BertVille

Thankful Thursday: My Baby

2011-08-25T19:38:00.000-07:00

I've decided that I'm going to spend a little time each week thinking about the things for which I'm thankful. I'm starting with the best thing in my life - my wonderful child.

Have Nots

2011-07-06T22:19:00.000-07:00

When I was in the Peace Corps I really missed showers. Every morning, I would brace myself against the cold buckets of water I'd soon be pouring over myself in the room that was supposed to be a bathroom, but really had no more plumbing than a spigot in the wall. Good thing I arrived in June when the temperature never really got below 80 degrees, even at night.

During the good months, the water would come every morning, turned on by the government. Everyone would race around, using half as many spigots as there were people, filling all of the available buckets with water for the 15 minutes it flowed.

During the bad months, the water only arrived about once a week. This was especially difficult because few people had the money for enough buckets to store the amount of water they'd need during the many day dry spell. Without the precious resource, many households began to look a bit tattered. Mine included.

Supply inconveniences aside, my own dislike of the water bucket system came mostly from the initial shock of having to actually take chilly bucket baths each day. For one thing, the logistics of it were complicated. Shampoo hair, dump water over head, fumble for more water with now blinded Shampoo Eyes, find giant toad instead, scream, fend off neighbors who run to my rescue upon hearing me scream. And it was cold! Did I mention how cold room temperature water can feel when a person is used to a lifetime of piping hot showers? Icicles on my elbows, I swear.

Of course, as with most things in the Peace Corps, once I paid attention to my Dominican neighbors' process, I was edified. They showered before bed each night, instead of our American custom of showering in the mornings. When I realized this, the cold buckets of stored water became a welcome end to each of my 110 degree days.

But, that doesn't mean I didn't miss showers. Glorious, warm, sanitary water flowing unendingly from a giant showerhead. A showerhead mounted high enough on the wall to prevent me from bending, ducking, and contorting.

I know that the water situation is still rather bleak for my Dominican neighbors of long ago. And while I was pondering this tonight, as I took an end-of-the-hot-summer-day shower, I suddenly thought of so many of the things I take for granted as a middle-class American citizen. Most of them involve my adorable son, who gets to bathe whenever he's dirty, eat whenever he's hungry, and see a doctor whenever he's sick.

I had him in a hospital. The doctors pulled him out, sewed me up, gave me a shot to stop me from bleeding so goldurn much, and vaccinated my new baby against a host of terrible diseases. Then, I brought that adorable baby home where I bathed him in safe, sanitary, purified-by-the-city water, which was available all day and night for my convenience. As he grows, I feed him organic fruits, vegetables, meats, and grains. I give him organic milk that I keep in my refrigerator, which always has electricity to keep our food from spoiling. I take him to his well baby check ups where the doctors and nurses keep track of his health. I have all day to spend with him, since I don't have to pick rice, sweep someone else's floor, or sell trinkets in order to live comfortably in my cozy, warm, well-built house. A house which I could afford to buy because I was able to go to college to earn a higher education degree.

And I realize all of this because of that once-upon-a-time when I lived in someone else's shoes for a few years. It makes me wonder what else I'm taking for granted... things that just don't occur to the Haves until we become Have Nots for a time.

To Procreate (Again) or Not to Procreate (Again)

2011-06-29T13:56:00.001-07:00

Apparently, my son has now reached an age at which is it appropriate for everyone to ask me if I will have another child. My answer is usually the same, "Too old. Too tired. Too broke." The thing is, as with most major life decisions, it's more complicated than that.

Back when I was 25, and even when I was 35, I thought I wanted two children. Then, I changed my mind. It's multi-faceted and incredibly complex. Any woman who has pondered this question likely understands the mixed feelings and the weighing of pros and cons in endless lists. All of this data is then compared scientifically, and eventually becomes irrelevant in the face of the emotional pull of one side or the other.

And so on. Over and over. And over.

Perhaps, I'd feel better about having another if I had started a family while I was younger. Or, maybe, I would feel differently if I had had an easier pregnancy. Or, it's possible that I would consider another if I felt more financially stable. But, none of those case scenarios are true, so I'm working with the situation at hand. I'm in my late 30s; was dog sick for 9 months followed by another year of healing; and prefer to stay home with my child(ren), so will continue to be in a one income family as long as I have small people in my care.

