too fast. It is at the very edge of town, where the road turns into highway speed within 100 yards or so, and the blinking lights just came on to lower the speed limit ever more. Sigh.
I was so worried about telling Matt about getting yet another ticket. He was so good about it. He knows that I don't normally drive so crazily, and was very forgiving. So I am turning in my wings and slowing down Driving Miss Daisy style. Hell, I have a freakin minivan, so blue hair is the obvious next step anyhow.
Note to Self: Slow the hell down. Take time to smell the exhaust fumes.
Sunday, April 20, 2003
Miracle on Second Street
*cross-posted at yaaps
On Monday night Corrie hosted a Tea at her house for everyone to talk one last time about the impending birth. Bee had just arrived the day before, and had yet to meet some of us. When I arrived, Corrie was looking better than she had in days. The slight swelling of her face was gone, she seemed to be full of energy, and was very in tune with her body. We chatted, drank tea, and talked for the last time about what she would like to see happen on Birthing Day. We all left feeling very excited, knowing the time was near.
I called Corrie on Tuesday to check in with her, leave her my itinerary for the day, and inquire about her doctor's appointment. She seemed a bit down as she was relaying how her blood pressure was up a bit, there was some protien in her urine, and she was on 'the clock' with the doctor now. We talked about what she might do to help the situation and she seemed ready to look into her options. Later that evening she called back and proudly announced that she had figured out the problem(mostly relating to her kidney infection), and knew what to do aboout it. She, and I, were very relieved. We hung up to watch American Idol.
All night long on Tuesday after I went to bed, I kept thinking I heard the phone ringing. I'd bolt upright to answer it, only to hear a dial tone. Around 4 am I was up and could not get back to sleep really. I dozed a little bit, but then at 5:22, I got 'The Call'. I answered the phone, almost thinking no one would be there, to hear a cheerful Corrie announce that it was Baby Day. Yipee! I forced myself to take my time, and give her a chance to adjust to being in labor, and reflect on what she wanted out of this birth before I arrived.
When I got to Corrie's house, I walked in to her having a contraction, smiling all the while. She was filling the sink to do dishes. Oh no, we can't be having that! I chased her off to the tub and began washing dishes, starting laundry and doing a general pickup to insure that everything would be pleasing to a labouring woman's eye. She laboured int he tub for 30-40 minutes and returned downstairs in a lovely gown and robe. Bee had arrived with Cammie Leigh while Corrie was upstairs, and we were busy tidying up. We joined her in the front room to talk with her and support her with our presence. At this point she was just rocking and breathing through her contractions without missing a beat. We would pick up right where we left off when it was over. Mamaw arrived, and she and Bee went to sweep and mop the kitchen and dining room. Corrie and I sat and talked while she laboured, even hashing out the previous night's American Idol. Can you believe that horrid number Carmen was wearing?! As we rocked, I was paying attention to her signals and the general spacing of contractions. I knew it was not going to be much longer. I told her that I thought we should call L. and Amber to come over now. She agreed and I called them.
Tamara arrived right about the time I was calling the photographer and midwife. She was so excited, but very reserved, as not to interject any of her energy into the labour situation. We all sat and talked while Corrie laboured, stopping immediately when a contraction would begin. If it were not for these breaks in the conversation, I would have never guessed that she was in labour. L. arrived about 15 minutes later, just as Corrie began to prefer standing during contractions. We gathered around her, rubbing her back or touching her arm in support as Todd whisked up a delicous egg casserole in the kitchen.
After a 15 minutes or so, Corrie announced that she thought she might like to go upstairs, while there was still time between contractions to climb the stairs. Lisa, Bee, Tamara, and myself followed her up the steps. Corrie stopped at the corner of the hallway with a strong contraction and breathed through it, still chatting it up between them. After a few minutes Amber arrived and joined us to take a few pictures. She and Tamara went downstairs for a bit then, to give Corrie a little more space in the hallway. I was rubbing her back as she contracted, noticing that they were about 1-2 minutes long with only 30 seconds or so between them. I knew it would be very soon as she was grunting a little with each contraction now.
I hurried downstairs to get the camcorder just as another one began. I could hear her moving to the bed and hurried back up the stairs to find her nearly leaping on to the bed(which is quite high). This is when she called out for L. to help her, so I quickly got us some gloves. L. lifted Corrie's gown(C. was hands and knees position)and we could see a tennis ball sized portion of the head. As Corrie's water had not yet ruptured, the pressure was intense, and she called out for L. to help her. I remembered that exact same scenario happening during my labour and immediately applied perenial support while L. did some massage. Corrie gave a very good push that moved the baby to near crowning and broke the amniotic sac. I was still applying support at both the top and bottom to help ease the 'I'm going to rip in two' feeling, and I could feel her physically relax when the water broke. She calmly breathed through a few mini contractions that pushed the baby to full crowning on their own, as she geared up for another big contraction. As the next one came she pushed the baby's head out completely. The cord was wrapped twice around the neck, the first one very loosely, the second one a little tighter, but no problem with getting it over the baby's head with a little work. I was applying perenial support and counter pressure against the baby's head to keep it from coming too quickly, while L. unwrapped the cord. I felt around the neck and did not feel any more cord, but double checked with L., asking if we needed to clamp and cut the cord, or if that was all. She confirmed that there was no more cord around the baby. While L. was unwrapping the final loop, the baby's head rotated and the shoulders were starting to come out. When the final shoulder was out, he emerged with the same push. I saw that we had a little Joshua, and quickly told everyone NOT to announce the sex to her. Corrie collapsed into her mother's arms in tears of joy, pride, and love. L. and I were rubbing him down to encourage him to breathe, then he let out a beautiful lusty cry that brought down the house. We were all crying and hugging. I asked Corrie if I could help her turn and sit so that she could hold him. We began moving her to a sitting position, but as she was kneeling, she reached for him. As he was handed to her, she caught a glimpse of a testicle. She was in complete shock, and announced that she had a boy. More tears, Todd was whooping and laughing, and we were all beaming.
