So then I took my turn...

So, every year since I can remember I have journaled (usually on paper) about the best and the worst of each year...I thought a few years ago I would start doing a lighter version on my blog. So here's my verdict for my iniation into my 30's. And I included the year before for reference.

I realized when trying to do my regualar list that I spent (may-december of 2010 preggers, which meant that I ate-slept-breathed getting ready to be a mommy, so I had nothing to say on the old topics, so my 2010 list is going to be a little different, admittedly I was a little uterus-absorbed in 2010, who knows was 2011 will bring).

2010 broke my heart, over and over. While I was pregnant I attended 4 funerals and was too pregnant to make it to a 5th. And then 14 days into the last month of the year in a scary fashion my little girl was born and it made me believe that a year could be redeemed in the last moment. Her birth was the hail-mary pass that actually worked. Endzone dance. 2010 you win.


2010
Reading:All things about pregnancy (except "What to Expect", I wouldn't want to be a cliche -- actually I am just overwhelmed by lots of information at once) all things about natural birth and now all things about figuring out what the heck to do with this little neonate. I also sneaked in some celebrity tabloid mags just to see what the Kardashians were wearing and to see if Ali would pick Roberto or Chris.

Listening to:The heartbeat setting on Sloane's white noise machine. Also the Counting Crows, however I fear they will throw me into full-swing post-partum depression.


Thinking: things that rocked my world (in a loosely time-specific order & completely honest fashion): I'm pregnant?! I'm pregnant yay! I'm pregnant ugh. I'm a mother? I'm a mother. What the eff. I'm somebody's mother. And that being said, I have to go feed her, blogging rather than breastfeeding is probably a little selfish. I'm newly someone's fiance too, but that doesn't terrify me or cause night sweats the way being a mother does.

Desperately Wanting (all that stuff I had to have): I had to have all things baby, of course, especially a well-stocked library. Now she has so much gear I am not sure where to put it all. I wanted more time with my loved ones too--but there really is never enough time.

Watching on the small screen:
In Treatment * House, MD * LOST (it's over?!) *Scrubs (a late night maternity leave staple)*BH90210 (thank you God for the Soap Network)* Guiding Light (RIP) * Survivor * Big Brother * Medium * The Office *

Loving on the big screen: I loved Inception tons and tons. I didn't make it to a lot of films this year by the time the good ones came out Sloane was here, and I am not one of those annoying people who bring their newborn to a sacred spot like a THEATRE where silence is golden!

Last year's review:

2009

Best book: The History of Love by Nicole Krauss (lovely wife of winner of my best book last year, Jonathan Safran Foer)

Best movie-drama: Brothers

Best movie-comedy: Julie & Julia (I don't think it was billed as a comedy, but I thought it was hilarious at times)

Best performance (onscreen): Colin Firth, A Single Man

Best play: My First Time, Unicorn Theatre (I need to see more plays that aren't starring my personal leading man)

Best musical: Into the Woods (KC Rep Theatre)

Best live musical performance: Martin Sexton, Crosstown Station, Kansas City

Best day: My 29th birthday definitely is near the top of the list

Best gift: My new digital camera (thanks Dad)

Best new recipe: Chicken/Broccoli/BrownRice skillet

Best new gadget: my scanner for scrapbooking

Best thing to watch on TV: LOST & House (three year favorites and running)

Best new show on TV: Flash Forward

Best vacation: NYC (although it was the only vaction I went on this year, strange how I never go to the airport anymore since Keenan's tour is over)

Best babies: It's a tie...but here they are in birth order: Reese Quinn & Hannah Thiel (last year was the year of the boy, this year brought the gals!)
Have a happy & healthy 2010!

title courtesy of Coldplay: Yellow

when you were born, they looked at you and said "what a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl"

the very unexpected birth story...by the way this is a birth story, it mentions things like dilation (I know, weird) and "checking"--however I left out most of the gory details ;)

On Monday I went to work like any other Monday & took my 35 week picture of my belly. I had to drive to Lawrence (about 30 minutes away) to our other office. I had 6 doz cookies in tow so that all of our office staff could assemble tons of cookie trays for all of our individuals with disabilities. After a couple hours on my feet in Lawrence I kept telling my coworkers that I was not feeling well, and that I was having Braxton Hicks contractions. One of my coworkers suggested that I was probably dehydrated. This prompted me to drink insane amounts of water for the rest of the afternoon, which in turn prompted insane amounts of bathroom trips.

I drove home from Lawrence and although I wasn't feeling great decided it was time for an oil change. I took my car to Jiffy Lube and read my parenting magazine in the waiting room. I didn't want to bug my mom with how I was feeling since she just got back from Hawaii the day before and I figured she was jet lagged and exhausted. I was very uncomfortable and feeling "over" the pregnancy experience.

I got home around 5pm and was trying to lounge on the couch but I just kept getting up and feeling like a whiner. At 7 the "Braxton Hicks" got stronger and I called my nearly-a-nurse sister and quizzed her about false labor-- how long does it last etc. From 7-8 I was having contractions at about 4 minutes apart. I still thought it must be false labor. Finally I called my mom at 9 pm and she said I should call my doctor- "it's an awful long time for this to be going on, just go in and get checked." I was sure that I would be going in, getting checked and going home. Incorrect assumption number 20.

I complied with my mom and called the doctor message line. I got on my comfy sweats first, ate 4 sour gummy worms, drank more water and put in a fresh ponytail. I have a foolproof theory-- when you call the ob line and leave a message you know how serious something is by the amount of time it takes them to call you back. I was on the phone with the doctor within 5 minutes of my message. My doctor was not on call (something I had prepared for all along) but luckily I had seen the partner on-call and was pleased with her. I told Keenan to take his IPOD and I grabbed my book. My bags weren't packed yet (I was 35 weeks 0 days pregnant) and I knew that we would have to wait forever and that we would be coming home. The baby bag was packed incidentally, but I didn't think we should bring it.

I made Keenan stop to get gas, I was worried we would run out on the way to the hospital, we got there at 9:45 and the car ride was a fresh kind of hell. I had figured I would only have to have 3 contractions until we were inside (again "false contractions")-- the red light that made my equation wrong troubled me a lot. Music on the radio was bothering me. This was the first time that I thought this might be real labor (and if it's false labor- I am in for a treat when the real thing comes along!)

I was supposed to meet with the maternity care coordinator on Weds to tour the hospital, fill out paperwork, choose a pediatrician and present her with my birth plan and questions. I obviously didn't make that appointment, and I didn't have my birth plan or a pediatrician.