A while ago, I was wrestling with the decision to add another or keep it small. I posted a question on the subject to a mothers' group I belong to online. The answers were overwhelmingly skewed. I only heard from two people who had decided to stay with one child. The first mother had a daughter with special needs and was too overwhelmed with medical visits to have another baby. The second had a train wreck relationship that ended with no new sperm in sight.

If I decided to only have one child, would these be my only counterparts? Mothers of the sick or divorcee's who were sad they never had the chance for more? Perhaps there was a confounding factor in my data. Who cares, since it won't matter in the end, right? (See above.)

Even my Ob/Gyn gave me an earful about not making any final decisions because the best choice she ever made was to have her second child. And that is the sticking point, right there. The best choice she ever made. People will get right up into your face about things that strike an emotional cord with them. And what is more emotionally all encompassing to parents than their children?

It's no Roe vs. Wade debate, but it does echo the idea that people want me to do what worked best for them. Humans have a way of generalizing their experiences and assuming that everyone would be better off if they would make the same choices (or avoid the mistakes) they themselves have made. This issue seems to be no different.

I realize that I might change my mind again in the future, and if that happens, I will make the decision based upon what is right for my family. The bottom line is, if I were to decide to have another child now, I feel as though I would be doing it for someone else... because that's what's expected. I owe my son, and any possible future children, more than that.

For now, I will continue to put all of my maternal energy into my sweet, sensitive, inquisitive son. And, maybe I'll have some energy left over to continue trying to understand me.

I Wish Our House Were Made of Bubble Wrap

2011-01-11T13:31:00.001-08:00

They say that boys are more active than girls. I'm not one to put much stock in stereotypes, and besides I don't have a girl with which to compare activity levels. I do know that if you can find a toddler more active than mine in trying destruct him/herself and everything in the surrounding 5 mile radius, I will drive to your house and applaud you, in person.

Today's outing went like this. We spent 20 minutes putting on fleece, coat, hat, mittens, shoes, mommy's shoes, mommy's coat, mommy's hat. It takes 20 minutes because every single action is met with wild stomping, mad flailing, and a high pitched whine that my toddler uses indiscriminately to mean he either doesn't like something or he wants something this very moment or he might implode. This task involves both of those. He WANTS to go outside. He might vaporize at any moment from his colossal NEED to be outside, RIGHT NOW! Also, he very much dislikes having his hat put on, shoes tied, coat zipped, etc.

So, dressed. Ready to go out. I put him down on the sidewalk by our front step in order to close the front door behind us. He took off at a running toddle, fell face first, cried, got up, and ran off again... all before I could manage to get the door closed. I chased him and caught up before he ran into the street (thank goodness he still needs my help with stepping down off of the curb).

He wanted to destroy the pinwheel in our neighbor's yard across the street. D-E-S-T-R-O-Y. He used to be happy spinning it. Now he wants to crush the life out of it with his fist. Boy thing? I have no idea. I just know I've never wanted to crush a shiny, spinny thing of beauty.

I redirected. Next game... toddle back and forth across the street. Granted, it's not a busy street, but that's just not a safe game to start because I know that, very soon, he will be able to navigate steps alone.

I redirected. Next game... stick face in neighbors pointy flowers. That one didn't last long.

He changed his mind. Next game... climb that same neighbor's front porch steps, spill their watering can in milliseconds, and try to jump off the deck face first. I caught him.

I redirected. Next game... let's try the backyard.

It turns out that, while we have a large backyard, it is one giant death trap for a toddler. I also wish our backyard were made of bubble wrap. First, he wanted to play on the cement stairs. He managed with assistance. Then, he wanted to use his swing, one of the two things out there meant for him. The other is a sandbox, but it has no sand in it, yet. Unfortunately, the swing was covered in bird poop. Boo. I scraped as much as I could off, but it was a lost cause.

While I was doing this... scraping bird poop with the only thing I could find handy in the garage, a rose gardening glove... my little guy nearly toddled into the water feature. I'm sure it was once lovely, but it's now broken and, with an 18" pool of water at the bottom, it's a terrible thing to have in a toddlers play space. Water HAZARD.

I redirected back to the swing. I put him in the partially de-birdpooped swing. Waaaa! Done with that, already. And now, covered in dried bird poop.

He toddled back to the water hazard.