She sat in her own bed with her sweet Todd at her side and gazed at her newborn baby. It was a picture from a painting. I feel so blessed that I was invited to witness such a miraculous event. Todd graciously allowed me to cut the cord, which I did with pride. I then took baby Joshua over to the scale that Todd had waiting for him. Nine pounds, two ounces! Whoa! I swore that she would not have more than a seven and a half pound baby. Corrie got up to shower while I stripped the bed, gathered the dirty laundry, and started a load of linens. I then got Joshua diapered and dressed in his new little gown, socks, undershirt, and hat. Corrie came back up dressed in a beautiful nursing set, and settled in to nurse her baby.
As I watched her bring him to her breast, I felt so lucky to be witness to birth, that way it is meant to be. She was surrounded by women during her labour, who were supporting her and giving her strength. She leaned on Todd when she needed his strength. We all gathered to help her rally at the end and welcome her precious baby into their family. I was overcome with love for Corrie, little baby Joshua, and Todd for letting me in to their secret utopia.
We each all cleaned up a bit more, and left her and Todd to explore and enjoy their new son. All was well with the world on that beautiful Spring day in April.
Note to Self: In one moment, time can cease to move on, and the whole world can be as perfect as a newborn baby.
*cross-posted at yaaps
On Monday night Corrie hosted a Tea at her house for everyone to talk one last time about the impending birth. Bee had just arrived the day before, and had yet to meet some of us. When I arrived, Corrie was looking better than she had in days. The slight swelling of her face was gone, she seemed to be full of energy, and was very in tune with her body. We chatted, drank tea, and talked for the last time about what she would like to see happen on Birthing Day. We all left feeling very excited, knowing the time was near.
I called Corrie on Tuesday to check in with her, leave her my itinerary for the day, and inquire about her doctor's appointment. She seemed a bit down as she was relaying how her blood pressure was up a bit, there was some protien in her urine, and she was on 'the clock' with the doctor now. We talked about what she might do to help the situation and she seemed ready to look into her options. Later that evening she called back and proudly announced that she had figured out the problem(mostly relating to her kidney infection), and knew what to do aboout it. She, and I, were very relieved. We hung up to watch American Idol.
All night long on Tuesday after I went to bed, I kept thinking I heard the phone ringing. I'd bolt upright to answer it, only to hear a dial tone. Around 4 am I was up and could not get back to sleep really. I dozed a little bit, but then at 5:22, I got 'The Call'. I answered the phone, almost thinking no one would be there, to hear a cheerful Corrie announce that it was Baby Day. Yipee! I forced myself to take my time, and give her a chance to adjust to being in labor, and reflect on what she wanted out of this birth before I arrived.
When I got to Corrie's house, I walked in to her having a contraction, smiling all the while. She was filling the sink to do dishes. Oh no, we can't be having that! I chased her off to the tub and began washing dishes, starting laundry and doing a general pickup to insure that everything would be pleasing to a labouring woman's eye. She laboured int he tub for 30-40 minutes and returned downstairs in a lovely gown and robe. Bee had arrived with Cammie Leigh while Corrie was upstairs, and we were busy tidying up. We joined her in the front room to talk with her and support her with our presence. At this point she was just rocking and breathing through her contractions without missing a beat. We would pick up right where we left off when it was over. Mamaw arrived, and she and Bee went to sweep and mop the kitchen and dining room. Corrie and I sat and talked while she laboured, even hashing out the previous night's American Idol. Can you believe that horrid number Carmen was wearing?! As we rocked, I was paying attention to her signals and the general spacing of contractions. I knew it was not going to be much longer. I told her that I thought we should call L. and Amber to come over now. She agreed and I called them.
Tamara arrived right about the time I was calling the photographer and midwife. She was so excited, but very reserved, as not to interject any of her energy into the labour situation. We all sat and talked while Corrie laboured, stopping immediately when a contraction would begin. If it were not for these breaks in the conversation, I would have never guessed that she was in labour. L. arrived about 15 minutes later, just as Corrie began to prefer standing during contractions. We gathered around her, rubbing her back or touching her arm in support as Todd whisked up a delicous egg casserole in the kitchen.
After a 15 minutes or so, Corrie announced that she thought she might like to go upstairs, while there was still time between contractions to climb the stairs. Lisa, Bee, Tamara, and myself followed her up the steps. Corrie stopped at the corner of the hallway with a strong contraction and breathed through it, still chatting it up between them. After a few minutes Amber arrived and joined us to take a few pictures. She and Tamara went downstairs for a bit then, to give Corrie a little more space in the hallway. I was rubbing her back as she contracted, noticing that they were about 1-2 minutes long with only 30 seconds or so between them. I knew it would be very soon as she was grunting a little with each contraction now.