They got me into a room asked me to change into a gown and I got my nurse (and my hero) Agnes (a slight 20 something girl from Jamaica). My nurse asked me what was going on and I told her and she said maybe I had a kidney infection causing the contractions. I clung to that idea for the time and dutifully went to the toilet to fill up a cup. Then I stood up to go back out to the room and experienced a small gush of fluid that went embarassingly all over the floor. I called for the nurse to apologize for apparently wetting the floor, she grabbed a small test strip and put it to the floor and told me that I had ruptured and asked me to go and get in the bed. I was immediately terrified. Agnes assured me that 35 weeks will be okay, that she had a great shot of being strong because she is a girl and that being biracial would help her too. I tried not to worry, and honestly the pain was the only thing that took away the worry. Agnes checked me and said that I was already 2 cm dialated. She started an IV for fluids and antibiotics because Sloane would need them, I was supposed to have my strep/GB test on Weds. and so they didn't know if I was infected or not. They checked me but the test does not read clear for 72 hours, so the antibiotics were a must.

Agnes told me that I would progress at about 1 cm per hour and that she would check me on the hour unless I wanted it more often. She asked me about pain control and I told her that I wanted to labor naturally. I waited for her to oppose me in any way, instead she said...okay, are you a good listener? I said yes. She said "listen to me, and I will get you through this. you can do it" I was immediately in love with her.

I have always wanted a natural birth, for as long as I can remember, but when I was pregnant Keenan and I did a lot of research and I felt I could do it and that it would be a great thing to do-- I would have this amazing rush of love (oxytocin) and the baby would be more alert, probably ready to breastfeed immediately, and I would avoid a needle in my spine and a long labor.

At one hour Agnes "checked" me again. I of course wanted no part of this- it hurts and why check me if I've only progressed by 1 cm. She told me that she had to do it. Then she said the number 5. 5?! I am supposed to be at 3. She laughed and asked me if I wanted to move to the ball, which I did and I loved. I was still able to laugh with Agnes, direct Keenan to make phone calls to people and talk on the phone to my dad and mom between contractions. Another hour went quite quickly, and it was time for the horrible "checking" again. 7. Now I began a little bit of panic-- this was going too fast! I was worried that my mom and sister were going to miss the delivery (they were traveling from 3 hours away and were still an hour away). The next contractions were more painful (I got through them by breathing, keeping my eyes closed, listening to Agnes describe the crest and fall of the contractions on the monitor and to repeat in my head a mantra I found on-line on a doula's signiture "We have a secret in our culture, and it's not that birth is painful. It's that women are strong."- Laura Stavoe Harm--even as I say that to myself now I feel strong, empowered and proud of myself)

Shortly after 7 I began to need the pain.  I needed the pain because the hospital was becoming a rush of reality that hadn't occurred to me yet.  The nurses were insistent on picking a pediatrician.  I was annoyed by their persistance.  I know now that is because she needed to go to NICU.  Then the word NICU was uttered and it was like my whole world stopped.  I grew up with a very sick asthmatic sister who spent the first year of her life in and out of NICU (who incidentally is in ICU while I write this).  NICU the idea was terrifying.  The pain was the only thing keeping me from completely freaking out.

I described the new contractions to Agnes she told me that I needed to move to the bed and be checked again even though it wasn't an hour from the last check. 8. I began telling Agnes how afraid I was. This is when my mind over matter began to work the opposite way for me. I read Birthing from Within and knew that sometimes a woman keeps herself from progressing because of fear or other emotions. And that is exactly what I did, I stuck at 8-- in fear for 2 hours (very painful hours). Fortunately this allowed for time for my mom and sister to get there. My mom was there for comfort, my sister was there to make sure I got my birth plan- no drugs, no forceps, no hep B (til she is a "term baby"), no episiotomy (if avoidable), breastfeed immediately. At 3 am Agnes checked me for the millionith time and told me again that I was only 8.25 and that Dr. Wittek was going to order Pitocin.

I did not want Pitocin and Taylor (my sister) knew this. I didn't want it because I wanted to do it all without chemicals going into my baby as well as Pitocin speeds everything up and I didn't know how I could keep myself from pushing if the pain got any worse or faster. I turned to Agnes and weakly said "no". She said we can still do pain relief but you need to instead remember to listen to me and let your body do this. I repeated my mantra in my head and I told myself "open" "open" "open" and began to relax through the contractions.  I wanted to meet my daughter. 

I still did not progress fast enough, Agnes said "I can try one more thing before the Pitocin, but you will not like it, I need to check you and stay there and turn the baby a little to get the pressure off your cervix and get you over the 8." It took four long awkward contractions when she said, "last time". I said "Do you promise" she said "yes". She was right, all of a sudden Dr. Wittek was telling me to open my eyes and there were tons of people in the room and I was pushing, I tore only enough for one tiny stitch, no forceps and- 15 minutes of pushing later my baby was born. I heard someone say "the cord around her neck" and I immediately felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.  She was out of me and she did not cry, and it was excruitiating silence and hustle and bustle of tons of nurses and the pediatrician and the neonatologist and my ob and they did not give her to me and I could not see her past the tons of medical personnel who were helping her. And I did not get that rush of oxytocin, instead I got a rush of dread.  No one said anything happy...everyone just held their breath as we waited for her to cry. 

Her arms had low muscle tone, she looked floppy. (My nearly-nurse sister said this filled her with fear). She got a 7 on her APGAR, which wasn't horrible but wasn't good.  They prepared to take her to NICU as they stitched me up. I don't remember anything except craning my neck to try and see my baby.

They held her by my face (like I had been sectioned) for about 30 seconds and then they took her to NICU. And we were in the room and I felt more alone that I ever have in my life, and I felt like it wasn't real and that I was still pregnant and that in January I would do this for real. I felt robbed.

We needed to name her so everyone left the room and Keenan and I deliberated. We chose "Sloane" off of our list because it means "strong" and we knew our little girl was going to have to fight. I chose "Jillian" off the middle name list because it's a part of my mom's name (Jill) and my mom is the strongest fighter I know.

I walked down to NICU, Agnes wanted to wheel me, but there was no reason to, my legs were fine. Only Keenan and I were allowed in, and they already had her hooked up to what seemed to be every machine in the place and they told us we couldn't touch her yet, she was laboring too hard to breathe and they didn't want us to stress her out. I bawled like I never have, even though no sound was coming out, I didn't want her to hear me crying. They put me in a wheelchair and wheeled us back to the room. They put us in the tiniest room, because they knew. They knew we wouldn't have the baby with us, that we wouldn't have joyful visitors. It would just be me, Keenan, and a hospital issued breastpump.

Luckily Sloane got off to a great start passing all of her tests. I finally got to hold her briefly on Wednesday. It still didn't feel real. Keenan got to hold her on Day 3. I relished pumping every 3 hours and taking it down to the NICU because it was the only thing I could do for my baby, even though it was exhausting. Otherwise I just had to sit and watch her, and try not to fall apart (which was increasingly difficult).

Every night we went back to our room, next door we would hear other parent's babies cry and people visiting and bringing gifts. For a big city hospital, this is a crappy set-up. The NICU parents should be close to the NICU and far away from all the parents who get to room-in with their baby.

Finally on Saturday afternoon Sloane passed her last required hospital test (a stress test where she had to sit in her car seat for an hour hooked up to the monitors, she slept through it, with perfect 02 saturation!). The doctor came and finally we got to take our baby home, our baby could officially meet other people, be held and be disconnected to all of her wires. We were very blessed to be able to leave after only 5 days. We are lucky that there was not much really wrong with Sloane, they just wanted to monitor her, make sure she didn't have an infection, make sure that her "grunt" went away and make sure she was able to gain weight.

