Well, I'm in week 33 of my trek to become a mother. And I've learned a lot and haven't been surprised by much--other than the lack of stretch marks and the fact I STILL DO NOT FIT INTO MATERNITY CLOTHES.
But, I digress.
I went to the doc this AM and found out that all the kid's squirming over the past 48 hours wasn't for naught. She's head down. Let's just hope she doesn't twist herself around so she's going the wrong way. I'd like her to at least try to come out the right way.
So, I've been reflective lately. My father told me I ought to keep a journal of my journey through pregnancy. I did. It's mostly filled with I HATE MY LIFE! THIS SUCKS! WHY AM I DOING THIS!
And while I still think these things sometimes, there are times I think WHOO HOOO!
Those are few in far between, as I still dislike being pregnant. I just cannot get on board with the whole "this is wonderful" thing that some pregnant women feel. My mother told me, whilst I was trying to not throw up while sitting on the couch in the reading nook, she loved being pregnant.
I glared at her.
So, here's my take:
1. First Trimester just sucks. It is not fun. You will never convince me that first trimester is fun. You're hot, exhausted, sick, and you are usually in pain. What? Pain? What are you talking about? I'm talking about ligaments. They stretch out as your uterus grows and it freaking hurts. And it happens quite often first trimester. A few times it was worst than period cramps. Add on the fact you're throwing up randomly, it's just plum horrid. I hated first trimester and vowed, loudly and often, I was NEVER doing this again.
2. Second Trimester. This is supposed to be the honeymoon period where you're all glowing, pretty, and you get some of your energy back and you stop throwing up.
I didn't stop throwing up till I was midway through and I was still nauseous quite often till the final weeks. Also, you're growing larger. Well, you're supposed to be, but some of us don't grow like those models who sell maternity clothes. What I've discovered: no one sells stuff meant for second and first trimester no matter what they claim. By the time I hit second trimester, I had a very small bump thing that sat just above where most of my low ride jeans hung out. While I was perfectly find standing, once I sat down I wanted to rip my pants off and scream. Maternity tops were all very baggy in several areas: read the belly and chest. While I had shot up from a 34C to a 34DD, my boobs were still too small for my tops. (The story of my life. No matter how LARGE they get (I was a 34A till I was 21, then a 34B till I got married then grew to a 34C. Then, I got knocked up and shot up to a DD. And I STILL didn't fill out the top half of a shirt. Go figure?)
I began, though, to pee more like a normal person and less like a pregnant one. That was a positive thing, as going every freaking hour was getting to the point of annoyance at this point.
So, with a pants extender thing (which I'm still using BTW and I'm still on the smallest one they offer...which means I can't use the panels they suppled to hide your underwear when you can't get the zip up), I muddled my way through second trimester wearing mostly my pre-pregnancy clothing that was a bit looser cut to hide my belly.
Why was I hiding my bell?
I mostly looked like I was just fat, not pregnant. I lost my waist rather quickly, yet didn't really gain a bump till I was almost into my third trimester and I bloomed outwards. So, onward to Third Trimester.
3. They say after second trimester's wonderfulness, third is a bit harder.
Bit harder my butt.
I hit week 30 and everything went pear shaped.
First, when the kid decides she's going to grow, I feel like I'm going to die or something. It's like having a period without the blood. I get moody, want chocolate, and have this constant paint where my ligaments are expanding some more. Add on the baby earthquakes and sometimes I lay on my back (propped up on almost every single pillow we own, as being on your back as a pregnant woman is a bad thing due to blood pooling or something in your feet) and just wonder why I am doing this to myself. Don't let anyone tell you it's 'fun' to be pregnant. Yeah, I've gotten to buy new clothes, but I've also had to buy a butt load of bras, half of which no longer fit. (They NEVER stop growing.)
Granted, I knew this process was going to suck. I knew it going in, so I didn't go in blind. I learned all I could about pregnancy, birth, and all that jazz before Pilot Boy and I began trying. I quickly lost all delusions I'd ever had about pregnancy and embraced all the bad stuff, as I knew it'd all happen to me.
And for the most part it has.
Only, I never read anywhere, anyone having issues finding maternity clothes that fit them. Luckily, I know how to kind of sew, so I was able to save a few of the pairs of jeans I had bought thinking they'd fit by now. They don't. While the belly did expand (as I look pregnant now, though not as pregnant as I am, as no one believes me when I say I'm due on the 25th of April. I've lost track of the times I've heard I'm tiny), my hips didn't move. Are they just going to magically open up more in the next few weeks? God, I hope so, or else this kid might have issues trying to get out.
Third trimester you also start those birthing and prenatal classes. I've only done the prenatal classes, but it was the first time I was actually exposed to other pregnant women since I got myself knocked up. I've had nothing to judge myself against since I got pregnant, which of course made it hard to believe I was tiny.
I am tiny.
The women in my class are not HUGE women to begin with. They are average--just as I am. However, their bellies are HUGE compared to mine. The girl I spoke to last week before class began is due a little under two weeks before me, but looks to me like she could drop that kid any moment by her size. The other woman, whose due date I don't know passed some time in April, is also larger than me, yet likely smaller than me before she got pregnant. And sitting with these women, I feel tiny and not a huge boat I usually feel like. It's unnerving. Because I look at my belly now and think, "How the hell is there a 17 inch long baby weighing 4.5 lbs in there? How do you fit?"
I've got no idea how she fits, but clearly she does. And clearly she's getting ready to head on out, as I found out today she's facing downwards, facing the right direction to head on down out. (Though, nothing else in my body is saying she's going to show up anytime soon. Thank god.)
Oh, and the other thing that has gotten REALLY bad during third trimester: my brain.
I'm turning into my dad. I'm putting things in the pantry that belong in the fridge, things in the fridge that belong in the pantry, forgetting to do things like go to the bathroom (which sucks because when I finally go, I really have to go). Sometimes I forget to eat till my stomach roars at me. And I can't remember words for the life of me. I'll be talking and suddenly the word will just vanish. And forget about paying bills on time. I never know what day it is. Now, this wouldn't be too much of an issue if Pilot Boy had any room on his ice burg for mundane things like paying bills or remembering to do things around the house. However, those kind of things slip his mind like water through a colander. So, currently, it's amazing we get anything done as I'm the one who remembers things.
Well, I've once again forgot to eat lunch. And do a variety of other things I meant to do upon coming into my new study to work. (I was going to write the next installment of Don't Ever Change and maybe work on the Thor story I've been working on for the past four months since I've finally seen Thor: The Dark World. (And glad I didn't see in it the theater. I took five bathroom breaks.)
So, laters.
17 March 2014
07 February 2014
Back in the Day...
Recently, a childhood friend of mine posted an old school photo on Facebook.
I was utterly mortified. I looked like a complete idiot.
I was an adorable child. My parents will tell you this, other people might agree, and I will tell you this. However, around the age of about ten or eleven, I turned into a complete, awkward mess. I'm not sure if it had to do with getting glasses or what, but something happened between fourth and fifth grade. And it only got worst till I was a junior in high school. I still tended to take horrible photos, but I stopped looking so awkward and geeky. (Sometimes.) I also finally stopped hacking off my hair to channel a mushroom.
But I digress.
The photo posted on Facebook (or The Facebook as some people call it) was from fifth grade. Oddly, I was actually wearing my glasses (I tended to forget them till I was in about seventh grade when I finally became blind enough to be unable to function without them). I also, for some unknown reason, tucked my shirt into my high waisted jeans. I know, back in 1995, those were like the ONLY type of jeans out there, but still. WHY DID I TUCK MY SHIRT IN? Out of the seven or six girls in the photo, only two of us were sporting tucked in shirts. And since I was the short one with the tucked in shirt, tapered jeans, and granny boots, I looked like an awkward mess. Even for 1995.
With the exception of the girl who posted the photo and one other, each person (besides myself) commented on the photo how, well, horrible she looked. Each one thought she looked the worst, completely passing over myself. (Who did look the worst. My brother agreed.) The photo had been up for quite a few days before I realized that likely all of us were totally embarrassed (in a ha ha ha kind of way) of how we appeared as kids. For the most part, when I see photos of myself as a kid, I don't cringe at the clothes. Yeah, I look dated, but for the most part I think I look fine. It's not till I hit that awkward stage (around the time of the photo), where I want to crawl into a hole and hide.