I gave up and we came back inside, where he happily ran off with no pants (since I removed them in the entryway due to bird poop), but wearing jacket, hat, and mittens. While I was trying to remove my shoes as quickly as possible, he pulled the paper tray out of the printer (BANG!) and moved on to destroy his next target.

As I understand it, toddlers manufacture mayhem in any environment. I just find myself wishing ours were a little less: pointy, wet, course, uneven, sharp, and unfenced.

It's not even 2pm, and I need a nap.

2010 in Photos

2011-01-11T09:26:00.000-08:00

A photo blog about the year is difficult this time because we've decided not to put photos of our little one anywhere with public access. Well, 97% of our photos are of The Baby! This is my best shot.

New Year's Day: Golden Gate Park

January: Baby's First Science Outing

Baby Kisses: I fell more madly in love with my guys.

We Left My Beloved San Francisco: A new adventure awaited in a far away land.

New City: Sometimes, more rain equals more rainbows.

And spectacular sunrises.

The Grandparents: We visited them for a combined Mother's/Father's Day celebration.

Hiking: Baby and I went hiking around the desert.

Grandpa Visits: He accompanied us back to Seattle after our visit to the desert.

Minnesota: We saw many sights.

The City

The country

The Zoo (He was tired of the giraffes.)

And we ate some grilled food from Uncle Kevin.

And baby took his fourth flight... back to our home.

August: We bought our first house!

With a big, beautiful backyard.

Bryan's Birthday: We had a little party...

...with some friends.

Grandparents Again: They came, bearing gifts, to check out the new digs...

...and help out with some renovations and changes.

Autumn: We enjoyed having some seasons again. This is Green Lake.

Halloween Baby had his first Halloween. While I can't show you how cute he was without posting a photo of him, you can imagine it when I tell you he was a Garden Gnome.

First Birthday! Our little one turned one year old.

Snow: We got some fluffy white stuff that stuck around! Three snow days for Bryan!

Thanksgiving: Bryan's brother and family visited for Thanksgiving.

Christmas: We enjoyed being domestic in our new home.

Transitions

2010-08-25T20:36:00.000-07:00

In the past year, my family has had its share of transitions. In November, we had a baby. In January, my husband got a different job in a new city. In February, I left my beloved City By the Bay, and set off for unfamiliar territory. In July, we bought our first home. Last weekend, we moved in.

This isn't even mentioning the underlying shifts inherent in all of the obvious change. For instance, I left my day job to care for the baby, redefining my role to the world and to myself. We moved cities, to a place where my husband has connections and I don't. San Francisco had been my city, so I was the one "in charge", in that respect. The power shift was a relationship rocker. There are also body image issues, breastfeeding issues, and support network issues. So. Many. Issues.

And yet, it's been okay. (Not great for my blog, however.)

In my sleep deprived comatose state, the whirlwind has just sort of blown by me unnoticed, for the most part. I mean, sure I felt the stress of adding a new person to our lives, of moving to a new city, and of buying such a large item.

But it took folding laundry tonight for me to really stop and realize how far we've come in this one short year. I stood in my bedroom (my bedroom, I bought it), and I folded onesies and baby pants and tiny socks as I watched the sky turn sunset pink. I could hear the neighbors in their backyard calling to one another. The summer breeze blew in through my open window and reminded me of my own happy childhood evenings.

Summer evenings are the best evenings. And, while I'm excited to share those future summer evenings with my growing son, and hope to give him the same sort of happy childhood memories, I'm increasingly aware that he will not always be my baby.

When we moved, we transitioned him into his own room. Until now, he's been right next to me in his own little bed every night. My little boy. I used to listen to him breathe sometimes and just lie there and smile like a sleep deprived, brainwashed idiot. *happy sigh*

So, tonight, folding those tiny clothes, I began to mourn his leaving for college. I know. Crazy. Except... not really. Earlier today, I folded and put away my breastfeeding shirts. My son weened himself entirely by about 7 months of age. And I miss him. I already miss him... the tiny, suckling, squishy baby version of him. Sure, I enjoy his current crawly, mobile, inquisitive incarnation and hope there will be so many delightful versions of him in the future. I look forward to those days. And yet, I feel his future absence so acutely, sometimes.

I have never loved anyone like this before, and I wonder who I will be without him needing me like he does now.