As for me I am still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that the pregnancy is over and Sloane is already here- we love her to pieces even though she chose a time that means that I am doing all of this on my own-- my mother cannot come and stay until after my sister is out of the hospital, and Sloane is too small to travel for Christmas, Keenan's family isn't involved to the point of wanting to help me, and I needed to work the last few weeks to bank up more maternity leave, sucks that an entire week of "maternity leave" was spent in isolation in the hospital, luckily I have a few great friends who are able to help out a little. Otherwise we will just keep taking it minute by minute, there's not much point in trying to plan beyond that.


title courtesy of the barenaked ladies: what a good boy

take a message to your head.

Happy 2nd Birthday Tiernan!



Last weekend was so lovely, full of all the things I love- cozy little parties, my family, my bff Bre & Maxx, watching Tay dance, KW wins, my nephew turned 2, McDaniels was fired, and my mom made cake!

I thought I was moving along the to-do list slowly, then I got sick and I realized I could be even slower. It's just a cold, all I need is rest (and massive amounts of fluid, and Mucinex). This is a problem: I think I could win an award for the "worst rest-er". I have always been like this-- never wanting to "waste" a minute, it's worse now. With every labor-prep my body makes (and there are a lot of little things no one tells you, and I am not going to start- because frankly, some of them are gross) my mind revvs up even more.

Luckily I've been sipping on an entire gallon of "red hot tea" one of my grammy's best recipes for sore throats (it's essentially water, red hot candies, orange juice and lemonade concentrate, and you drink it hot, oh so soothing). It seems a bit cruel that the only mug that was clean this morning was the one that says "Irish Coffee" on it, which only makes me crave a good Baileys and cocoa and maybe a bloody Mary even more. Sigh. Such is life.

Also looking forward to this weekend, having a shower with my girlfriends from high school and then God bless them one and all, they are coming over to help me assemble my nursery. That's such a breath of oxygen (the kind I used to be able to get to fill up my whole right and left lungs before my lungs were squished to the size of a small asthmatic cat).

I did however get a few things crossed off the to-do list this week. Insurance is a go! (major heart attack avoided) Thank-you notes are half-way done, Holiday cards are out, and half of lima's little 0-3 month clothes and blankies and towels are laundered.

Hopefully after this weekend I can check a few more things off the list. Stay put a little longer little girl!

title courtesy of the Counting Crows: Almost any Sunday morning

She memorized every pencil color crayon in the box, her blue green eyes compliment the burnt-sienna in her locks

So there I was plodding along through the third trimester making cute little lists and doing about a quarter task a day when I went to the doctor last Thursday at merely 33 weeks of the 40-ish week journey.

She says I am going to check you...(insert awkward silence). She checks me and then, the number one sweetest thing about my doctor ever (maybe they all do this, but when mine does it I warm on the inside) she extends her hand to me to help me to sit up from my lying down position. As I sat up she says "Wow!, baby is head down and ....blah blah blah (details I promised as a non-pregnant person I would never allow in social media)." The gist of this baby is making her way quickly & she says she will try to stop labor if it happens before my next appointment (Dec 17th) but anytime after that is fine! My next appointment finds me at 36 weeks which means thundercats can be a go!

Of course as soon as I got home I made an exhaustive list of EVERYTHING I need to get going on (and fast). And before I got home I talked to my daughter. It went something like this..."I love to be early too, but could you at least wait until my mom gets back from Hawaii? And if you are still cozy after that consider waiting until after Christmas. I would hate for you to grow up pissed that your birthday is overshadowed every year by our biggest national holiday." And then I promised her she could listen to the Justin Bieber song "baby" (which makes her dance like no tomorrow) everyday at least twice on our commute. I have held up my part of the bargain (and she has too) so far.

It's not like I am not extremely uncomfortable and totally sick of myself. I am. My nighttime routine includes too many high-maitenance items to list (but here are a few: no less than 9 pillows to build a fortress around my whole preggers body & keep me at a 85 degree angle, breathe right nosestrips, water bottles, tums, chapstick, remote control, box of kleenex, etc etc etc ad frigging nauseum).

But...I feel like she can't come, at least until my nursery looks like something featured on Apartment Therapy :Ohdeedoh and until my health insurance is figured out (yay for my company switching insurance carriers in December!)

Until then stay put little lima bean. (Also I have been promised a chocolate fountain at my baby shower on Saturday, I'd like to not be in labor so I can enjoy that to the fullest).

Speaking of showers the lucky lima bean scored more swag this weekend, including a totally frivolous (but completely gorgeous) Vera Bradley baby bag. But my favorite thing to date was the guest book that my bff made, people wrote notes to me and lima and they are seriously the sweetest notes ever, can't wait for her to be old enough to appreciate how much people loved her even when she was a mere fetus. I am overwhelmed by people's sweetness and generosity.

From today's installment of the To-Do list...I will try to figure out my health insurance, get the paper to line the dresser drawers, and buy stamps for the thank you notes and holiday cards. Anything else I get done is a bonus!


title courtesy of the barenaked ladies: life in a nutshell

it's all about the wordplay

1:11 am, watching Hoarders quietly so as not to wake Keenan, propped up on 19 pillows so to sleep at a 85 degree angle, I have my first non-baby related thought in weeks!

I attended a conference on hoarding a few years ago in Wichita Kansas. It was an especially enlightening psychological conference. I did not learn much in grad school regarding hoarding but after 2 full days of lectures and workshops I felt much more informed. Since then there is a series on A&E called Hoarders. I was watching two episodes last night (thank-you heartburn and insomnia) and noticed that in all four of the case studies a similar sense of anxiety from the trucks that came to help clear the hoard.



All four of the cases the individual who hoards had a visceral reaction to the word "JUNK" hugely written on the fleet of trucks sent to "help" them. Of course, you may see junk as a slang term or even a term of endearment for a voluptuous backside. But it is clear that people do not want their things (even if it's old food and every newspaper since 1961) called "JUNK", or their whole neighborhood seeing that they have 17 truckloads of "JUNK".

I understand that this is advertising with this company, however the clinical psychologists who attend these interventions must have the knowledge that a truck with no words at all on it may be a better suited idea, after all the individual who hoards is usually in crisis during the part of the intervention where the things are put onto the truck.

My point is: words matter. Connotations matter. These people are in crisis, please help them by being sensitive to this.

*Neither here or there for this post but also I doubt many of these interventions work just like an addiction, or any other behavior pattern hoarding takes a long time to change and it is unlikely this is accomplished in only a few days and then kept up.

title courtesy of Jason Mraz: Wordplay
an

You call me a mountain...I call you the sea

Just thinking today about naming...this seems to be the hottest button issue. EVERYONE asks what her name will be (shortly after they ask the due date and the sex of the baby).

We have a short list of names we like, but I am unable to commit yet. I am not just being secretive.