Though, out of all the years, I think my junior high years were the worst. I remember thinking during those years I looked GREAT. My mom let me have more control over my wardrobe (in eighth grade she took me to Old Navy to buy clothes and I almost passed out, as she never took me to "cool" places to shop. I had to take my dad) and I had wire rimmed glasses (which at the time I thought were great and cool).
My hair kept getting shorter, the glasses kept getting geekier, and I had braces. And I am just awkward. I am still awkward. I just can dress and do my hair now. In high school, when I finally stopped trying to channel a mushroom, I finally stopped looking like a complete train wreck. By the time I went to college, I had "style."
Seriously.
I never thought I had my own style. I wanted to look like everyone else. I shopped at the "in" stores (especially after I got a license and a credit card). My hair was finally somewhat under my control and not always in a scrunchie. (Oh god, the scrunchies...) My basic goal in life was not to look like an award mess.
But style? That was the farthest thing from my mind. Yet, for some reason, all my friends seemed to think I was the fashionable one, the one with style, and the one to come to when they had clothes questions.
I spent a lot of time blinking my first year of college when this would happen.
As I went through college, it kind of went to my head. Especially when this one well dressed girl told me she liked my style. I was totally flattered. And blinked a lot.
When I look back at photos from my college years (or late high school), I do not cringe at my hair, clothing choices, or glasses. Even when I still sported the braces, I looked okay. I do cringe at photos of me from after I got married, but not due to what I'm wearing. I usually cringe because I think my face looks fat or something else along those lines. Or why or why did I cut my hair off before we went to Del Rio? I look like a moron with short hair. I don't know why, but I think I look like a loser. And it always makes my face look fuller, so then I look fatter. (I know I am not fat. Even at the moment, I know I am not fat. If I were fat, I'd fit into my maternity jeans and I would have to take them in on the sides to avoid them a) falling down and b) having mom butt.)
That is another thing I began to contemplate while staring at this photo from 1995: will my daughter be an award mess like myself? She will be blind (I'm blind and Pilot Boy was blind till he let some doctor cut his eye up with lasers) and she will likely have some crazy hair. (When Pilot Boy has hair, it's curly and I've got a wavy/curly/straight mess on my head.) Will she likely listen to me when I try to tell her to do something because she will later want to hide her face in her hands when looking at a photo some twenty years later?
No. Just like I didn't listen to my own mother. I doubt she'll listen to me. Such is life.
I was utterly mortified. I looked like a complete idiot.
I was an adorable child. My parents will tell you this, other people might agree, and I will tell you this. However, around the age of about ten or eleven, I turned into a complete, awkward mess. I'm not sure if it had to do with getting glasses or what, but something happened between fourth and fifth grade. And it only got worst till I was a junior in high school. I still tended to take horrible photos, but I stopped looking so awkward and geeky. (Sometimes.) I also finally stopped hacking off my hair to channel a mushroom.
But I digress.
The photo posted on Facebook (or The Facebook as some people call it) was from fifth grade. Oddly, I was actually wearing my glasses (I tended to forget them till I was in about seventh grade when I finally became blind enough to be unable to function without them). I also, for some unknown reason, tucked my shirt into my high waisted jeans. I know, back in 1995, those were like the ONLY type of jeans out there, but still. WHY DID I TUCK MY SHIRT IN? Out of the seven or six girls in the photo, only two of us were sporting tucked in shirts. And since I was the short one with the tucked in shirt, tapered jeans, and granny boots, I looked like an awkward mess. Even for 1995.
With the exception of the girl who posted the photo and one other, each person (besides myself) commented on the photo how, well, horrible she looked. Each one thought she looked the worst, completely passing over myself. (Who did look the worst. My brother agreed.) The photo had been up for quite a few days before I realized that likely all of us were totally embarrassed (in a ha ha ha kind of way) of how we appeared as kids. For the most part, when I see photos of myself as a kid, I don't cringe at the clothes. Yeah, I look dated, but for the most part I think I look fine. It's not till I hit that awkward stage (around the time of the photo), where I want to crawl into a hole and hide.
Though, out of all the years, I think my junior high years were the worst. I remember thinking during those years I looked GREAT. My mom let me have more control over my wardrobe (in eighth grade she took me to Old Navy to buy clothes and I almost passed out, as she never took me to "cool" places to shop. I had to take my dad) and I had wire rimmed glasses (which at the time I thought were great and cool).
My hair kept getting shorter, the glasses kept getting geekier, and I had braces. And I am just awkward. I am still awkward. I just can dress and do my hair now. In high school, when I finally stopped trying to channel a mushroom, I finally stopped looking like a complete train wreck. By the time I went to college, I had "style."
Seriously.
I never thought I had my own style. I wanted to look like everyone else. I shopped at the "in" stores (especially after I got a license and a credit card). My hair was finally somewhat under my control and not always in a scrunchie. (Oh god, the scrunchies...) My basic goal in life was not to look like an award mess.
But style? That was the farthest thing from my mind. Yet, for some reason, all my friends seemed to think I was the fashionable one, the one with style, and the one to come to when they had clothes questions.
I spent a lot of time blinking my first year of college when this would happen.
As I went through college, it kind of went to my head. Especially when this one well dressed girl told me she liked my style. I was totally flattered. And blinked a lot.
When I look back at photos from my college years (or late high school), I do not cringe at my hair, clothing choices, or glasses. Even when I still sported the braces, I looked okay. I do cringe at photos of me from after I got married, but not due to what I'm wearing. I usually cringe because I think my face looks fat or something else along those lines. Or why or why did I cut my hair off before we went to Del Rio? I look like a moron with short hair. I don't know why, but I think I look like a loser. And it always makes my face look fuller, so then I look fatter. (I know I am not fat. Even at the moment, I know I am not fat. If I were fat, I'd fit into my maternity jeans and I would have to take them in on the sides to avoid them a) falling down and b) having mom butt.)
That is another thing I began to contemplate while staring at this photo from 1995: will my daughter be an award mess like myself? She will be blind (I'm blind and Pilot Boy was blind till he let some doctor cut his eye up with lasers) and she will likely have some crazy hair. (When Pilot Boy has hair, it's curly and I've got a wavy/curly/straight mess on my head.) Will she likely listen to me when I try to tell her to do something because she will later want to hide her face in her hands when looking at a photo some twenty years later?
No. Just like I didn't listen to my own mother. I doubt she'll listen to me. Such is life.
So, it snowed....
It snowed.
The world ended because it snowed.
"What?????" you're asking, "The world ended?"
If you live in Oklahoma, yeah, the world had ended several times since winter began. I say the world ended, because they cease running normal programming and run constant....weather reporting. Oh, and random People driving around and telling you not to drive around. Stay home. Don't get into your car, mount a camera, and drive around aimlessly.
The first "snow storm" the state got (because if it snows anywhere in the state, it's the main news story, as there are only two TV markets in the state and we happen to live in the bigger one), the entire Sunday morning was spent watching some dude drive from Altus to OKC. (Instead of showing us the program Sunday Morning.)
Was it snowing where I was?
No.
Did it snow?
No.
This week, it was indeed snowing where I was located. But not on Sunday when they refused once again to show me Sunday Morning. And then when it was snowing here, I wasn't allowed to see any national news.
(You can watch regular programming on CBS if you either don't have cable or have Cox Cable, one one of the digital channels, but I've got a dish to watch football, so I'm trapped with no news when ever it snows here.)
It is annoying. Not EVERYONE NEEDS to see CONSTANT UPDATES FOR THREE HOURS STRAIGHT. You know that ticker thing you run at the bottom of the screen? That's FINE. You know that little graphic with the radar on it? Yeah, use that instead of showing me it's snowing on some highway where I AM NOT LOCATED, nor will I be located. (Nor will a large portion of the people watching your freaking channel.) You know what? You can interrupt to tell me something pressing, but doing the SAME FREAKING FORECAST FOR THREE HOURS IS NOT NEEDED. You see, in the THREE HOURS you are broadcasting random people driving around and some poor woman standing outside in the freezing cold, NOTHING HAS HAPPENED. It is still cold. Roads should still NOT be traveled and it is STILL snowing. I do not need to be told this for three straight hours instead of seeing whatever national news has for me in the mornings. You can tell me EVERYTHING you have been going on about for THREE HOURS in the thirty second forecasts you're given by the national channels. DID YOU KNOW THAT?