I hurried downstairs to get the camcorder just as another one began. I could hear her moving to the bed and hurried back up the stairs to find her nearly leaping on to the bed(which is quite high). This is when she called out for L. to help her, so I quickly got us some gloves. L. lifted Corrie's gown(C. was hands and knees position)and we could see a tennis ball sized portion of the head. As Corrie's water had not yet ruptured, the pressure was intense, and she called out for L. to help her. I remembered that exact same scenario happening during my labour and immediately applied perenial support while L. did some massage. Corrie gave a very good push that moved the baby to near crowning and broke the amniotic sac. I was still applying support at both the top and bottom to help ease the 'I'm going to rip in two' feeling, and I could feel her physically relax when the water broke. She calmly breathed through a few mini contractions that pushed the baby to full crowning on their own, as she geared up for another big contraction. As the next one came she pushed the baby's head out completely. The cord was wrapped twice around the neck, the first one very loosely, the second one a little tighter, but no problem with getting it over the baby's head with a little work. I was applying perenial support and counter pressure against the baby's head to keep it from coming too quickly, while L. unwrapped the cord. I felt around the neck and did not feel any more cord, but double checked with L., asking if we needed to clamp and cut the cord, or if that was all. She confirmed that there was no more cord around the baby. While L. was unwrapping the final loop, the baby's head rotated and the shoulders were starting to come out. When the final shoulder was out, he emerged with the same push. I saw that we had a little Joshua, and quickly told everyone NOT to announce the sex to her. Corrie collapsed into her mother's arms in tears of joy, pride, and love. L. and I were rubbing him down to encourage him to breathe, then he let out a beautiful lusty cry that brought down the house. We were all crying and hugging. I asked Corrie if I could help her turn and sit so that she could hold him. We began moving her to a sitting position, but as she was kneeling, she reached for him. As he was handed to her, she caught a glimpse of a testicle. She was in complete shock, and announced that she had a boy. More tears, Todd was whooping and laughing, and we were all beaming.
She sat in her own bed with her sweet Todd at her side and gazed at her newborn baby. It was a picture from a painting. I feel so blessed that I was invited to witness such a miraculous event. Todd graciously allowed me to cut the cord, which I did with pride. I then took baby Joshua over to the scale that Todd had waiting for him. Nine pounds, two ounces! Whoa! I swore that she would not have more than a seven and a half pound baby. Corrie got up to shower while I stripped the bed, gathered the dirty laundry, and started a load of linens. I then got Joshua diapered and dressed in his new little gown, socks, undershirt, and hat. Corrie came back up dressed in a beautiful nursing set, and settled in to nurse her baby.
As I watched her bring him to her breast, I felt so lucky to be witness to birth, that way it is meant to be. She was surrounded by women during her labour, who were supporting her and giving her strength. She leaned on Todd when she needed his strength. We all gathered to help her rally at the end and welcome her precious baby into their family. I was overcome with love for Corrie, little baby Joshua, and Todd for letting me in to their secret utopia.
We each all cleaned up a bit more, and left her and Todd to explore and enjoy their new son. All was well with the world on that beautiful Spring day in April.
Note to Self: In one moment, time can cease to move on, and the whole world can be as perfect as a newborn baby.
Thursday, April 17, 2003
It's Baby Day....yesterday
Yesterday, Corrie had her baby! I was blessed enough to be an invited guest in her home for the grand event. I have lots and lots I want to say about it all, but I will let Corrie post all the details first.
The whole process just got me thinking about birth all over again. If I have ever been certain about anything in my life, I am certain about this, birthing babies is my business(taken loosely and twisted around to make sense in this scenario, from Corrie's mom and MIL, who kept quoting 'I don't know nothing about birthing no babies." in their sweet southern accents) Seeing as how it is not feasible for me to birth about 500 babies myself, it seems that midwifery would be the next best thing.
I love pregnancy, birth, babies, mamas, the whole lot of it. If I could, I would birth a baby every month for the sheer joy of it all. The rythmic tightening of contractions, the bulging feeling of full dilation, the stinging of the baby crowning(ok maybe I'd only choose to experience that every other month), the feeling of birthing my baby out inch by inch, feeling him rotate and squeeze into the world a bit more are addicting. There should be a twelve step program for people like me. I love it all. Yes it is hard, hard work. Sometimes even painful, but oh, so amazing.
Then, there is all the nitty gritty practicality of it all. Of course, I could not practice right now, even if I was trained, while my children are so young. I plan on having another in a few years, so that would extend my time my children were babies a bit more as well. The state I live in, insanity, I mean Ohio, is a bit vague on the legislation regarding midwives in general, much less homebirths. Then there is the pesky detail of insurance. Not medical and dental for myself, but liability for the practice. One could always go the direct entry route you might say. If I were to do it, I likely would become a DEM, backed with formal education as well. However, then I run into the problem of finding a midwife in my area that I could learn from. Not so easy. There is a fairly large Amish community that primarily uses midwives that I could check into. I am wondering how I would learn much with a blanket draped over the mama's nether region though. lol
Lots and lots to think about. Lots of time to do think with. See, it is all working out already. :P
Note to Self: To witness a birth, is to witness a miracle.
*disclaimer: I have no time and half a dozen too many hands helping to proof read today. Deal with it or move along. :P
Yesterday, Corrie had her baby! I was blessed enough to be an invited guest in her home for the grand event. I have lots and lots I want to say about it all, but I will let Corrie post all the details first.