Although if I was only fictionally pregnant I would name her from this list...

Scout (like Miss Jean Louise's nickname from my favorite book To Kill A Mockingbird)-- In real life people will tell you this is a dog's name

Lux (like Lux Lisbon of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides) Lux in real life falls into the "a little TOO strange for the gals I run with" category. Also it may be in bad form to name her deliberately after a fictional girl who commits suicide.

Bette (like Bette Davis, consummate actress of my favorite era) Alice is back on trend again, why not? sigh... Keenan is just not big on Bette.

Greer (like Greer Garson, another actress) although somewhat unisex sounding and uncommon, Greer does rhyme with "rear" and I thought that might be setting her up for all sorts of easy distasteful sex jokes...at least with the real names we have on the list kids have to get a little more creative.

Sylvia (like Ms. Plath) we could call her "Sylvie" but alas, again a little too dark of a namesake.

On to other things that people seem to ask about a lot...the nursery colors/theme/progress...Here is a pic of the crib skirt fabric and the spindles of the crib (those were quite impossible to spray paint and quite tedious to brush paint, thank goodness for my friends). The colors are maybe not totally "true" but they are close. I also have a totally fun large plum colored shag area rug and have lots of yellow accents.

Lima bean is apparently already spoiled...case in point-- she is having a total of 5 baby showers. It's a bit ridiculous (I'm kind of embarrassed to tell people), but also makes me feel incredibly blessed and special. Here is her swag from the shower held at work. She also got the cutest book shelf that looks like a dollhouse (to hold that huge stack of books she got). She is now 3 showers in and has 2 left to go and I need to get all of her loot washed, assembled, organized and thank you notes written (I've got to keep up with Emily Post).

Much to my chagrin most of my posts are about my impending motherhood, in fact there is not much else to them. I struggle now to make a rational non-baby thought. I try to keep up with the political climate but it leaves me depressed. Sigh, back to my "to do list". One day my brain will return, right?

title courtesy of Ingrid Michealson

let's make peace tonight

This is the home stretch and it is time to pull it together.

Having all the nursery furniture acquired (by my Craigslist maven of a friend Whitney) and painted (by my guerilla girlfriends who aren't afraid to spend a whole Sunday in the DIY-trenches with me Whitney and Kate) and delivered (by Whitney and her mom always-posh and polished Paula) and then sealed (by myself and lima bean's daddy) and then assembled (by daddy as it is apparently the rite of passage to fatherhood) has greatly decreased my anxiety and makes me happy. I like walking by the nursery and seeing that my little girl has a space in this world (and not just in my body).

I am trying not to compare myself or my pregnancy to anything else before it or around it and when the depression comes I try to just recognize it, own it and realize that my feelings are valid, and that I not only don't have to do things like everyone else does, I don't have to want to do them either (this does not mean I have 2 heads or will be a horrible mom).

Things to do before the lima bean makes her arrival:

• pre-register at the hospital
• make a playlist for the ipod and pack bags (mine, k's and lima bean's)
• write thank you notes for all the generous friends and family we have
• purchase a car seat/travel system & get it installed
• finish the nursery
• choose a name and a middle name (can be done upon arrival)
• finish the first reading of Alice in Wonderland (we are about 3/4 of the way through it)
• achieve a society that has no wage gap, rape or domestic violence

Now for the sublist...nursery

• attach drawer pulls to the dresser
• paint the nightstand (it's not quite the same creamy white as the other pieces)
• DIY the lampshade
• acquire perfect shade of green paint to paint the mirror
• finish poly-ing the crib (I missed a couple spots)
• DIY some art, hang said art
• DIY crib skirt via tutorial on Young House Love
• figure out storage solutions
• wash clothing 0-3mos and put 6mos-2T into storage bins
• organize closet
• hang shelves
• finish DIY mobile
• secure changing pad to the dresser

title courtesy of the indigo girls: let's make peace tonight

here comes that feeling again

If I could sum up my pregnancy thus far in one word it would be: "inadequate", as in nothing has ever made me feel so inadequate in my entire lifetime. Which scares me that parenthood will follow suit.

I would search for ways to feel better, enjoy this more, and empower myself, but frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. I am too sick with migraines, exhausted from insomnia and depressed with life in general to bother.

It seems when I do try (by doing things like prenatal classes and yoga, and reading mommyblogs and looking for things for the nursery and registering for baby swag, trying to come up with a name) I become more disenchanted and feel even more inadequate.

At least I have Keenan. He is growing more and more excited. God bless him.

title courtesy of the counting crows

a lot of oysters but no pearls...

I love following this blog.

My blog doesn't have a huge readership to get me noticed and is inconsistent, unfocused and boring: but if not...I would be certainly chosen as a "Curmudgeon of the Week". I just know it.

So I decided to fill out my own interview, in preparation for my unlikely 15-minutes of blogger fame.

When did you first self-identify as a curmudgeon? As a very young child (2) I requested an "Oscar the Grouch" birthday cake and theme party (screw you cookie monster!) I also told my mom that my favorite muppets were the critics: Waldorf and Statler.

Who’s the curmudgeon (living or dead, historical or contemporary) you relate to most? Sylvia Plath.

What do you hate that other people inexplicably love?
*Happy endings in film/theatre
*Things being "wrapped up neatly"
*Receiving gifts

You are Dante. What, in order from least to most excruciating, are your nine circles of hell?

1. A dinner party in the book The Stepford Wives, where they are serving chutney.

2. Stuck with people who think they are either funny/smart/or witty when they use the word "retard" or "retarded"

3. Sitting next to a baby/toddler/kid on a plane whose parents haven't heard about or are somehow morally above the safe use of Benadryl.

4. Trying to make a logical argument on the set of The View.

5. Having to call tech support at our cable company.

6. Being on an endless elevator with a chatty person who smells like vanilla & fish.

7. Slow-developing-dementia.

8. Living in a world where a woman's (girl's) shameless exploitation of her body is worth more than the contents of her brain (that's right we already live in the 8th circle of hell).

9. The nation actually elects Sarah Palin and thus she ruins positions of power for women for the next 60 years, thus making her the only female president I see elected in my lifetime.

If you had the power to sign into law an amendment prohibiting a specific human behavior what would you outlaw? It is a tie between displaying a hanging set of "testicles" on the back of your oh-so-masculine vehicle and wearing a Southern Flag on your person (i.e. tattoo, belt-buckle, sleevless t-shirt). Maybe I can piggy-back one onto the other and make them into one law.

Let's lighten up. What makes you all warm and fuzzy inside? (Your heart can’t be COMPLETELY charred.) I think my siblings are pretty awesome people.

What's your favorite curse word/phrase? "Murderation" or "Murder!". Although it isn't a curse word it always stops people around, which is more effective than the old standards.

lyrics by fellow depressed curmudgeon: Adam Duritz, A Long December

deep greens and blues are the colors I choose, won't you let me go down in my dreams

Nesting is in full swing.

image foundhere

The bloggers who have created my current favorite nursery ever for their baby Violet are having a giveaway for etsy custom designed crib bedding. Sigh. I will probably have to keep shopping consignment and yard sales, but a girl can dream right?