One day, when it was "supposed" to snow, they ran the "forecast" all freaking day. It hadn't even started snowing yet (anywhere really) and they were already showing people driving around the state highways and showing the radar. Seriously. It was on ALL DAY LONG.
We got less than an inch. You could still see the grass, but you weren't allowed to see regular programming.
I've lost track of the times this winter I woke up and wasn't able to see any news (I don't like news channels on cable as they make me mad). Though, what makes me REALLY mad is when they refuse to allow me to see Sunday Morning. It's on ONCE a week.
The only good thing about this last snow: it was enough to cover the grass and has hung around so Basil has snow to play in. It's been a year exactly since her last romp in the snow. She was so THRILLED to have snow to run around in. It was like the BEST DAY EVER as far as Basil was concerned.
The world ended because it snowed.
"What?????" you're asking, "The world ended?"
If you live in Oklahoma, yeah, the world had ended several times since winter began. I say the world ended, because they cease running normal programming and run constant....weather reporting. Oh, and random People driving around and telling you not to drive around. Stay home. Don't get into your car, mount a camera, and drive around aimlessly.
The first "snow storm" the state got (because if it snows anywhere in the state, it's the main news story, as there are only two TV markets in the state and we happen to live in the bigger one), the entire Sunday morning was spent watching some dude drive from Altus to OKC. (Instead of showing us the program Sunday Morning.)
Was it snowing where I was?
No.
Did it snow?
No.
This week, it was indeed snowing where I was located. But not on Sunday when they refused once again to show me Sunday Morning. And then when it was snowing here, I wasn't allowed to see any national news.
(You can watch regular programming on CBS if you either don't have cable or have Cox Cable, one one of the digital channels, but I've got a dish to watch football, so I'm trapped with no news when ever it snows here.)
It is annoying. Not EVERYONE NEEDS to see CONSTANT UPDATES FOR THREE HOURS STRAIGHT. You know that ticker thing you run at the bottom of the screen? That's FINE. You know that little graphic with the radar on it? Yeah, use that instead of showing me it's snowing on some highway where I AM NOT LOCATED, nor will I be located. (Nor will a large portion of the people watching your freaking channel.) You know what? You can interrupt to tell me something pressing, but doing the SAME FREAKING FORECAST FOR THREE HOURS IS NOT NEEDED. You see, in the THREE HOURS you are broadcasting random people driving around and some poor woman standing outside in the freezing cold, NOTHING HAS HAPPENED. It is still cold. Roads should still NOT be traveled and it is STILL snowing. I do not need to be told this for three straight hours instead of seeing whatever national news has for me in the mornings. You can tell me EVERYTHING you have been going on about for THREE HOURS in the thirty second forecasts you're given by the national channels. DID YOU KNOW THAT?
One day, when it was "supposed" to snow, they ran the "forecast" all freaking day. It hadn't even started snowing yet (anywhere really) and they were already showing people driving around the state highways and showing the radar. Seriously. It was on ALL DAY LONG.
We got less than an inch. You could still see the grass, but you weren't allowed to see regular programming.
I've lost track of the times this winter I woke up and wasn't able to see any news (I don't like news channels on cable as they make me mad). Though, what makes me REALLY mad is when they refuse to allow me to see Sunday Morning. It's on ONCE a week.
The only good thing about this last snow: it was enough to cover the grass and has hung around so Basil has snow to play in. It's been a year exactly since her last romp in the snow. She was so THRILLED to have snow to run around in. It was like the BEST DAY EVER as far as Basil was concerned.
06 February 2014
Buying for Baby
I'm feeling greatly accomplished. Since officially entering into my third trimester (not semester, no matter how many times I say 'semester' it's not a semester), I've been in a blind panic because of one simple question posed to me by one of the preggo apps I've got.
What was this question?
It was: What was the first item you bought for baby?
So, what was the first item I bought for my kid?
Paint.
Seriously. When I read the inquiry, I hadn't actually bought anything for the kid. Yeah, I had some clothes, a few pacifiers, and some other random things, but I had not bought any of those items. They'd been given to me. I personally had not bought a thing for the baby. And when I did finally buy something for the baby, it was paint for her room.
So, I began to buy stuff. I got some snappy t-shirts my mom suggested, I bought an adorable Peter pan collared shirt on sale from The Gap that won't fit her till she's six months or so, I went out and bought canvas and paint to make artwork for her room, and...I...bought...a....crib (and a mattress, as cribs don't actually come with the mattress. I had to explain this to Pilot Boy, as he couldn't figure out why the crib failed to come with the mattress).
In my life, I've bought very few "expensive" items. I think the most expensive thing I personally have ever bought was the eight hundred dollar area rug. I had a mini heart attack after I hit the ORDER button.
The crib I bought wasn't ANYWHERE near eight hundred bucks. No, I'm not that mental. I also didn't pay for most of it. (Gift vouchers are amazing, as are grandparents.) However, after the area rug, this crib is the second most expensive thing I've hit the ORDER button for. Granted, out of pocket, I wasn't paying much, but still.
Yet, I did not wake up for the first time this week in a blind panic about the lack of baby items for the baby. I mean, besides ordering a crib, I've also signed up for those pesky birthing classes. And I announced later this month I was ordering the car seat and stroller. (It was pointed out to me the car seat is a must need, as you can't take the baby home without one. Pilot Boy seemed to think we could just store her in the trunk with Basil. Kind of like how he didn't think we needed a crib because she could just sleep in the crate. Without Basil, as Basil would sleep on the floor. Clearly, Pilot Boy is confused. The Baby is not a dog. You cannot put the Baby in the crate. Will she crawl in there someday and try to sleep in there? Likely. Will Basil like this? No. Will it happen? Yeah.)
Next month, I plan to order the furniture for the room. I'm getting a dresser and a nightstand.
Pilot Boy said I don't need a nightstand. Clearly, he wants to be woken up fully when I feed the baby in the middle of the night when I turn on the overhead lights in order to see what I am doing instead of turning on an adorable little table lamp. Also, he's never read anything about pregnancy or afterwards, as he ought to know that breastfeeding requires things. I've seen it in books. You need a 'breastfeeding' station. Thus, a nightstand.
(Also, I know if I do not order the nightstand now, the kid will never get one. Just like I don't actually have one. Nor does the guest bedroom. We don't actually have any side tables either. We use stools. Yeah. We've been married for six years and have no side tables or bedside tables and use stools. Okay, we've got one table that Pilot Boy claims is a bedside table, but until this house we never used it as a bedside table. It also doesn't have a drawer, it's just a higher than normal side table which is huge. It's tall because the bed Pilot Boy had in college was lofted and it's huge because, well, I don't know why it's so big. He did build it for me as after I showed up in his life he realized I had no where to put my glasses at night and I think he got tired of me trying to find them in the morning.)
Now, I plan to use the dresser as a changing table. Kill two birds with one stone, you know? So, I also ordered a changing pad thing to mount on top of the dresser. The only other major item needed for the nursery: a glider.
The ones I've found that I like are either way too pricey or now sold out. Everything else is ugly as sin and I don't want it in the room. Will I actually get a glider before the baby shows up? I not likely. So, where will I sit at three am to feed a squalling newborn?
No idea. I'll likely wind up on the couch.
 |
| The wall color for the nursery. Shermin-Williams, Grey Screen |
It was: What was the first item you bought for baby?
So, what was the first item I bought for my kid?
Paint.
Seriously. When I read the inquiry, I hadn't actually bought anything for the kid. Yeah, I had some clothes, a few pacifiers, and some other random things, but I had not bought any of those items. They'd been given to me. I personally had not bought a thing for the baby. And when I did finally buy something for the baby, it was paint for her room.
So, I began to buy stuff. I got some snappy t-shirts my mom suggested, I bought an adorable Peter pan collared shirt on sale from The Gap that won't fit her till she's six months or so, I went out and bought canvas and paint to make artwork for her room, and...I...bought...a....crib (and a mattress, as cribs don't actually come with the mattress. I had to explain this to Pilot Boy, as he couldn't figure out why the crib failed to come with the mattress).
 |
| The crib. |
The crib I bought wasn't ANYWHERE near eight hundred bucks. No, I'm not that mental. I also didn't pay for most of it. (Gift vouchers are amazing, as are grandparents.) However, after the area rug, this crib is the second most expensive thing I've hit the ORDER button for. Granted, out of pocket, I wasn't paying much, but still.