The whole process just got me thinking about birth all over again. If I have ever been certain about anything in my life, I am certain about this, birthing babies is my business(taken loosely and twisted around to make sense in this scenario, from Corrie's mom and MIL, who kept quoting 'I don't know nothing about birthing no babies." in their sweet southern accents) Seeing as how it is not feasible for me to birth about 500 babies myself, it seems that midwifery would be the next best thing.
I love pregnancy, birth, babies, mamas, the whole lot of it. If I could, I would birth a baby every month for the sheer joy of it all. The rythmic tightening of contractions, the bulging feeling of full dilation, the stinging of the baby crowning(ok maybe I'd only choose to experience that every other month), the feeling of birthing my baby out inch by inch, feeling him rotate and squeeze into the world a bit more are addicting. There should be a twelve step program for people like me. I love it all. Yes it is hard, hard work. Sometimes even painful, but oh, so amazing.
Then, there is all the nitty gritty practicality of it all. Of course, I could not practice right now, even if I was trained, while my children are so young. I plan on having another in a few years, so that would extend my time my children were babies a bit more as well. The state I live in, insanity, I mean Ohio, is a bit vague on the legislation regarding midwives in general, much less homebirths. Then there is the pesky detail of insurance. Not medical and dental for myself, but liability for the practice. One could always go the direct entry route you might say. If I were to do it, I likely would become a DEM, backed with formal education as well. However, then I run into the problem of finding a midwife in my area that I could learn from. Not so easy. There is a fairly large Amish community that primarily uses midwives that I could check into. I am wondering how I would learn much with a blanket draped over the mama's nether region though. lol
Lots and lots to think about. Lots of time to do think with. See, it is all working out already. :P
Note to Self: To witness a birth, is to witness a miracle.
*disclaimer: I have no time and half a dozen too many hands helping to proof read today. Deal with it or move along. :P
Sunday, April 13, 2003
Hip, hip, hooray!
Thanks to Debbie aka DebC, I now have a neato blog. She added a weather pixie, changed some colors, added some links(which I will finish up when I get more than one hand to type with), and made it a much cooler place to be. Thanks Debbie! *smooch* Any of y'all reading, feel free to link to me....I'll probably be linking to you. :P
No deep thoughts for today, my brain is fried. Kollin had his first soccer game today, which he thoroughly enjoyed. I have a sneaking suspicion that he just may not be cut out for competitive sports though. He doesn't want his team to win, because the other team would get their feelings hurt. He doesn't want to lose because then his team would be hurt. lol When he was playing baseball over last summer, he was playing first base. When someone would hit the ball and run to the base, one would think that he would try to tag him out. Nope, not Kollin. Instead, he says 'Welcome to First Base'. If he had been holding a bundt cake, I would have thought that he was an official member of the Welcome Wagon. So we will see how his interest, or not, in organized sports plays out over the years.
Off to make a bundt cake...really.
Note to Self:It is not whether you win or lose, it is how you play the game.
Thanks to Debbie aka DebC, I now have a neato blog. She added a weather pixie, changed some colors, added some links(which I will finish up when I get more than one hand to type with), and made it a much cooler place to be. Thanks Debbie! *smooch* Any of y'all reading, feel free to link to me....I'll probably be linking to you. :P
No deep thoughts for today, my brain is fried. Kollin had his first soccer game today, which he thoroughly enjoyed. I have a sneaking suspicion that he just may not be cut out for competitive sports though. He doesn't want his team to win, because the other team would get their feelings hurt. He doesn't want to lose because then his team would be hurt. lol When he was playing baseball over last summer, he was playing first base. When someone would hit the ball and run to the base, one would think that he would try to tag him out. Nope, not Kollin. Instead, he says 'Welcome to First Base'. If he had been holding a bundt cake, I would have thought that he was an official member of the Welcome Wagon. So we will see how his interest, or not, in organized sports plays out over the years.
Off to make a bundt cake...really.
Note to Self:It is not whether you win or lose, it is how you play the game.
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
I think I may have fixed my comments section. If you are reading this could you be so kind as to try to post a comment to any of my last three entries so I can test my handy work? The added bonus is that I know y'all are just dying to post your thoughts on it all. :P
Yesterday was my mom's 54th birthday. This had me reflecting on her life for the past 54 years. Sad to say, it has not been an easy road for her. You would never know it to meet her, but my mom has been though so much, and yet she is still so upbeat and giving.
My mom was born as a first child to parents who would divorce a couple of years later. Her mother went on to marry a man who was an abusive drunk asshole. My grandma wasn't the mother of the year herself. My mother was suffering terrible abuse at the hand's of her stepfather. You would think that as a mother you would leave that no good asshole and protect your daughter. Instead, her mother decided to abandon her at a group home for troubled and foster children. She signed my mother off as a ward of the state so she could continue to be beat and drink.
My grandmother went on to have four more children, who all lived with her, while my mom was not allowed to. I can not imagine the feelings of rejection and sadness that my mother must have felt. She lived at the Marsh for 11 years. It was run like a well oiled machine. No room for errors. Up at 5:15, to bed by 7:30 if I remember correctly. Lots and lots of chores to be done. There was very little staff for the 80-100 kids, most of the work was performed by the children. My mom does not talk about this much.