Title courtesy of James Taylor: Sweet Baby James

words are not enough to tell you of our love, so listen to our hearts

I was watching the View a few months ago and Vanessa Redgrave was on talking about the death of her sister Lynn Redgrave and the loss of her daughter Natasha Richardson. It was so apparent that she was in the throws of life and they asked her how she was doing and she said she was "grieving and glorying"

When you lost people you absolutely love and adore, you're both glorying and you're grieving," Redgrave said. "You're grieving because you haven't got them anymore and you're glorying because you're taking in what a gift each of them was."

This concept stuck with me. Because the more I age the more I realize how loss is a part of gain. Death is intregal to life. It seems like a simple concept, although feeling it is not simple.

I feel that I am in the midst of much grieving and glorying.

I tearfully said goodbye to my grandpa on Monday evening Aug 24. I am ever thankful that I have gotten to have "last" conversations with both him and my grammy G whom I lost last year. 30 years of memories were washing over me and I have decided that 30 years doesn't make it any easier or more comforting. It hurts to know that for 30 years you've had his ear and quiet raspy advice and now that part of your life is gone.

I rushed back to Kansas City for my ultrasound on Tuesday morning Aug 25th where Keenan and I learned, joyfully, that we are having a baby girl. I imagine that if my grandpa could have spoken at the time we found out, he would have said "well I'll declare!"

The next afternoon my grandpa earned his rest from fighting cancer.

Eldon A. Rietzke

Eldon Arnold Rietzke, 89, of Salina, went to be with his Lord on the afternoon of Wednesday, Aug. 25, 2010. He was born July 16, 1921, in Kensington, the son of Charles and Mathilde Rietzke. The youngest of seven children, he was raised on the family farm near Kensington.

In 1939, Eldon graduated from Agra High School. He then earned a degree in education from Fort Hays State College in Hays and taught for three years at Norton School, a one-room school in rural Smith County. He later owned Rietzke Supermarket & Dry Goods in Kensington for 30 years, where he was known as the best butcher in town.

Eldon fell in love with a beautiful girl he met on a blind date, Dorene Prior. The two were married in 1950 at the Hutchinson Church of Christ by H.W. Prior, Dorene's father. They were blessed with three children, Tim, Tracy and Jill.

Following a move to Salina, Eldon continued as a butcher at Beverly's Meat Market and Waymire's Meat Market for many years. His most recent job was with Nabisco.

Eldon, along with his wife, Dorene, raised his children with strong Christian values. He was baptized in September of 1980 and humbly served as a deacon at Salina Church of Christ. Eldon loved his family, the church, gardening, golf, bowling and sports. He loved being with his children and grandchildren and watching all of their activities.

Eldon was preceded in death by his parents, three brothers and three sisters.

He is survived by his wife of 60 years, Dorene; two sons and daughters-in-law, Tim and Marilyn, of Coldwater, and Tracy and Cindy, of Kansas City, Kan.; a daughter and son-in-law, Jill and Randy, of Mentor; 11 grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren.

After the funeral was over and I came back to Kansas City, I got joyful news again Weds Sept 1st my nephew Kolten Paul came into the world healthy and happy!

Grieving and glorying...onward.

and the good girls are home with broken hearts

Great weekend...a few yard sales, farmers market, lots of sleep and one scrapbooking page. The best part of the weekend was having my work phone OFF all weekend long. Must get busy packing this week...moving the last weekend of August into a cute little house a couple neighborhoods from the one I live in now.

Luckily I won't have to lift a single box.



lyrics courtesy of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers: Free Falling

it's a big enough umbrella, but it's always me that ends up getting wet

Interestingly, I was on my way to pay my car payment last night after work, in rush hour, when my car went haywire and quit. It is not fun to stand on the side of the interstate highway waiting for the tow truck for two hours normally. It sucks worse when it is 100 degrees outside and 5pm. It sucks the worst when you are also pregnant.

Of course it was Keenan's opening night for HEAD (Cheers!) so he couldn't help me. My Sprint Roadside Rescue is worth it's weight in gold to me (Seriously, if you drive a used car, or if you have luck like mine, you must have it).

At least the baby is learning early what an independent mama s/he has.

And although tempted I never cried (my bank account will surely cry later).

It's so funny no matter what breaks how you envitabley think "but it was just working."

Of course I spent the rest of the night sick from the heat. Today needs to be better, I spent most of the night praying it will be.

title courtesy of The Police: Every little thing she does is magic

when I'm at the pearly gates, this will be on my videotape...

The following blog post was mandated...by my friends, turns out I cannot avoid peer pressure. I think they like to come here as a distraction and are probably wondering how I will tell the blog world that my life is taking a turn...

Vanessa: Your parents are probably worried about you.

Juno: Nah. I mean I'm already pregnant so what other kind of shenanigans can I get into?

I'm due January 17th. I have conducted some highly scientific tests for gender. The chinese calendar says boy. Keenan says boy. My mama says girl. Heartbeat counts say girl. Taylor says boy. So majority says boy. So far sea monkey is a definite possibility. As long as said sea monkey cooperates we will know on August 23rd.

However, please do not stop coming to my blog for fear that I will only speak "mommy" from now on. That stuff is personal (and sometimes gross- seriously people update their facebook statuses with their dilation centimeters, um yuck), I don't like reading it and so I don't want to write it for everyone either. The blog will still be ramblings and prayers and shout outs to my friends and family with all the thrift store goodies, feminism and activism for individuals with disabilities I can randomly sprinkle in.

Because I doubt you really want to hear about all the vomiting and irritability and migraines almost every night. Or how brands matter in things like prenatal vitamins (boring) or how even a cynic like me melts at hearing the heartbeat (gush).

Also I don't want to post this stuff because inevitably this welcomes comments from well-meaning, and sweet people who just want to help/tell me A) the worst horror stories about pregnancy ever or B) Things I have found are NOT true for me and tend to depress me even more. To which I concur...ignorance is bliss.

I promise I am going to try to be more fun later, if this whole "the 2nd trimester is so wonderful" thing isn't another pregnancy urban legend.

title courtesy of Radiohead: Videotape

if you're gonna walk on water, could you drop a line my way?

water babies Tiernan & Brielle

Hoping to get creative for awhile today. Need to get to scrapping. Moving on August 31st, so packing will begin soon and I know I will feel an itch once everything is packed up. Also should sort through the crafty-things. So many ideas so little time (err...motivation).

If only I had this much energy...


title courtesy of the song Omaha, by the Counting Crows..which is inspired by my dear friend and her dear husband who are soon relocating from Omaha to become Kansas Citians (I could not be happier!)

there's a paradox in every paradigm

I DVR The View. I know the show has it's problems. But I DVR this because it's frankly exciting that I can watch 4-5 women of different ages discuss current events as well as more trivial things. I frequently become disenchanted with the show, as one does with any opinion-show. But lately it seems like too much to keep bottled up. So here it is...

an open letter to The View

I DVR The View each day. But lately I've become disenchanted with what I can only assume is hypocrisy. It seems that "cheating spouses" has been a Hot Topic for ages, recently it's blown up with politicians, celebs and Tiger.