Yet, I did not wake up for the first time this week in a blind panic about the lack of baby items for the baby. I mean, besides ordering a crib, I've also signed up for those pesky birthing classes. And I announced later this month I was ordering the car seat and stroller. (It was pointed out to me the car seat is a must need, as you can't take the baby home without one. Pilot Boy seemed to think we could just store her in the trunk with Basil. Kind of like how he didn't think we needed a crib because she could just sleep in the crate. Without Basil, as Basil would sleep on the floor. Clearly, Pilot Boy is confused. The Baby is not a dog. You cannot put the Baby in the crate. Will she crawl in there someday and try to sleep in there? Likely. Will Basil like this? No. Will it happen? Yeah.)
 |
| Dream light |
Next month, I plan to order the furniture for the room. I'm getting a dresser and a nightstand.
Pilot Boy said I don't need a nightstand. Clearly, he wants to be woken up fully when I feed the baby in the middle of the night when I turn on the overhead lights in order to see what I am doing instead of turning on an adorable little table lamp. Also, he's never read anything about pregnancy or afterwards, as he ought to know that breastfeeding requires things. I've seen it in books. You need a 'breastfeeding' station. Thus, a nightstand.
 |
| I plan to get new knobs. I hate those knobs, but it has everything else I want. |
Now, I plan to use the dresser as a changing table. Kill two birds with one stone, you know? So, I also ordered a changing pad thing to mount on top of the dresser. The only other major item needed for the nursery: a glider.
The ones I've found that I like are either way too pricey or now sold out. Everything else is ugly as sin and I don't want it in the room. Will I actually get a glider before the baby shows up? I not likely. So, where will I sit at three am to feed a squalling newborn?
No idea. I'll likely wind up on the couch.
21 January 2014
Baby Earthquakes
The first time I was kicked from within, I was lying on my back (when it was still safe to) and had my hand just resting down near where many moons ago my appendix was ripped out of me...ever so lovingly. (And for 7,000!) I was trying to convince myself I ought to get out of bed when I felt a sharp thump against my hand.
I froze.
Had she just kicked me?
I waited a moment for it to happen again, but I didn't feel anything. But, I knew it was a kick. My baby had kicked me for the first time.
Later that day, I put my hand back down in the area and waited for her to do a repeat performance. It took hours, but I finally felt little jabs of her tiny foot. (Or fist, but I think it was a foot.)
Pilot Boy couldn't feel anything. He thought I was making up.
As the weeks went on, the movements got stronger and more pronounced. There were also clear kicks, head-butts, and just random movements (like rolls or something). Basically, I spent a lot of time with my hand down my pants just to feel my kid move around.
Finally, shortly before the winter holidays, Pilot Boy felt his daughter move. It was a bit movement. It felt like an earthquake going on in my uterus and I said, "You've had to have felt that one."
"Yep."
And that is when the kicks stopped and the earthquakes really began. Seriously. Sometimes they are concentrated earthquakes-- like in the area where my former appendix lived till it decided it hated me and moved out. It moved on to green pastures seven years ago, yet when my daughter decides to beat up on it, it hurts. Her other favorite thing to do is stomp on my bladder. Or one night, she decided to do headstands or something on my poor bladder. I spent the entire night thinking I had to pee, but I really didn't. I just had a baby on my bladder.
Rumblings tend to happen at night, like when I'm trying to go to bed. Since I hit week 25, the little quakes have been happening more often. I'll be sitting around during the day and suddenly the book, laptop, phone, Kindle will just go tumbling over from where I had it perched because my kid decided she didn't like it there. Or my arm jerks.
"What the hell was that for?" Pilot Boy asked when I accidentally elbowed him this weekend in the side whilst we sat on the couch reading.
"Your daughter wishes you to know my pain," was my reply.
He didn't buy it.
Sometimes all this movement (which is a good thing, as she's old enough now she ought to be moving and shaking and channeling a soccer player) is fine with me, while other times I just wish she'd kick me in the stomach. Or the spleen. Or somewhere other than my bladder or my former appendix. I've no clue what it is about the scar tissue hanging out there, but man...each time she hits that spot it feels almost as bad as when I made the mistake of going bowling two weeks after I had it removed. Or when I went bowling three months after it left me for some jar. (Or whatever they do with infected appendixes.) Or when I went bowling almost two years after it was cut out of me.
I shouldn't go bowling. I tend to hurt myself in the area where the appendix used to live.
I also shouldn't be pregnant as my kid loves to kick me there and it's freaking annoying. It's either a sharp paint or a dull pain, depending on how much oomph she puts into her movement.
I've yet to see anything, like a foot or hand poking out. I've yet to see anything really as when I'm paying attention and staring at my bare belly, she decides to do all her moving towards my spin or something. I do know it moves, though, the belly. My shirts sometimes ripple during earthquakes.
She is kicking me down. Just little jabs right behind my belly button.
I like it best when I do catch her out and get to feel her little foot as it rams itself into my innards. There is just something completely mind blowing about the whole thing--you know feeling it inside and on your hand and knowing it's a little foot and some day there will be a little human outside who will kick you in the face with the same foot. (And not on purpose. It'll just likely happen. Most likely whilst changing a nappy.)
I froze.
Had she just kicked me?
I waited a moment for it to happen again, but I didn't feel anything. But, I knew it was a kick. My baby had kicked me for the first time.
Later that day, I put my hand back down in the area and waited for her to do a repeat performance. It took hours, but I finally felt little jabs of her tiny foot. (Or fist, but I think it was a foot.)
Pilot Boy couldn't feel anything. He thought I was making up.
As the weeks went on, the movements got stronger and more pronounced. There were also clear kicks, head-butts, and just random movements (like rolls or something). Basically, I spent a lot of time with my hand down my pants just to feel my kid move around.
Finally, shortly before the winter holidays, Pilot Boy felt his daughter move. It was a bit movement. It felt like an earthquake going on in my uterus and I said, "You've had to have felt that one."
"Yep."
And that is when the kicks stopped and the earthquakes really began. Seriously. Sometimes they are concentrated earthquakes-- like in the area where my former appendix lived till it decided it hated me and moved out. It moved on to green pastures seven years ago, yet when my daughter decides to beat up on it, it hurts. Her other favorite thing to do is stomp on my bladder. Or one night, she decided to do headstands or something on my poor bladder. I spent the entire night thinking I had to pee, but I really didn't. I just had a baby on my bladder.
Rumblings tend to happen at night, like when I'm trying to go to bed. Since I hit week 25, the little quakes have been happening more often. I'll be sitting around during the day and suddenly the book, laptop, phone, Kindle will just go tumbling over from where I had it perched because my kid decided she didn't like it there. Or my arm jerks.
"What the hell was that for?" Pilot Boy asked when I accidentally elbowed him this weekend in the side whilst we sat on the couch reading.
"Your daughter wishes you to know my pain," was my reply.
He didn't buy it.
Sometimes all this movement (which is a good thing, as she's old enough now she ought to be moving and shaking and channeling a soccer player) is fine with me, while other times I just wish she'd kick me in the stomach. Or the spleen. Or somewhere other than my bladder or my former appendix. I've no clue what it is about the scar tissue hanging out there, but man...each time she hits that spot it feels almost as bad as when I made the mistake of going bowling two weeks after I had it removed. Or when I went bowling three months after it left me for some jar. (Or whatever they do with infected appendixes.) Or when I went bowling almost two years after it was cut out of me.
I shouldn't go bowling. I tend to hurt myself in the area where the appendix used to live.
I also shouldn't be pregnant as my kid loves to kick me there and it's freaking annoying. It's either a sharp paint or a dull pain, depending on how much oomph she puts into her movement.
I've yet to see anything, like a foot or hand poking out. I've yet to see anything really as when I'm paying attention and staring at my bare belly, she decides to do all her moving towards my spin or something. I do know it moves, though, the belly. My shirts sometimes ripple during earthquakes.
She is kicking me down. Just little jabs right behind my belly button.
I like it best when I do catch her out and get to feel her little foot as it rams itself into my innards. There is just something completely mind blowing about the whole thing--you know feeling it inside and on your hand and knowing it's a little foot and some day there will be a little human outside who will kick you in the face with the same foot. (And not on purpose. It'll just likely happen. Most likely whilst changing a nappy.)