At 18, she was out on her own, with no where to go. Her dad decided that she could stay with him for awhile. Where was he the last 11 years you might ask? ABout 10 miles away. Yes, he knew she was living at the Marsh. Mom met a man, and became pregnant, and married quickly. This was not a happy marriage by any standards. He was always leaving for days or weeks at a time. None the less, they had two daughters together before they divorced. After her divorce my grandpa helped her out financially, and she was able to retain the 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom house on Short Street.
A couple of years later she met my dad, who is 7 years her junior. She had been a single mother for quite awhile at that point and my sister Tanya did not adjust well. They dated until T was feeling more comfortable, then made wedding plans. None to soon either, as mom was pregnant with me at that time. We were very poor at times in my childhood. Some times were worse than others, but there was never and abundance of anything. Two and a half years after I was born, my brother Zachary was born. Thirteen months after him, my sister Heather was born for a total of five children.
Mom and dad have always been the most ridiculously happy couple that I have ever seen. They were each other's saving grace. Throughout my childhood, mom and dad had to work a lot to make ends meet. Neither one of them were college educated, and layoffs were common with my dad's job. He would pick up construction work or whatnot whenever he was laid off, but the financial burden was pretty heavy. Throughout all the tough years, I saw their love grow stronger and stronger.
When I was 10 or so my second oldest sister threw a huge temper tantrum and moved out, vowing to never speak to mom or dad again. She was constantly moving back and forth between her dad's and our house, but this time she did not come back. This broke my mom's heart. We were all afraid to mention her name and cause mom to start crying. She joined the military a couple of years later and started sending letters. Finally, she came for a visit. The relationship was renewed, but has been rocky every since.
The biggest blow to my mom came in 1997, when my brother was killed in a car/train accident. My parents went out of town to stay at a bed and breakfast for their 20th wedding anniversary that Friday night. My brother and cousin were driving to pick up their friend, when Zach drove across a railroad track and was struck by an oncoming train. My mom and dad got the call that every parent is terrified of receiving, that their child had died. My parents were devastated by this. The grief was compounded by guilt that they were not home,and had they been, it never would have happened. It would have. He was going no where that he wouldn't have been going had they been home. It has been a rough five and a half years for them since then. They are coming through, but not without scars.
My mom lost her best friend of almost 40 years this New Year's Eve. Kathy had been the one to be there for mom through everything. Now that she is gone, I can see that mom is looking for her old friend, her trusted shoulder to lean on.
It makes me sad to know that my mom has always known pain and loss from the very beginning of her life, when a child should be protected from that at all costs. I am grateful that she fought to protect my brother, sisters, and I from that. I often wonder how she would be different if she had known that unconditional love of a mother, in her childhood. I know that my mom loves me, but we rarely say it. Sometimes I think that it is hard for her to do so. Not that it pains her or anything, but that she mourns for what she did not have. Whatever the reaon, I am okay with that, I know that she loves me, she shows me every day.
Note to Self: There is no substitute for a mother's love.
My mom was born as a first child to parents who would divorce a couple of years later. Her mother went on to marry a man who was an abusive drunk asshole. My grandma wasn't the mother of the year herself. My mother was suffering terrible abuse at the hand's of her stepfather. You would think that as a mother you would leave that no good asshole and protect your daughter. Instead, her mother decided to abandon her at a group home for troubled and foster children. She signed my mother off as a ward of the state so she could continue to be beat and drink.
My grandmother went on to have four more children, who all lived with her, while my mom was not allowed to. I can not imagine the feelings of rejection and sadness that my mother must have felt. She lived at the Marsh for 11 years. It was run like a well oiled machine. No room for errors. Up at 5:15, to bed by 7:30 if I remember correctly. Lots and lots of chores to be done. There was very little staff for the 80-100 kids, most of the work was performed by the children. My mom does not talk about this much.
At 18, she was out on her own, with no where to go. Her dad decided that she could stay with him for awhile. Where was he the last 11 years you might ask? ABout 10 miles away. Yes, he knew she was living at the Marsh. Mom met a man, and became pregnant, and married quickly. This was not a happy marriage by any standards. He was always leaving for days or weeks at a time. None the less, they had two daughters together before they divorced. After her divorce my grandpa helped her out financially, and she was able to retain the 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom house on Short Street.
A couple of years later she met my dad, who is 7 years her junior. She had been a single mother for quite awhile at that point and my sister Tanya did not adjust well. They dated until T was feeling more comfortable, then made wedding plans. None to soon either, as mom was pregnant with me at that time. We were very poor at times in my childhood. Some times were worse than others, but there was never and abundance of anything. Two and a half years after I was born, my brother Zachary was born. Thirteen months after him, my sister Heather was born for a total of five children.
Mom and dad have always been the most ridiculously happy couple that I have ever seen. They were each other's saving grace. Throughout my childhood, mom and dad had to work a lot to make ends meet. Neither one of them were college educated, and layoffs were common with my dad's job. He would pick up construction work or whatnot whenever he was laid off, but the financial burden was pretty heavy. Throughout all the tough years, I saw their love grow stronger and stronger.
When I was 10 or so my second oldest sister threw a huge temper tantrum and moved out, vowing to never speak to mom or dad again. She was constantly moving back and forth between her dad's and our house, but this time she did not come back. This broke my mom's heart. We were all afraid to mention her name and cause mom to start crying. She joined the military a couple of years later and started sending letters. Finally, she came for a visit. The relationship was renewed, but has been rocky every since.