The View tries to have variety in the co hosts, to prompt good discussion, different viewpoints and for the audience to have "their own" co host to relate to. What makes me feel terrible as a woman is that in the midst of this "Hot Topic" it seems that the co hosts are quick to forgive men involved in infidelity but continue to roast the women involved.

Joy's comment about one of Tiger's mistresses (a little word-play with her last name) was funny however when you juxtapose it with the fact that not that many weeks later co hosts gather on the couch oohing and ahhing over Mike Tyson (a convicted rapist, and a man who admits the best punch he's ever landed was off of Robin Givens face).

Also the co hosts were unanimously disgusted (save Barbara, who hasn't been on every time Rielle's brought up) with Rielle Hunter's photo shoot ala Risky Business meets the Muppet's, as well as her involvement with a married man. But then Sherri Shepard (who seems to herself be hurt by infidelity) chooses to don a Kobe Bryant jersey the week of the NBA playoffs (clip).

I am not saying you can't preach against infidelity and cheer for the Lakers, but wearing Kobe's jersey on national TV may be a bit hypocritical.

What I am missing on The View is someone who is unabashedly pro-woman. I am not saying that women cannot ever be boneheads (Whoopi uses this term as an ungendered description of stupidity) but someone who might say to Sherri "What's up with the Kobe jersey?" Or someone who seems a little less enchanted with guests like Mike Tyson and Snoop Dogg (the man who's lyrics proclaim women as "bitches" and "hos" who calls himself a "pimp" and penned lyrics like: "Shootin' the breeze, with a cute Vietnamese/or was she Lebanese? I think she Chinese/It really don't matter cause they all on they knees": The Last Meal.

Unabashedly for women...another problem with this is that when 2 co hosts are out (Barbara for health reasons and Whoopi to make a movie) The View decides it will go "out on a limb" and invite male moderators?!? How I ask, is that controversial? Many of these men already have their own public forums. Plus you took a show that was about women's conversations and let the males moderate it?

C'mon The View, go out on a real limb and hire a woman for women. Help us have a show that shows our little girls that we are not our own worst enemy. (Sisterhood is powerful you know)

title courtesy of ani difranco: paradigm

you light up my life

I wanna try this DIY- there's no sewing required!

also...happy birthday to my little sister. i think this pic captures her true essence. xox

title courtesy of debbie boone: you light up my life

here comes that feeling again.

same.time.next.year

Time for my annual love affair with a tennis tournament.. and after Venus looking completely silly at the french open...I say this was silly because you can claim "woman power" all you want, but this outfit was "sexy" as defined by the male-gaze.

I think Venus is sexy when she aces a serve going 128mph. Why can't a female athlete be sexy without resorting to nude-shorts and black lace lingerie? If she isn't prancing around in things like this she gets called "mannish". There is a problem with this, this is not the kind of thing I want my future child to witness. A woman can be sexy and shoot a heck of a 3-ball. She can be sexy and turn double plays and throw a fastball. She can be sexy and fight for a rebound.

Then there are those people who will argue that Venus' outfits are her art. Ok, I guess I don't have a counter-point.

Bring on Wimbledon, Venus you will look sexy, powerful and great in the strict-Brit-dress-code.
(Oh and Andy, so will you) Go USA Tennis!

title courtesy of Counting Crows from song of the same name

something about an angel just kills me

I am trying to get back into the swing of blogging. But I feel like there is nothing to say. So I thought I would talk about someone other than myself.

So here is one of the two shows Keenan is involved in this summer. Starting next week he will be in rehearsal from 9am-10pm everyday except Monday. It will be a little lonely for me.

He plays various charcters but here is one of the public shots of one of his costumes: the free range chicken

title courtesy of the Counting Crows: Chelsea

rainy days and Mondays

This is my perpetual calendar. My working gal friend Josie bought it for me recently to perk me up. It helps, mostly because you can turn a little dial for the weather for the day. I like that.

title from The Carpenters song of the same name
on my desk

don't wake me, 'cause I was dreaming.

Every spring, near the end, I begin to crave this book. I have read it every year since my junior year of high school. My dad reads it every spring as well. There's something about the story that sticks with you, haunts you (in a non-creepy fashion). I can't help it, I need this jazz-age sad story every spring.

"It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment."The Great Gatsby

title courtesy of the Counting Crows: Miller's Angels

a memory so clear it's as if you're still before me

Of all the money that ere I had, I spent it in good company.
And of all the harm that ere I've done, alas was done to none but me.
And all I've done for want of wit, to mem'ry now I cannot recall.
So fill me to the parting glass. Goodnight and joy be with you all.

Of all the comrades that ere I had, they're sorry for my going away,
And all the sweethearts that ere I had , would wish me one more day to stay,
But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise while you should not,
I will gently rise and I'll softly call: "Goodnight and joy be with you all" -The Parting Glass

Every narrative has a backstory. Last Friday I attended a funeral for someone with whom I had quite a backstory.

Fare thee well my bright star, I watched your taillights blaze into nothingness - E. Sailers

This is from something I wrote four years ago...

On December the 5th (which was a Wednesday) 2000 my boyfriend got into a car accident...that claimed our relationship and his old life...

I was almost 21 and he was 19.

Dustin was effortless. He was fluid. Everyone wanted to be his friend. He made you feel like you were the only one in the world when he was talking to you. And he was caustically funny.

Not only people loved him, the stage loved him as well. He was an amazing actor, I remember the first time I saw him onstage. He was 16 and I was 19 & in-love. He was the lead (Eugene) in Brighton Beach Memoirs...lines upon lines upon lines, flawless delivery-ultimate believability.

I told him later once we began dating, in a way that I thought was sweepingly romantic that I had fallen in love with him that night. I was expecting him to say something equally romantic. Instead he said quietly in my ear “pervert”.

He had a way.

He had a ton of friends. He was always on his cell phone. He was gorgeous and attentive and fun as hell. One time we got lost on our way home from a play at Emporia State, we ended up in a small town in KS neither of us had been to. He gets out of the car and goes into a local bingo hall, not to ask directions, but to get a little old lady to take our picture, because we'd “never been to Olpe Kansas before.”

The night he planned to come and see me I was in a bad mood. I was stressed because it was almost finals and Dustin never took schoolwork seriously. He just wanted to spread his arms and fly.

He habitually drove too fast, because he was always a few minutes late. And his skin was always a few degrees warmer than mine. He ran hot.

He didn't have an ID...this was because a year back he had tried to make it into a fake ID and failed, so the hologram busted the whole ID. So he had never gotten around to getting a new DL. I had left my wallet in his car over Thanksgiving break. I left it on the floorboard of the passenger side of his white brand new Honda Accord. It was my black K-State bi-fold wallet.