16 January 2014
I Heart Water
We went away for two weeks.
Now, since we've owned this house, we've not left it alone for more than hours at a time. I did not honestly think we had to sit around looking after the house, as it's a house. We've lived in a house before and left it for extended periods. It was always perfectly fine when we returned home.
Of course, this one wasn't okay.
Yeah, it looked fine. Everything was where we'd left it and from the outside it appeared to be perfectly normal.
It felt good to be back, out of the car, and not going anywhere anytime soon. The whole upheaval of the holidays was over. Brilliant!
I went to get the dog some water, as she hadn't had any in quite awhile.
I turned the tap and nothing happened.
"Did you turn the water off?" I called out to Pilot Boy.
"No. Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. It doesn't work," I replied, moving the tap up and down some more.
Nothing happened.
Seriously. Nothing.
It is winter. Since it got "cold" we've seen signs telling people to leave their taps dripping, which to us former residents of Alaska sounded idiotic. It doesn't get that cold here.
And it DID NOT get THAT cold here while we were gone. Sure, they had some winter weather, but it wasn't THAT cold. And our house is NEW(ish).
Pilot Boy didn't think the pipes were frozen (it was 60 degrees), so he called the water company. I payed the bill (and the new bill I had in my hand claimed I did as well). But, he called them and asked if they'd turned it off.
Nope. Our pipes must be frozen.
It was sixty freaking degrees out. And the day before it'd been forty. Why are our pipes frozen?
Pilot Boy went about calling plumbers and "thawing" the pipes.
Nothing happened. At least unlike the a/c guys, the plumbers all ANSWERED their phones. They couldn't show up that day but they ANSWERED.
Pilot Boy at some point talked to this guy he knows down the street who'd been around and he told him it'd been warm throughout the entire time we'd been gone. (Except the day we left, of course.) Basically, our pipes shouldn't have been frozen.
(I lived in Alaska for three years. It actually GETS cold there. Our pipes never froze. And we left in the dead of winter quite a few times during those three years and never came home to frozen pipes.)
Let me tell you something: it sucks not having water. You do not realize how much you use water until you don't have any. Yeah, our toilets flushed and you could get two flushes out of them before they needed to be reloaded and yeah, we went out and bought drinking water, but you can't do dishes, you have to carry around water to wash your hands, and you cannot bathe. (Well, we could if we went to the gym or the neighbor's house, but still. I'm pregnant. I don't want to shower in a stranger's home or a gym.)
Luckily, the plumber showed up the next afternoon. He was confused when he was told we have frozen pipes and no water pressure.
"It's been warm," he informed me.
"I know," I said.
He went to investigate at the water thingy in the front yard and discovered it was turned off.
"Did you call the city?"
"Yes. They said they didn't turn our water off."
"Someone turned your water off."
I could only shrug.
He turned the water on, then turned it off.
During his quest to find the water thingy (you know, the thing that turns water to the house on and off), Pilot Boy had done something to cause the sprinkler system thing (I've no idea what it is but it's for the sprinkler system) to spout water off straight into the air next to the house. The plumber had no clue how to fix it, as he'd never seen anything like it before. He suggested in the spring we call the company that installed it and have them look at it. Or they (the plumbing company he worked for) could look at it. He did shut it off, cutting off the water supply to the sprinkler system.
Then he turned our water back on and oh, how it was lovely to have water again. (After I spent an hour running water through the pipes and getting all the stale water out or whatever my dad said I ought to do. I had no clue, but it made sense at the time.)
Moral of the story?
Someone turned our water off. Our pipes were not frozen, our water was off. Thanks city. You're really on top of things.
Now, since we've owned this house, we've not left it alone for more than hours at a time. I did not honestly think we had to sit around looking after the house, as it's a house. We've lived in a house before and left it for extended periods. It was always perfectly fine when we returned home.
Of course, this one wasn't okay.
Yeah, it looked fine. Everything was where we'd left it and from the outside it appeared to be perfectly normal.
It felt good to be back, out of the car, and not going anywhere anytime soon. The whole upheaval of the holidays was over. Brilliant!
I went to get the dog some water, as she hadn't had any in quite awhile.
I turned the tap and nothing happened.
"Did you turn the water off?" I called out to Pilot Boy.
"No. Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. It doesn't work," I replied, moving the tap up and down some more.
Nothing happened.
Seriously. Nothing.
It is winter. Since it got "cold" we've seen signs telling people to leave their taps dripping, which to us former residents of Alaska sounded idiotic. It doesn't get that cold here.
And it DID NOT get THAT cold here while we were gone. Sure, they had some winter weather, but it wasn't THAT cold. And our house is NEW(ish).
Pilot Boy didn't think the pipes were frozen (it was 60 degrees), so he called the water company. I payed the bill (and the new bill I had in my hand claimed I did as well). But, he called them and asked if they'd turned it off.
Nope. Our pipes must be frozen.
It was sixty freaking degrees out. And the day before it'd been forty. Why are our pipes frozen?
Pilot Boy went about calling plumbers and "thawing" the pipes.
Nothing happened. At least unlike the a/c guys, the plumbers all ANSWERED their phones. They couldn't show up that day but they ANSWERED.
Pilot Boy at some point talked to this guy he knows down the street who'd been around and he told him it'd been warm throughout the entire time we'd been gone. (Except the day we left, of course.) Basically, our pipes shouldn't have been frozen.
(I lived in Alaska for three years. It actually GETS cold there. Our pipes never froze. And we left in the dead of winter quite a few times during those three years and never came home to frozen pipes.)
Let me tell you something: it sucks not having water. You do not realize how much you use water until you don't have any. Yeah, our toilets flushed and you could get two flushes out of them before they needed to be reloaded and yeah, we went out and bought drinking water, but you can't do dishes, you have to carry around water to wash your hands, and you cannot bathe. (Well, we could if we went to the gym or the neighbor's house, but still. I'm pregnant. I don't want to shower in a stranger's home or a gym.)
Luckily, the plumber showed up the next afternoon. He was confused when he was told we have frozen pipes and no water pressure.
"It's been warm," he informed me.
"I know," I said.
He went to investigate at the water thingy in the front yard and discovered it was turned off.
"Did you call the city?"
"Yes. They said they didn't turn our water off."
"Someone turned your water off."
I could only shrug.
He turned the water on, then turned it off.
During his quest to find the water thingy (you know, the thing that turns water to the house on and off), Pilot Boy had done something to cause the sprinkler system thing (I've no idea what it is but it's for the sprinkler system) to spout water off straight into the air next to the house. The plumber had no clue how to fix it, as he'd never seen anything like it before. He suggested in the spring we call the company that installed it and have them look at it. Or they (the plumbing company he worked for) could look at it. He did shut it off, cutting off the water supply to the sprinkler system.
Then he turned our water back on and oh, how it was lovely to have water again. (After I spent an hour running water through the pipes and getting all the stale water out or whatever my dad said I ought to do. I had no clue, but it made sense at the time.)
Moral of the story?
Someone turned our water off. Our pipes were not frozen, our water was off. Thanks city. You're really on top of things.
15 January 2014
This Is Mostly About Clothes
So, I'm pregnant. You know, knocked up, preggers, with child, blooming, glowing, kind of round...that thing women of a certain age tend to do.
I don't know why anyone gets pregnant.
Okay, I do know why people do. They want the baby you get at the end. At least that is why I got pregnant. I've heard some people ENJOY being pregnant.
I hate being pregnant. It's like having a never ending period, only no bleeding. You get the cramps, the headaches, the upset tummy, and on top of all that you loose your waist. And there is this tiny being inside who decides it'd be a great idea to do headstands on your bladder all night long. (I swear to god that was what she was doing last night as I had to pee all night long.)
I spent the past six months feeling completely rotten, throwing up, and not looking pregnant.
Yeah, that sucked.
I only began to look pregnant about two weeks ago. And I'm six months pregnant. I didn't even really start gaining wait till about three weeks ago. Yeah, you think I'm lucky. I might not have been gaining weight, but I was loosing my hips and waist. One doesn't realize how vital hips and waists are for holding up pants until you don't have them. I couldn't wear my maternity bottoms because it was all too big (I had no bump), nor could I wear my old stuff because it didn't stay up. Yeah, I could button my jeans, I could wear my skirts without an extender (till about last week), but they didn't stay up. Just like all the new maternity pants I'd gotten.