The biggest blow to my mom came in 1997, when my brother was killed in a car/train accident. My parents went out of town to stay at a bed and breakfast for their 20th wedding anniversary that Friday night. My brother and cousin were driving to pick up their friend, when Zach drove across a railroad track and was struck by an oncoming train. My mom and dad got the call that every parent is terrified of receiving, that their child had died. My parents were devastated by this. The grief was compounded by guilt that they were not home,and had they been, it never would have happened. It would have. He was going no where that he wouldn't have been going had they been home. It has been a rough five and a half years for them since then. They are coming through, but not without scars.
My mom lost her best friend of almost 40 years this New Year's Eve. Kathy had been the one to be there for mom through everything. Now that she is gone, I can see that mom is looking for her old friend, her trusted shoulder to lean on.
It makes me sad to know that my mom has always known pain and loss from the very beginning of her life, when a child should be protected from that at all costs. I am grateful that she fought to protect my brother, sisters, and I from that. I often wonder how she would be different if she had known that unconditional love of a mother, in her childhood. I know that my mom loves me, but we rarely say it. Sometimes I think that it is hard for her to do so. Not that it pains her or anything, but that she mourns for what she did not have. Whatever the reaon, I am okay with that, I know that she loves me, she shows me every day.
Note to Self: There is no substitute for a mother's love.
Monday, April 07, 2003
Can you hear me now?
Many a time, I have wondered why men and women communicate so differently. Being hardwired as polar opposites can be a blessing and a curse at the exact same moment. It never fails to amaze me, when I am let in on that foreign thought process, that it is so drastically different from my own. Not wrong, mind you, but different...in a good way. Sometimes.
I almost feel as if I am stuck in an Amelia Bedelia book at times. I have no doubt if I would ask my DH to dress the turkey, I would indeed find poultry decked out to the nines in my kitchen. Did he listen to what I said. Yep. Did he misunderstand anything? No, not really. His reasoning, of course, would be that he did exactly what I asked of him, so what am I upset over. lol The Man Mantra must be, 'Say what you mean, mean what you say'. Honestly, I think that the art of interpretation has to be sacrificed when the Y sperm burrows into the egg. lol
Any ladies in the house? If so, you know what I'm talking about when I say this. If you don't, you either are lying or you are way too mature to be reading my blog. :P I'll set the stage for you... You and your DH are having an arguement, in which your feelings get hurt or you get mad. The only thing you really want him to do is soothe you and comfort you. What you do instead is stomp off while declaring 'leave me alone'. This may or may not be accompanied by the girlfriend snap and neck thang. What does he do?! He freakin' LEAVES YOU ALONE! What?! Did he not hear what you were saying? You were obviously letting him know that he should indeed leave you alone for about 1 minute and 42 seconds before he follows you, offering a cup of tea, tissues and his embrace. Sheesh, clear as a bell if you ask me.
For the sake of fairness, and a dash of pity thrown in for good measure, I will point out that we women can be a little hard to figure out. How exactly does one know when a woman wants to be followed when she says that she wants to be left alone? It's all in the body language. Other women pick up on this. If you are getting together with your girlfriends and one of them shows up sniffling, tissue in hand, the proper thing to do would be to ask what is wrong? She of course will say 'nothing' or offer just the slightest bit of information. This is it...time for you to shine as a fellow woman! You say, 'Let's talk about it'. Yep, there it is, the magic words. Then, y'all sit around talking about whatever ails her, offer sympathy, suggestions, BTDTs, and a cup of tea, and find yourselves bonded a little bit more when the day is done. Guys, on the other hand, do not do this. Or at least that is what I have been led to believe anyhow. If a guy shows up all pissed off(which is usually his response to a martial spat or what have you)the other guys do not offer him tea and gab sessions about that very same thing that happened to them when they were dating Kelly in '94. They offer up a 'Man, that sucks' and a beer. The last cold one. After all, he is having a bad day and all.
What is really ironic to me, is that we still expect our spouses to understand us, even after we know all of this. To understand us without us having to have a 45 minute conversation to explain a 30 second sentence. And we think we understand them. Usually, they do not bother to correct us. That would involve heavy conversation, which, generally they want to avoid.
The amazing part of all this, is everything we learn along the way. I couldn't tell you how many times I have been forced to step out of my nice comfortable little box, to be able to relate to him. I found out that it is not so bad out there either. It is like seeing the same program on TV that you have watched over and over, but for the first time, there is sound accompanying the picture. It is if he hears the sound, and you see the picture, but when you are really meshing you both get the whole enchilada. I guess that it is those wonderful moments where you both can see the same picture, and hear the same words, that makes having a turkey with a bikini on worthwhile.
Note to Self: Different isn't always bad. Variety is the spice of life.
Many a time, I have wondered why men and women communicate so differently. Being hardwired as polar opposites can be a blessing and a curse at the exact same moment. It never fails to amaze me, when I am let in on that foreign thought process, that it is so drastically different from my own. Not wrong, mind you, but different...in a good way. Sometimes.