Pants

2010-07-16T18:44:00.000-07:00

So I have these tan pants.

Recently, after discovering the raspberry noise, the baby likes to spit his food. Yesterday, I learned my lesson with strained carrots sprayed e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e, so today, I took off my very light colored, easily stainable pants when I fed him.

When I was done feeding him, I put my pants back on, tied my sneakers, strapped the baby into the Baby Bjorn, and got ready to walk to the grocery store. Then, I couldn't find my pocket. What the heck?

My pants were on backwards. But, you know, it was just easier to keep the backwards pants than take off the baby and the shoes in order to reorient the pants. So I pulled the bottom of my shirt down over them and went shopping in backward pants.

P.S. I had to walk right by some very cute firemen standing on the corner for some benefit thing. I'm pretty sure they would have come onto me if it hadn't been for the pants.

Assets

2010-06-27T16:06:00.000-07:00

Regarding my continued use of maternity pants despite my nearly-flat-again stomach...

me: It's not my stomach that's the issue here. My ass is the problem.

husband: I don't think your ass is the problem. I think it's the solution.

Updates

2010-06-09T09:20:00.000-07:00

As a card carrying member of the TV Generation, I often find that, during significant events, my life is accompanied by the theme songs from the late-70s and early-80s television shows of my childhood. Recently, during our move from San Francisco to another fine city, the theme was from "The Jeffersons". Yeah, we're movin' on up! Movin' on up! Lately, it's been from "One Day at a Time". So while you're here enjoy the view. Keep on doing what you do. So hold on tight we'll muddle through. One day at a time. One day at a time.

It's been a rough transition, but not without its joyful moments. Here are some updates from the past (geez, it's been a while) four months.

Cutest first, of course.

Baby Updates
The Little Man began rolling on to his stomach at the five month mark, but has yet to achieve the rolling back the other direction, resulting in some very loud protests and vast amounts of wiggling in counter-clockwise circles on the floor.

Also, he can now sit unassisted for quite long stretches of time. He first accomplished this feat while my father was here visiting. He's got good timing! These days are ours. Share them with me. Oh Happy Days.

It seems his two months of teething (and subsequent nursing strike) have paid off, as well! He has two little bottom teeth showing through now. His daddy was the first one to feel them, and I saw them several days later.

Baby Boy is also eating solid foods, but continues to have issues with something we're feeding him. Likely rice cereal gone bad, since it was the common denominator in two bouts of projectile puking. Ain't we lucky we got 'em, good times.

The second sick episode took us in to see the pediatrician, who weighed him. At seven months, he's nearly 16.5 pounds... about the 25th percentile. He remains in the 85th percentile for height, however.

Despite all of this growth (or, perhaps, because of it), he is still not sleeping well at night, waking every 2-3 hours to eat. I hear that some babies just don't eat much during the day because they're so into the world, then, wake up a lot at night to eat. Neat idea - his brain is just too busy. Still, I wish he knew that night means sleep. We're going to undertake the transition to his own room after our upcoming vacation. But sooner or later you sleep in your own space. Either way it's okay. You wake up with yourself.

Me
I continue to carry around 8 pounds of pregnancy weight, mostly on my already larger than life booty... but, you know, in some cultures, that's a sign of prosperity and beauty. Perhaps, I'll eventually be able to carve out some gym time. Until then, I require new pants.

House Search
This is going miserably. It seems our town is still a sellers' market. Every house we see that's worth bidding on gets snapped up. This last one we bid on we lost because someone offered to pay for the whole house in cash. Who are these people?! But we remain optimistic that we will find something eventually. Until then, we'll just keep watching the local housing market, hoping for some signs of full on collapse. (Sorry home owners.) On your mark, get set, and go now. Got a dream and we just know now, we're gonna make our dream come true. Doin' it our way.

In General
Our new town is lovely. Quieter than San Francisco, but still enough of a city to allow us to belong to the local art museum, and to visit the zoo and aquarium. It's also close to mountains and water and all sorts of loveliness. Besides that, we're creating a safe, happy, new home for our Baby Boy. And that's what matters the most.

So, to sum it all up...
According to our new arrival, life is more than mere survival. We just might live the good life yet.

Pre-Travel Swimsuit Verdict

2010-05-05T13:44:00.000-07:00

In getting ready for our quickly impending trip to visit the grandparents in a much warmer locale, I tried on some of my non-postpartum clothes. Among the selection, my pre-pregnancy bikini.