I still only have ONE pair of maternity jeans that kind of fit. They are still uncomfortable. I do, though, like the whole pull up concept going on with maternity jeans, but I do not like the whole...panel up over my stomach thing as I am always hot and it itches. I don't know why it itches, but it does. And it never stays up. It is dumb. I've got pairs that are "under belly" and I like those, only two pairs are way too big and don't even stay up, while the other one claimed to have a 32 inch inseam, but they don't. I took them down, but they still are too short. And I'm not tall.
It's been hit or miss with shirts. The maternity tops I got from The Gap...they are all made for third trimester bellies. Or something. They are HUGE in the belly area. They still look baggy on me. The tops I've picked up from Ross...not sure other than the ruching on the sides how they are maternity tops. But hey, they're only five bucks. I've gotten tops from lots of places and they all claim to be wearable through all stages, yet quite a few of them I can't really wear yet because my belly isn't large enough and I look like I'm swimming in the top...on the bottom. While I don't think my boobs are huge, they are (hence why I can't really wear my pre-pregnancy tops. My stupid boobs don't fit).
The most success I've had with anything maternity is in dresses. They fit me like dresses from before I got knocked up. And I've gotten them from ASOS. The best tops I got were from there as well.
So, besides being unable to clothe myself, the never ending nausea, the random throwing up, having no energy, loosing my waist and hips, and having a tiny being inside of me who likes to kick and do headstands on my bladder-- it's been great.
I don't know why anyone gets pregnant.
Okay, I do know why people do. They want the baby you get at the end. At least that is why I got pregnant. I've heard some people ENJOY being pregnant.
I hate being pregnant. It's like having a never ending period, only no bleeding. You get the cramps, the headaches, the upset tummy, and on top of all that you loose your waist. And there is this tiny being inside who decides it'd be a great idea to do headstands on your bladder all night long. (I swear to god that was what she was doing last night as I had to pee all night long.)
I spent the past six months feeling completely rotten, throwing up, and not looking pregnant.
Yeah, that sucked.
I only began to look pregnant about two weeks ago. And I'm six months pregnant. I didn't even really start gaining wait till about three weeks ago. Yeah, you think I'm lucky. I might not have been gaining weight, but I was loosing my hips and waist. One doesn't realize how vital hips and waists are for holding up pants until you don't have them. I couldn't wear my maternity bottoms because it was all too big (I had no bump), nor could I wear my old stuff because it didn't stay up. Yeah, I could button my jeans, I could wear my skirts without an extender (till about last week), but they didn't stay up. Just like all the new maternity pants I'd gotten.
I still only have ONE pair of maternity jeans that kind of fit. They are still uncomfortable. I do, though, like the whole pull up concept going on with maternity jeans, but I do not like the whole...panel up over my stomach thing as I am always hot and it itches. I don't know why it itches, but it does. And it never stays up. It is dumb. I've got pairs that are "under belly" and I like those, only two pairs are way too big and don't even stay up, while the other one claimed to have a 32 inch inseam, but they don't. I took them down, but they still are too short. And I'm not tall.
It's been hit or miss with shirts. The maternity tops I got from The Gap...they are all made for third trimester bellies. Or something. They are HUGE in the belly area. They still look baggy on me. The tops I've picked up from Ross...not sure other than the ruching on the sides how they are maternity tops. But hey, they're only five bucks. I've gotten tops from lots of places and they all claim to be wearable through all stages, yet quite a few of them I can't really wear yet because my belly isn't large enough and I look like I'm swimming in the top...on the bottom. While I don't think my boobs are huge, they are (hence why I can't really wear my pre-pregnancy tops. My stupid boobs don't fit).
The most success I've had with anything maternity is in dresses. They fit me like dresses from before I got knocked up. And I've gotten them from ASOS. The best tops I got were from there as well.
So, besides being unable to clothe myself, the never ending nausea, the random throwing up, having no energy, loosing my waist and hips, and having a tiny being inside of me who likes to kick and do headstands on my bladder-- it's been great.
03 August 2013
Bubble Gum and Tape
Pilot Boy and I bought a house.
At the time, it sounded like a great idea-- own our own home, be able to paint, decorate, destroy, etc to our heart's content and not have to ask a landlord if we could. Also, no longer throwing money away on rent! Whooo!
Granted, if I had to choose a place to buy a house, the one where we did, I wouldn't have done it. BUT, there were like no places to rent, we need a house, and we'd spent three years saving for a downpayment. (Of course, we assumed we'd be going to either South Carolina or Washington, not middle of nowhere land...but WHATEVER.)
We found a house on the ONLY day we looked at houses. It was like we were in our own House Hunters episode. We had three houses lined up to look at and choose from (not going to count the last house we looked at, as it was a duplicate of the one we bought, only plastered with carpet). We picked third house, as it felt right and didn't require a lot of TLC. I liked everything about it except the paint. You can change paint.
Flash forward a month and here I am, sitting in MY house sweating to death because the A/C broke last night.
Yeah.
It broke. The motor that pushes the air through the house gave up it's battle to cool me down and went kaput.
I lived the last three years without A/C. Anchorage doesn't do A/C. What do you do in Anchorage when it gets too hot to exist in your house because while the weather man keeps telling you it's a lovely seventy degrees, he fails to tell you that in direct sunlight it's 110 and no breeze?
You go to Fred Meyer. (Seriously, it was the coldest place in town when it got "hot" out.)
I think the hottest it got in the house the three years without A/C was maybe seventy-five. And I was MISERABLE. (I managed to drag my trip to Fred Meyer out for two hours that day...)
It's seventy-seven in here right now.
And it's just gonna get hotter.
Brilliant.
After discovering the reason it was so overly warm in our bedroom, Pilot Boy tried to solve the problem. Upon discovering the issue, he called the so called several twenty-four hour, seven days a week maintenance places.
No one answered the phone.
Bloody brilliant.
So, the first weekend with furniture in our house, we're going to bake to death. (Along with Basil Bea, the black dog who sunbathes while outside then wonders why she's hot.)
I expected the house to have some minor issues...besides the whole let's paint the ceilings the same color as the walls, find the most annoying shade of gold and use it and some sort of strange paint effect, but whatever. Paint can be changed! (You keep telling yourself that, Ireland.)
Yeah, it was annoying the oven and fridge weren't cleaned. Yeah, I don't understand why the microwave sometimes turns itself back on to move the tray back and forth after use. It was annoying when the water dispenser in the fridge spewed out water without prompting the first few times we used it. (It finally stopped.) Sure, it was irritating that there was no dryer tube to connect the dryer to the wall. (Pilot Boy later found the one that came with the dryer inside the dryer with all the packing paper...he failed to look before buying a new one.) Yeah, it was maddening they took the shower rod for the guest bathroom. (Why do people take shower rods? Seriously, just leave it behind.) Sure, the fact the dishwasher makes a god awful noise each time you open it is kind of vexing. (It sounds like a dying animal.)
But, you know, it's the kind of stuff I kind of expected. (Well, not the dirty fridge. It wasn't even wiped out, people. It was seriously disgusting and if I was bothered, that's saying something.)
However, did I think the A/C would DIE literally seven days after we signed the papers?
No.
Was I all that surprised?
No.
Pilot Boy said this morning this place is simply held together with bubble gum and tape. I would have argued before, but I'm currently doing a slow bake within my own house, so I'm thinking yeah. Bubble gum and tape.
At the time, it sounded like a great idea-- own our own home, be able to paint, decorate, destroy, etc to our heart's content and not have to ask a landlord if we could. Also, no longer throwing money away on rent! Whooo!
Granted, if I had to choose a place to buy a house, the one where we did, I wouldn't have done it. BUT, there were like no places to rent, we need a house, and we'd spent three years saving for a downpayment. (Of course, we assumed we'd be going to either South Carolina or Washington, not middle of nowhere land...but WHATEVER.)
We found a house on the ONLY day we looked at houses. It was like we were in our own House Hunters episode. We had three houses lined up to look at and choose from (not going to count the last house we looked at, as it was a duplicate of the one we bought, only plastered with carpet). We picked third house, as it felt right and didn't require a lot of TLC. I liked everything about it except the paint. You can change paint.
Flash forward a month and here I am, sitting in MY house sweating to death because the A/C broke last night.
Yeah.
It broke. The motor that pushes the air through the house gave up it's battle to cool me down and went kaput.