I almost feel as if I am stuck in an Amelia Bedelia book at times. I have no doubt if I would ask my DH to dress the turkey, I would indeed find poultry decked out to the nines in my kitchen. Did he listen to what I said. Yep. Did he misunderstand anything? No, not really. His reasoning, of course, would be that he did exactly what I asked of him, so what am I upset over. lol The Man Mantra must be, 'Say what you mean, mean what you say'. Honestly, I think that the art of interpretation has to be sacrificed when the Y sperm burrows into the egg. lol
Any ladies in the house? If so, you know what I'm talking about when I say this. If you don't, you either are lying or you are way too mature to be reading my blog. :P I'll set the stage for you... You and your DH are having an arguement, in which your feelings get hurt or you get mad. The only thing you really want him to do is soothe you and comfort you. What you do instead is stomp off while declaring 'leave me alone'. This may or may not be accompanied by the girlfriend snap and neck thang. What does he do?! He freakin' LEAVES YOU ALONE! What?! Did he not hear what you were saying? You were obviously letting him know that he should indeed leave you alone for about 1 minute and 42 seconds before he follows you, offering a cup of tea, tissues and his embrace. Sheesh, clear as a bell if you ask me.
For the sake of fairness, and a dash of pity thrown in for good measure, I will point out that we women can be a little hard to figure out. How exactly does one know when a woman wants to be followed when she says that she wants to be left alone? It's all in the body language. Other women pick up on this. If you are getting together with your girlfriends and one of them shows up sniffling, tissue in hand, the proper thing to do would be to ask what is wrong? She of course will say 'nothing' or offer just the slightest bit of information. This is it...time for you to shine as a fellow woman! You say, 'Let's talk about it'. Yep, there it is, the magic words. Then, y'all sit around talking about whatever ails her, offer sympathy, suggestions, BTDTs, and a cup of tea, and find yourselves bonded a little bit more when the day is done. Guys, on the other hand, do not do this. Or at least that is what I have been led to believe anyhow. If a guy shows up all pissed off(which is usually his response to a martial spat or what have you)the other guys do not offer him tea and gab sessions about that very same thing that happened to them when they were dating Kelly in '94. They offer up a 'Man, that sucks' and a beer. The last cold one. After all, he is having a bad day and all.
What is really ironic to me, is that we still expect our spouses to understand us, even after we know all of this. To understand us without us having to have a 45 minute conversation to explain a 30 second sentence. And we think we understand them. Usually, they do not bother to correct us. That would involve heavy conversation, which, generally they want to avoid.
The amazing part of all this, is everything we learn along the way. I couldn't tell you how many times I have been forced to step out of my nice comfortable little box, to be able to relate to him. I found out that it is not so bad out there either. It is like seeing the same program on TV that you have watched over and over, but for the first time, there is sound accompanying the picture. It is if he hears the sound, and you see the picture, but when you are really meshing you both get the whole enchilada. I guess that it is those wonderful moments where you both can see the same picture, and hear the same words, that makes having a turkey with a bikini on worthwhile.
Note to Self: Different isn't always bad. Variety is the spice of life.
Saturday, April 05, 2003
Tonight the boys, Matt and I were off to a potluck at Corrie's house this evening. This is a real treat to have Matt with us in the evening. He works second shift, usually 7 days a week, so the boys and I rarely get to have dinner with him. So we gather our prepared dishes and head off to the potluck, with one minor pitstop along the way. Matt needs to stop in at work and fix something real quick. It'll just take a moment.
The boys and I sit waiting patiently in the van for his return, when Kollin announces that he is hungry. Surely, this will not take much longer so we wait some more. As each minute ticks away on the clock, Kollin becomes increasingly hungrier, and myself increasingly tense. Not only am I waiting with three children, one who is auditioning for a Save the Children commercial with his dramatic proclamations of hunger, but we are late, late, late by now for the potluck. I do not want to be that dinner guest that arrives so late that everything is overcooked and dry because the hostess had to keep dinner waiting. While I am frettng about being the dinner guest from hell, Kollin announces that he is starving to death...little by little. Just then Matt gets in the van and we are off.
We arrive at Corrie's and Kollin's hunger pains immediately disappear as he runs off to play. The other mamas and I immediately start serving our kid's plates. Tamara loads one up for her DH, takes it out to guy-land, and announces that the other hubbies are gonna have to come in and get their own. Gee, thanks for making us look bad Tamara. :P We eat, we drink, we talk and tell stories. A good time is had by all. Then......Corrie breaks out the Tirimasu (or however it is spelled). Homeade. For the baby. Well, let me tell ya, I am loving this baby already! THis stuff is awesome. Weight Watchers points be dammed, I am having myself some of that. Oh, it was so good.
The kids play, the guys drink and play darts in guy-land in the garage, all while the mamas chat away. Telling stories of old, new, and in between. I'll be dammed if I didn't eat a brownie during all this as well. I can feel the points racking up. Oy vey! We all say our farewells and head home.
I get home, get the guys in bed, and clean up a bit. Then, I head off to put on my jammies. The scale is sitting there mocking me, daring me to step on it. I took the bait. OMG, how did I gain 3 pounds in 6 hours?! Especially when late night is usually when I weigh the least. Surely, I could not have metabolized all that and legitimately gained 3 pounds could I? Or maybe I actually ate 3 pounds of food?! Well, that was some awesome tirimasu. Hell, even if it takes a week to lose those 3 pounds, that was some good business!
Note to Self: Life is sweet. Good dessert with good friends makes it even sweeter.