He was just going to drive the hour drive to see me, spend the night, and return my wallet. Even though I was grouchy when he called, he told me that he wanted to see me, told me he loved me and would see me soon. He was on the road.

My exit is #303. He called me on his cell phone. He was at exit #277. That was the last time he talked to me. He said it was beginning to snow and was getting slick. I said “slow down” he said “Chill babe, love you”. I fell asleep waiting for him (this seems strange to me now, now that I am riddled by anxiety when anyone I care about is late to anything).

I woke up to the phone. It was late. I thought "here he is telling me he ran into a friend at the gas station in town and he'll be over in a bit." it was Srgt. Burgess of the highway patrol. He told me that they'd found an unidentified accident victim with my ID, did I know who it was. His accident was at exit 295. I said "is he okay?" Srg. Burgess said he didn't know, but it was the way he said it that told me another story.

Numb. I answered questions on auto-pilot, told them how to get a hold of Glen, told them his birthdate, and his name. I called my 2 best gf's, Amanda and Jessica that went to school with me. They drove me to exit 295, to the hospital that Dustin was at. I called my parents. They came to get me, to take me half way across the state where they would be air-lifting my boyfriend to. He wasn't conscious. He was in awful shape. He might not live.

They gave me Valium.

I cried to a respiratory tech who was about 25 years old with a tongue ring until he finally let me see him just for a second, he told me I could walk beside him to the helicopter. He was wrapped up in a bright blue sleeping bag. That was the last time I saw him...him when he looked like "himself". I tried not to cry. I told him that I loved him. I remember telling him that they had him locked up tighter than a government secret. I told him he'd be okay.

They gave me a bag. It had his clothes, they were a mess and had been cut off of him. He was wearing the outfit I'd given him for his birthday exactly a month prior. It also had his wallet and his cell phone.

Even to this day, I think about that. He listened to his grouchy girlfriend, put on the outfit she just bought him and went to cheer her up, spend a little bit of time with her. This to me is sweepingly romantic. And unfortunately poignant.

My step-dad took me home to Salina. My mom then drove me to Wichita. I skipped my final exams. I have my one and only ‘F’ of my educational career for that experience. When I was asked about this grade in the grad school interview I thought it sounded to bizarre to explain, so I just lied and said someone in my family died. It didn’t sound real to me and I lived it.

They kept me sedated. Not so sedate that I didn't cry though. There were many tears. I just wanted him to wake up.

He had traumatic brain injury, he had broken bones, a collapsed lung, a rupturing spleen....cuts bruises. He wasn't wearing his seatbelt. I was irate when I was informed of this, then I realized the futility of being angry.

Surgeries...surgeries....almosts and not quites. He was in a medical induced coma for 3 months...and then he didn't wake up for 3 more. When he did wake up he couldn't speak, or walk...or remember.

I stayed in Wichita until spring semester started, and after that I would drive up nearly every weekend and stay until I had to return for class (I only took 2 classes that sememster and they were both on Tuesday and Thursday). Finally they could move him from SICU to the regular floor, it was bliss because we could visit him more. And it meant he was getting better. I just wanted him to wake up.

Before he really did wake up he was in this half-awake state. He was agitated. He lost tons of weight. He would lay in his hospital bed and thrash violently from side to side. He looked skinny and awful and blank.

They told me he'd never really wake up. There was a speech pathologist who came in briefly one day (very briefly) when he was in this quasi-conscious state. The SLP came up to his gaze and told him to say "ahhh". Dustin did not respond. He tried a few more vowel sound instructions. Dustin did not respond. Then he promptly announced in front of his patient, myself and Dustin's father Glen: "He cannot speak."

I was an undergraduate student majoring in Speech Pathology. I had just taken Anatomy of the Speech Mechanism. My free time in college was spent in the speech lab watching therapists work with stroke victims and kiddos with speech problems. I knew from all of that, that vowel sounds are some of the most complex sounds. I told both Dustin and Glen that the guy was ridiculous.

So for days and days I worked with Dustin. Glen would sit in the back of the room and read. His mom would comb his hair and I would work with him to move his lips. One weekend when Glen was at the corner of the room in the easy chair I was working Dustin again. He might have been annoyed that I would never leave him alone, but that day he mouthed "I love you" clear as daylight to me. Our hearts began to swell with hope and joy. And again, they moved him. This time to a rehabilitation center. This really meant he was getting better!

Dustin woke up, for real at spring break of that year of college. He could talk. He remembered bits and pieces of everything. He remembered me, he gathered that I was his girlfriend, that I loved him...He couldn't remember "us" though, not really.

He had trouble with his short term memory. I'd leave the room to go to the bathroom and have to retell him everything. He was depressed, emotional and unsure of himself. He couldn't remember me, at least not as his girlfriend. One day he asked me "Did I love you?" Nothing has ever stung like that.

When someone dies you know right away, when a part of someone dies it's different. There was this person, living in my boyfriend’s body, with his voice...and yet I didn't know him and he didn't know me. And I didn't know what to do with that.

And so it is. It was the worst feeling I've ever had to break off the relationship. And all this time I have not wanted to fall in love quite like that again.

And I feel guilty. I feel like it's my fault. Still after 6 years. I am so sad and feel so responsible. Even though it's illogical. Even though I would tell my own client that it wasn't their fault. I didn't make him come, in fact I asked him not to. I didn't make it snow.

I hate that our relationship became defined by the accident. There was so much joy before that. He called me “sweets”. He was basically wonderful. We loved each other. He taught me more than I can put into words and he introduced some wonderful people into my life.

fare thee well my bright star
the vanity of youth the color of your eyes
maybe if I'd fanned the blazing fire of your day to day
or if I'd been older I'd been wise - E. Sailers

After the funeral I couldn't bear to change clothes, because I had the strongest urge to drive to Wichita to a hospital. I was stuck in a moment, but I was in the wrong place. It was 1 am before I got the feeling to subside, but only for awhile. It all feels wrong.

Part of what helped me a little was to hear wonderful things about Dustin. He went back to acting, only 3 years after his accident. He also found love and got married. This truly made me happy. So when I heard through the social networking grapevine that he was struggling with depression and then that he had taken his life it seems like it had to be someone else. That once again, he will wake up and beat the odds. One breath after I think that, I realize it's not true this time. It's also as though I don't know what is present and what is past at times.

So I found myself at a funeral for a man, who in part, I had lost almost 10 years ago. I found myself wondering that if I let myself feel my feelings I would be somehow invalidating other people's feelings. Or that I was in someway invalidating his last 10 years.