I lived the last three years without A/C. Anchorage doesn't do A/C. What do you do in Anchorage when it gets too hot to exist in your house because while the weather man keeps telling you it's a lovely seventy degrees, he fails to tell you that in direct sunlight it's 110 and no breeze?
You go to Fred Meyer. (Seriously, it was the coldest place in town when it got "hot" out.)
I think the hottest it got in the house the three years without A/C was maybe seventy-five. And I was MISERABLE. (I managed to drag my trip to Fred Meyer out for two hours that day...)
It's seventy-seven in here right now.
And it's just gonna get hotter.
Brilliant.
After discovering the reason it was so overly warm in our bedroom, Pilot Boy tried to solve the problem. Upon discovering the issue, he called the so called several twenty-four hour, seven days a week maintenance places.
No one answered the phone.
Bloody brilliant.
So, the first weekend with furniture in our house, we're going to bake to death. (Along with Basil Bea, the black dog who sunbathes while outside then wonders why she's hot.)
I expected the house to have some minor issues...besides the whole let's paint the ceilings the same color as the walls, find the most annoying shade of gold and use it and some sort of strange paint effect, but whatever. Paint can be changed! (You keep telling yourself that, Ireland.)
Yeah, it was annoying the oven and fridge weren't cleaned. Yeah, I don't understand why the microwave sometimes turns itself back on to move the tray back and forth after use. It was annoying when the water dispenser in the fridge spewed out water without prompting the first few times we used it. (It finally stopped.) Sure, it was irritating that there was no dryer tube to connect the dryer to the wall. (Pilot Boy later found the one that came with the dryer inside the dryer with all the packing paper...he failed to look before buying a new one.) Yeah, it was maddening they took the shower rod for the guest bathroom. (Why do people take shower rods? Seriously, just leave it behind.) Sure, the fact the dishwasher makes a god awful noise each time you open it is kind of vexing. (It sounds like a dying animal.)
But, you know, it's the kind of stuff I kind of expected. (Well, not the dirty fridge. It wasn't even wiped out, people. It was seriously disgusting and if I was bothered, that's saying something.)
However, did I think the A/C would DIE literally seven days after we signed the papers?
No.
Was I all that surprised?
No.
Pilot Boy said this morning this place is simply held together with bubble gum and tape. I would have argued before, but I'm currently doing a slow bake within my own house, so I'm thinking yeah. Bubble gum and tape.
10 July 2013
Where I Will Make Some Lists
Things I Miss About Texas:
1. HEB
*Now why would I miss a chain grocery store? Because. Unlike many things within the state of Texas I detest, I have ALWAYS for some unknown reason loved HEBs. When I lived in Del Rio, it was mostly because it was something familiar (a real grocery store, not a pretend one like they had on base or Walmart. I loath Walmarts for the most part.) They had good produce and I'd spend my Friday mornings buying fresh fruits and veggies. When we returned to Texas, we did all our shopping at HEB because once more, the base store failed at life. (Seriously, the only good base commissary we've seen was at in IL. Seriously. The one in AK was well stocked, but priced similar to Fred Meyer).
2. Four Zone Weather
*While they failed at life at predicting when it'd rain sometimes (Weather man: It will not rain today! Ireland Scott: *looks out window and wonders what the water falling from the sky is if it's not rain*) I like the fact they had Doppler and could somewhat tell me the various weather in the various sections.
*tries to think of other things besides Target she misses about Texas at the moment and fails.*
Thing I Do Not Miss About Texas:
1. Humidity.
2. Access roads along side the interstate.
3. Their inability to merge.
4. Heat.
5. Bugs.
6. Did I mention the access roads?
7. It's hot there. And it doesn't rain enough. But it's humid. (Didn't I say that already? I did. I guess my list on things I do not miss is short as well.)
Things I Miss About Alaska:
1. The weather (all times of year. I like it.)
2. Their lack of highways and access roads.
3. Their local news.
4. The weather man who never knew what was going on and it was adorable because there's no Dopplar up there so he kind was just guessing anyways. (Weather guy: It might be snowing. Or not. I'm not sure. We'll see! Ireland Scott: Looks out window and laughs because it's snowing. Quite a bit.)
Things I Do Not Miss:
1. The dirt and tiny rocks they used on the roads in the winter that never seemed to go away.
Things I like about OK at the moment...
1. Lack of humidity.
2. It's better than the Dirt Hole.
3. No access roads!
4. The town I'm located within doesn't even have an interstate, so duh, no access roads.
5. There is an Old Navy and Lowes. Woot.
6. There are plenty of Mexican restaurants to keep Pilot boy happy.
Things I Do Not Like:
1. MILK IS LIKE FIVE DOLLARS A GALLON. WTF?
2. The cheapest place to buy things is Walmart and there is no Target.
3. Seriously, who decides the price of food in this place? And why am I paying full sales tax of food? What is wrong with you OK, I thought you were a red state, don't you hate taxes? Or did I learn that wrong?
4. It's hot. (like 100 plus, but it's not humid. Or it wasn't. It MIGHT rain today, so it's humid.)
5. The way they pronounce ALTUS during their ENTIRE state WIDE weather forecast on the news. Seriously, they do the ENTIRE state in board strokes. While I understand this, they never talk about where I am. Just ALTUS. And they say it all WRONG.
So, all in all, I hate very minor things. Right?
1. HEB
*Now why would I miss a chain grocery store? Because. Unlike many things within the state of Texas I detest, I have ALWAYS for some unknown reason loved HEBs. When I lived in Del Rio, it was mostly because it was something familiar (a real grocery store, not a pretend one like they had on base or Walmart. I loath Walmarts for the most part.) They had good produce and I'd spend my Friday mornings buying fresh fruits and veggies. When we returned to Texas, we did all our shopping at HEB because once more, the base store failed at life. (Seriously, the only good base commissary we've seen was at in IL. Seriously. The one in AK was well stocked, but priced similar to Fred Meyer).
2. Four Zone Weather
*While they failed at life at predicting when it'd rain sometimes (Weather man: It will not rain today! Ireland Scott: *looks out window and wonders what the water falling from the sky is if it's not rain*) I like the fact they had Doppler and could somewhat tell me the various weather in the various sections.
*tries to think of other things besides Target she misses about Texas at the moment and fails.*
Thing I Do Not Miss About Texas:
1. Humidity.
2. Access roads along side the interstate.
3. Their inability to merge.
4. Heat.
5. Bugs.
6. Did I mention the access roads?
7. It's hot there. And it doesn't rain enough. But it's humid. (Didn't I say that already? I did. I guess my list on things I do not miss is short as well.)
Things I Miss About Alaska:
1. The weather (all times of year. I like it.)
2. Their lack of highways and access roads.
3. Their local news.
4. The weather man who never knew what was going on and it was adorable because there's no Dopplar up there so he kind was just guessing anyways. (Weather guy: It might be snowing. Or not. I'm not sure. We'll see! Ireland Scott: Looks out window and laughs because it's snowing. Quite a bit.)
Things I Do Not Miss:
1. The dirt and tiny rocks they used on the roads in the winter that never seemed to go away.
Things I like about OK at the moment...
1. Lack of humidity.
2. It's better than the Dirt Hole.
3. No access roads!
4. The town I'm located within doesn't even have an interstate, so duh, no access roads.
5. There is an Old Navy and Lowes. Woot.
6. There are plenty of Mexican restaurants to keep Pilot boy happy.
Things I Do Not Like:
1. MILK IS LIKE FIVE DOLLARS A GALLON. WTF?
2. The cheapest place to buy things is Walmart and there is no Target.
3. Seriously, who decides the price of food in this place? And why am I paying full sales tax of food? What is wrong with you OK, I thought you were a red state, don't you hate taxes? Or did I learn that wrong?
4. It's hot. (like 100 plus, but it's not humid. Or it wasn't. It MIGHT rain today, so it's humid.)
5. The way they pronounce ALTUS during their ENTIRE state WIDE weather forecast on the news. Seriously, they do the ENTIRE state in board strokes. While I understand this, they never talk about where I am. Just ALTUS. And they say it all WRONG.
So, all in all, I hate very minor things. Right?
10 June 2013
It's Research, Not Stalking...Honest
When I first began writing seriously (meaning past naming characters, putting them in designer clothing and making up some dialogue), I never did research. I sat in a cold, concrete floored room at the back of The Ditch and wrote what I knew.