The boys and I sit waiting patiently in the van for his return, when Kollin announces that he is hungry. Surely, this will not take much longer so we wait some more. As each minute ticks away on the clock, Kollin becomes increasingly hungrier, and myself increasingly tense. Not only am I waiting with three children, one who is auditioning for a Save the Children commercial with his dramatic proclamations of hunger, but we are late, late, late by now for the potluck. I do not want to be that dinner guest that arrives so late that everything is overcooked and dry because the hostess had to keep dinner waiting. While I am frettng about being the dinner guest from hell, Kollin announces that he is starving to death...little by little. Just then Matt gets in the van and we are off.
We arrive at Corrie's and Kollin's hunger pains immediately disappear as he runs off to play. The other mamas and I immediately start serving our kid's plates. Tamara loads one up for her DH, takes it out to guy-land, and announces that the other hubbies are gonna have to come in and get their own. Gee, thanks for making us look bad Tamara. :P We eat, we drink, we talk and tell stories. A good time is had by all. Then......Corrie breaks out the Tirimasu (or however it is spelled). Homeade. For the baby. Well, let me tell ya, I am loving this baby already! THis stuff is awesome. Weight Watchers points be dammed, I am having myself some of that. Oh, it was so good.
The kids play, the guys drink and play darts in guy-land in the garage, all while the mamas chat away. Telling stories of old, new, and in between. I'll be dammed if I didn't eat a brownie during all this as well. I can feel the points racking up. Oy vey! We all say our farewells and head home.
I get home, get the guys in bed, and clean up a bit. Then, I head off to put on my jammies. The scale is sitting there mocking me, daring me to step on it. I took the bait. OMG, how did I gain 3 pounds in 6 hours?! Especially when late night is usually when I weigh the least. Surely, I could not have metabolized all that and legitimately gained 3 pounds could I? Or maybe I actually ate 3 pounds of food?! Well, that was some awesome tirimasu. Hell, even if it takes a week to lose those 3 pounds, that was some good business!
Note to Self: Life is sweet. Good dessert with good friends makes it even sweeter.
Friday, April 04, 2003
After months of pressure, I have finally caved, I'm blogging. Publically. I have been coerced and lured with promises that I will like this. That I'll like having myself exposed to the entire world wide web, for all to see. We'll see about that. The upside is that I get to ramble on and on, all the while, imagining that I am holding thousands, if not millions, captive with my witty self. I'm not big on preludes, so I'll get on with it already, and carry on as if I have been here for ages.
Something that I have been thinking about lately is social etiquette. More precisely, why we, as a whole, feel the need to be so accomodating to others at our own expense. Time and time again I find myself doing something that I have promised someone else I would do, even though I really do not want to do it. Or talking to someone for hours on end, when I have no real desire to hear anything it is that they have to say. I find myself investing so much in relationships that I really do not care to develop. All out of some twisted sense of obligation and social etiquette.
For some reason I can not seem to find it within myself to seperate myself from the situation if it will seem rude or otherwise not nice. I have spent hours listening to a few select people, who I have no emotional investment in, whine about their daily lives. I listen, I sympathize, I offer ideas, I offer information, I offer support... for what? Truth be told, I really do not enjoy these people's company. I do not care to foster a relationship with them. I get mad about having to hear all these complaints, complain about it myself, and then spend all day being mad about being manipulated into the situation to begin with. So at the end of the day, I have spent the majority of it wrapped up in someone who I regard with indifference at best. All for the sake of social graces.
In the end, the price I pay for not saying, "I am sorry that you are having a hard time, but, I just don't have the gumption to get involved with it today.", is time away from myself and my family. I compromise myself by becoming involved when I know full well that I really have no desire to. I compromise my family when I devote time to the 'crisis of the day' and let it get me all hot and bothered. All for the Nice Girl sticker.
Note to Self: I am nice, dammit, I don't need the sticker to prove it.
*Disclaimer: If you're reading this, it isn't about you. :P
Something that I have been thinking about lately is social etiquette. More precisely, why we, as a whole, feel the need to be so accomodating to others at our own expense. Time and time again I find myself doing something that I have promised someone else I would do, even though I really do not want to do it. Or talking to someone for hours on end, when I have no real desire to hear anything it is that they have to say. I find myself investing so much in relationships that I really do not care to develop. All out of some twisted sense of obligation and social etiquette.
For some reason I can not seem to find it within myself to seperate myself from the situation if it will seem rude or otherwise not nice. I have spent hours listening to a few select people, who I have no emotional investment in, whine about their daily lives. I listen, I sympathize, I offer ideas, I offer information, I offer support... for what? Truth be told, I really do not enjoy these people's company. I do not care to foster a relationship with them. I get mad about having to hear all these complaints, complain about it myself, and then spend all day being mad about being manipulated into the situation to begin with. So at the end of the day, I have spent the majority of it wrapped up in someone who I regard with indifference at best. All for the sake of social graces.
In the end, the price I pay for not saying, "I am sorry that you are having a hard time, but, I just don't have the gumption to get involved with it today.", is time away from myself and my family. I compromise myself by becoming involved when I know full well that I really have no desire to. I compromise my family when I devote time to the 'crisis of the day' and let it get me all hot and bothered. All for the Nice Girl sticker.
Note to Self: I am nice, dammit, I don't need the sticker to prove it.
*Disclaimer: If you're reading this, it isn't about you. :P