It wasn't that at all, it is all valid. For each of us, no matter what part of Dustin we loved: the before, the after, the inbetween, and now. So instead of fretting I am trying hard to remember all the times he told me to relax. I am trying hard not to apologize for feeling this way. I am trying hard.

fare thee well my bright star
it was a brief brilliant miracle dive
that which I looked up to and I clung to for dear life
had to burn itself up just to make itself alive
I caught you then in your moment of glory
your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage
with a memory so clear it's as if you're still before me
my once in a lifetime star of an age - E. Sailers

If you read this all, whew... thank you (and you should rest your eyes for awhile & forgive my subject-verb agreement and possibly tenses of verbs), I needed to say it and this was the place I felt it was most appropriate.

title courtesy of the Indigo Girls: Fare thee well

and spaceboy I've missed you

"There is no easy way to the stars from the earth." Whitney Mutch

Dustin Stovall 11.5.81 ~ 5.1.10

title courtesy of the Smashing Pumpkins: Spaceboy

i get so weak

You should check out Category Stories & Design Dollies. You should play along.

Having a hard time letting go of work this weekend. Extra hard week this last week. 17 steps forward resulted in 99 steps backward.

Got some farm fresh eggs this weekend and am thinking a nice omelet might cure my distraction.

title courtesy of SWV (yep that group & this song): Weak

can't help myself, i love you and nobody else

My nephew Tiernan David, who I think looks exactly like his daddy Chance. In August (or September) I will have another nephew. I can't wait!

title courtesy of The Four Tops: I can't help myself

that's the way it goes, it'll all work out

For the current challenge at Design Dollies.

Photo is from my friend Kate's (the pretty one in the center with the blue eyes) 30th birthday in November. My friend Whitney & I are by her side, happy to be together.

The line in this song always makes me think of a few people I know with GORGEOUS blue eyes (especially Miss Kate, my Grandpa Garretson, my friend Jimmy). So the lyric was perfect for this layout.

title of post and layout courtesy of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers: It'll all work out

many a stormy wind shall blow, til Jack comes home again

If you haven't checked out the blog where these come from, you really should. They are so great.

Not looking forward to this weekend, like I was the last one (seeing all my friends, discovering the new "gen x" radio station, eating, drinking and being merry). Because this weekend is my weekend on-call (doom). Ugh. Hopefully it will be a quiet one. Still am hoping to catch some yard sales and to have a little time to read a book.

title courtesy of that sing-songy "Sailing, sailing" song from my sister's lullaby tape when we were kids

I'm only happy when it rains

this is the sweetest title for a print: the rains fell, the waters rose, and they continued dancing

title courtesy of Garbage: Only happy when it rains

and they say goldfish have no memory

Spring marks the return of YARD SALE SEASON! This is the Fiesta vase I got this weekend for a measly 4$. Isn't she lovely?

I also bought the board game Cranium (which was still in its shrink wrap from the store) for 50 cents. I have wanted the game but wanted it new, because used clay freaks me out a little.

For 4.50 I had a great little Saturday morning. I can't wait til next Saturday.

title courtesy of ani difranco: little plastic castle

Don't be afraid/I'm yours for goodness sake

the philly vacation
in a nyc cupcake shoppe
a little love note of my own...

title courtesy of Civalias: Surprise, Surprise

let's waste time chasing cars around our heads

I unearthed this note...and began thinking about the immortality of the love note (even after the love is gone). I tend to get rid of pictures, but notes find their way into a box of pictures, or stapled to the page of a journal. This one is one of my favorites.

"Dear Shannon, You were getting boring before I discovered all of your maddening imperfections that make you impossibly complex and unendingly intriguing."

I am pretty sure that now he just thinks I am a jerk. But the note still makes me smile a little.

Do you keep these little immortals, or get rid of all the evidence?

title courtesy of Snow Patrol: Chasing Cars

moonlight & love songs never out of date

What I am thinking about today:

"It didn't happen, that's why it's romantic. If it would have happened it just would have been life." paraphrased from an episode of The Good Wife

Further evidence that the above is true... IMDB lists the top 50 romance movies. The number 1 movie is Casablanca (SPOILER ALERT- they don't end up together). source

title courtesy of the theme song of Casablanca: As Time Goes By

the hook brings you back

I saw idea this on another blog recently, scrawled it down and thought I would use it to get me back into blogging again. Work is so busy it's hard to justify the time to get on here.

looking forward to: catching some more Royals games this season.

what I did yesterday: relaxed and watched some DVR'd shows & the Royals lose.

what I wish I could do: swim (although I am afraid to take lessons).

where I would like to travel: Nantucket.

something cute online today: Cute Owl Scrapbook

title courtesy of Blues Traveler, this song Hook samples Pachelbel's Canon in D. (This was a trivia question I got right when the girls of my fam prevailed over the boys of my fam 2 weekends ago)

broke into the old apartment

"When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other." Rob Sheffield: Love is a Mix Tape

A combination of things that brought this post up.

1. My friend at work told me that she is loaning me Love is a Mix Tape. She knows how I have a healthy respect for melancholy.

2. I got a new bookcase and am filling it up, when searching through books in boxes to add to the shelf I found my journals (1999-2007).

3. Keenan was at work and I was bored and began to read about my past from my past-POV.

When I read through my journals I realized that a blog just isn't the same. I have always kept a pen and paper journal and I loved to staple little bits of artwork, love notes, newspaper articles, horoscopes, fortune cookie fortunes, photos and song lyrics into them.

One of my journals has the backs of postcards and envelopes that are full of song lists for mix cds that I made my best friend Bre (during our long distance relationship).

Then I found it within the pages...a list, a rather comprehensive list of songs organized by relationship and time in my life. Break up anthems and love manifestos all in lyrical form...This is the kind of thing I love to look back on, and giggle. Did I really take everything so seriously? Yes.

So I decided to dedicate a post to it and a few weeks of the playlist to it.

"I want you to get into the deep beautiful melancholy of everything that's happened." Claire Coburn, Elizabethtown the film

title courtesy of Barenaked Ladies: The Old Apartment (it's on the playlist)

blue eyes on a saturday night

Glad I got to spend a little time in my hometown with some of my best girls this weekend (& my highschool sweetheart). This next few weeks of work is going to be murderous and I am going to have to revisit this weeknd in my mind quite a few times to get through it without greying my hair. (Is greying a word? Can it be used as a verb?)

It was really nice to spend some time where I come from. Things are quite different here in the bigger city, and although I love it here, I sometimes miss that hometown feeling.

title courtesy of Kenny Chesney: Back Where I Come From

Take me to the end so I can see the start

gonna see my gal pals this weekend!

Tomorrow I am doing drama therapy (my real career, I am a RDT)at a spring break camp for kiddos with Autism. I can hardly wait. We are going to do an adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are (by Maurice Sendak). The whole session is built around becoming your own "wild thing" and then performing the script at the end of the day. I can't wait for their parents to see what they can do!

Then I am driving my(new-to-me)car to my hometwon for some quality time with my mom and sister. Also I am having a girls day & night with my girlfriends from high school...it is Brandy's 30th. Can't wait to be together again!

I am just sure this weekend is going to go much too fast. And the next few weeks at work are going to be killer- I am moving a guy to the state hospital, moving a couple out of my home and a new couple in, and then a new guy in: lots of training and direct care are in store for me (lots of late nights and early mornings). In the long run this will be great, but in the short run it's going to be tricky.

Have a great weekend!

title courtesy of The Wailin' Jennys: Beautiful Dawn