Pages upon pages of what I knew.
Then, I began to make outlandish things up.
And I filled pages upon pages with words.
I never sat around thinking, "Hey, I don't know enough about that, I should look it up."
Granted, this was the day and age before the internet was in your hand at all times, but the Internet was a happening thing and I believe I sometimes ventured over to use it to research things whilst still in high school. I know I used it in college.
I hated the internet.
I'm honest. I hated with with a flaming passion because I could NEVER find what I wanted. Throughout college, I sat in the dusty library and did my research using books that sometimes hadn't seen the light of day since the sixties.
And I still wrote.
Still filled pages of notebook paper with words, still typed Word docs filled with stories and characters I grew to love.
But, never once did I research anything passed maybe looking up a meaning of a name I was unable to find within one of the numerous baby name books I own.
It never occurred to me that as a writer of works of fiction, I'd have to do research, have to do something similar to what I did when writing an essay for school.
Then, one day, my mother informed me I ought to "look something up" so it sounded like I knew what I was talking about. I do not remember WHAT she told me to look up, only she created a monster.
I am a research monster now.
I'm still not any good at it, the internet still fails ninety five percent of the time to tell me what I want it to tell me, but I research everything now. Hours of my life are wasted on various websites looking up random bits of information. I've spent time hunting down slang used in the Old West for ONE SENTENCE. I've wasted time trying to find how a British person would say "crazy" in the twenties. I spent an hour trying to find out when the rollerball pen was invented and how widely used it was in the 1940s. I spent at least two days searching floor plans online till I finally gave up and made my own-- just so I could describe something better. I've lost track of how many time I've made sure the stupid pop culture reference I've made actually would be known by certain characters and are the right time period.
It's a lot of freaking work.
And that's just for the fan fiction I've been working on as if recent.
Last summer I spent days on end looking at school catalogues to get ideas for course to stick students in. I've wasted hours making sure the schedules I made for them actually worked. I've spent years trying to figure out what colleges some of my characters are going to attend, though I don't plan to actually write about them IN college. I've spent days staring at a map of Glasgow on a real estate site trying to find a flat. For a fictional character. (I did find one. Well, two. Then I merged them, as what I wanted doesn't actual exist.) I've scoured the internet for images of interiors so I'd have a good idea how to describe them. (One day just to find out they'd remodeled the building I was trying to write about so I really had to just use what was in my head. No one thought to take pictures of the fourth floor Adam Smith lecture hall before they redid it...)
Hours of my life were lost when I was working on HYRM and I got lost in a world of quotes. Quotes ate me alive for days on end.
Many of the clever things I come up with in my original works as well as my fan fics no one bothers to really take note of...it's like I always thought: no one notices. They are reading and enjoying the story-- not looking for symbolism, not looking for those little things.
Then, I got feedback when someone noticed the painstaking effort I put forth.
One of my stories follows two real people, who are quite famous. I went back to my roots in my fan fics and started writing about actual people instead of fictional ones. I had the idea in my head for awhile and it wanted out, so I let it out. Yeah, you might think it is rather teenybopper of me, and I think it is, but I like the two OCs I created and if I REALLY wanted to, I could change the names of the famous people, change the names of projects, etc and it'd be orignal. So, I guess you can say I'm just too lazy to change the inspiration. (10p technically started out as a fan fic, only I changed the main romantic interests name, then his profession, thus, it's not. See? No...that's fine.)
Anyways, I've become somewhat fixated with where these two people WERE. I don't care where they are right now, I care where they WERE. I get caught up in trying to figure it out, till I suddenly realize what I'm doing and I laugh.
I'd be worried if I hadn't done the same thing when I was writing some of my original works. Granted I cannot scurry the internet to figure out where my characters were located, but if you saw the pile of paper I carry around for RAB, you'd see I'm rather keen to know every detail.
It wasn't always like this. Once upon I time, I just made stuff up and called it a day.
(Except that one time when I was in high school and I drew a map of the town RAB takes place in just so I could name the street's D used to get from one end of town to another. I could have just made that up, but...I didn't. I made an entire map. On lots of paper. I still have it and use it too. Well, I did have it...I'm not sure where it got off to now that I think about it. Hopefully it survies the move.)
Pages upon pages of what I knew.
Then, I began to make outlandish things up.
And I filled pages upon pages with words.
I never sat around thinking, "Hey, I don't know enough about that, I should look it up."
Granted, this was the day and age before the internet was in your hand at all times, but the Internet was a happening thing and I believe I sometimes ventured over to use it to research things whilst still in high school. I know I used it in college.
I hated the internet.
I'm honest. I hated with with a flaming passion because I could NEVER find what I wanted. Throughout college, I sat in the dusty library and did my research using books that sometimes hadn't seen the light of day since the sixties.
And I still wrote.
Still filled pages of notebook paper with words, still typed Word docs filled with stories and characters I grew to love.
But, never once did I research anything passed maybe looking up a meaning of a name I was unable to find within one of the numerous baby name books I own.
It never occurred to me that as a writer of works of fiction, I'd have to do research, have to do something similar to what I did when writing an essay for school.
Then, one day, my mother informed me I ought to "look something up" so it sounded like I knew what I was talking about. I do not remember WHAT she told me to look up, only she created a monster.
I am a research monster now.
I'm still not any good at it, the internet still fails ninety five percent of the time to tell me what I want it to tell me, but I research everything now. Hours of my life are wasted on various websites looking up random bits of information. I've spent time hunting down slang used in the Old West for ONE SENTENCE. I've wasted time trying to find how a British person would say "crazy" in the twenties. I spent an hour trying to find out when the rollerball pen was invented and how widely used it was in the 1940s. I spent at least two days searching floor plans online till I finally gave up and made my own-- just so I could describe something better. I've lost track of how many time I've made sure the stupid pop culture reference I've made actually would be known by certain characters and are the right time period.
It's a lot of freaking work.
And that's just for the fan fiction I've been working on as if recent.
Last summer I spent days on end looking at school catalogues to get ideas for course to stick students in. I've wasted hours making sure the schedules I made for them actually worked. I've spent years trying to figure out what colleges some of my characters are going to attend, though I don't plan to actually write about them IN college. I've spent days staring at a map of Glasgow on a real estate site trying to find a flat. For a fictional character. (I did find one. Well, two. Then I merged them, as what I wanted doesn't actual exist.) I've scoured the internet for images of interiors so I'd have a good idea how to describe them. (One day just to find out they'd remodeled the building I was trying to write about so I really had to just use what was in my head. No one thought to take pictures of the fourth floor Adam Smith lecture hall before they redid it...)
Hours of my life were lost when I was working on HYRM and I got lost in a world of quotes. Quotes ate me alive for days on end.
Many of the clever things I come up with in my original works as well as my fan fics no one bothers to really take note of...it's like I always thought: no one notices. They are reading and enjoying the story-- not looking for symbolism, not looking for those little things.
Then, I got feedback when someone noticed the painstaking effort I put forth.
One of my stories follows two real people, who are quite famous. I went back to my roots in my fan fics and started writing about actual people instead of fictional ones. I had the idea in my head for awhile and it wanted out, so I let it out. Yeah, you might think it is rather teenybopper of me, and I think it is, but I like the two OCs I created and if I REALLY wanted to, I could change the names of the famous people, change the names of projects, etc and it'd be orignal. So, I guess you can say I'm just too lazy to change the inspiration. (10p technically started out as a fan fic, only I changed the main romantic interests name, then his profession, thus, it's not. See? No...that's fine.)
Anyways, I've become somewhat fixated with where these two people WERE. I don't care where they are right now, I care where they WERE. I get caught up in trying to figure it out, till I suddenly realize what I'm doing and I laugh.
I'd be worried if I hadn't done the same thing when I was writing some of my original works. Granted I cannot scurry the internet to figure out where my characters were located, but if you saw the pile of paper I carry around for RAB, you'd see I'm rather keen to know every detail.
It wasn't always like this. Once upon I time, I just made stuff up and called it a day.
(Except that one time when I was in high school and I drew a map of the town RAB takes place in just so I could name the street's D used to get from one end of town to another. I could have just made that up, but...I didn't. I made an entire map. On lots of paper. I still have it and use it too. Well, I did have it...I'm not sure where it got off to now that I think about it. Hopefully it survies the move.)
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