The verdict...

Bottoms: A little tight, but wearable.
Top: What I have been dreaming of my entire life.

Looking Back on My April 29s

2010-04-29T12:20:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday. Woo-hoo! Because my baby is sleeping (for how long, I cannot say), I will take a moment to revisit some of my birthdays past.

#18
My parents got together with some of my best friends and surprised me with a small party. My first surprise party! Very fun.

#23
The first, and most notable, of the Peace Corps years. I had three birthdays in the Dominican Republic. This one is the only one I remember clearly. See my previous post for the whole story.

#26
My then fiance had the idea that we should go to Tahoe to visit some of his friends. Thing is, he wanted to drive up really late, for some reason, which is now lost in my cortex somewhere. We got a flat tire around midnight. He changed the tire and we were on our way... very slowly... with the little gimpy spare wheel most cars carry. Then, we got a flat gimpy wheel, too. So, I found myself, at 3:13am on my birthday, freezing my ass off in an all night garage run by people who looked to be straight off of the set of a zombie biker movie. Happy 26th. (That relationship didn't last.)

#28
My then boyfriend (after I broke it off with Mr. Middle of the Night Roadtrip) shipped of to New Zealand for his new job on my birthday. I accompanied him for a goodbye/birthday weekend in Los Angeles to visit his parents before he flew out. On his last day in the USA for an undetermined amount of time, we went to Venice Beach where a pigeon pooped in my mouth. Yes. My mouth. Euw. But, then, when I got home, my wonderful girlfriends threw me a surprise pajama party in my own home! Super fun! Thanks, ladies! Oh, and New Zealand Guy and I are still good friends. It wasn't his fault the pigeon used me as target practice.

#29
My parents came to visit and I threw myself a huge party in Golden Gate Park. Hooray for picnics and friends and family!

#33
My now husband, then fiance, took me to see the Dalai Lama speak in San Francisco. It was possibly one of the coolest things I have ever done or will ever do. And that Dalai Lama, he's a funny guy! Who knew?

(photo courtesy of newsbiscuit.com)
Later that day, we had a picnic at one of those unspeakably beautiful scenic overlooks that dapple the Bay Area.

#34
My husband took me on a surprise wine tasting weekend in Lake County, CA. We stayed at a beautiful hotel and went on a limo wine tour with another couple. Fantastic present. I don't believe he will ever top that surprise. I hope he keeps trying, though. He's a great surprise planner.

#35
By far the best birthday present I ever got was this photo.

We started the day with an ultrasound and then, despite my crushing morning sickness, went to the San Francisco Academy of Sciences where we drank lemonade and saw the planetarium show. Very fun day.

#36
So far, not bad. We started the day with a trip to the pediatrician for an unexplained rash on my baby. But, you know, I get to have a cute baby and a wonderful husband who stayed home from work to help with said cute (and fussy) baby on my birthday. Hooray. :)

Birthdays Past

2010-04-28T21:56:00.000-07:00

In honor of my birthday tomorrow, I decided to revisit some birthdays from the past. It was going to be one blog entry, but then my baby freaked out, and now it's late and I'm waiting for him to stir in his swing so I can put him to bed. In light of that (and because I'm just short of delirious), I'll postpone the original issue blog entry until I can focus on the computer screen. For now, I'll repost these two entries I put on my Peace Corps blog, which is now largely defunct. They pertain to the first two days of my 23rd year.

- - - - - - - - -
Rude Awakening
(originally posted on March 5, 2005)

During my Peace Corps group's three month training period in the Dominican Republic, we took a trip to the city of Nagua on the north coast of the island. The purpose of the trip was to see part of our project, an Educational Resource Center, in action. Each member of the group was assigned a host family with whom he or she would stay for the week.

I had been in the country for just over a month, living in the capital city of Santo Domingo in a small barrio called Los Alcarrizos. Although it was close to the Peace Corps training center, it was not one of the most wealthy Dominican barrios. In fact often, in the morning when I would walk to my scheduled trainings, I would step over used drug needles and pass by dead dogs lying in the street. My host family in the capital, however, had a very solid cinder block house with a cold-water shower and, more importantly, a working toilet. It also had actual doors between rooms. Both of these features were rarities in Los Alcarrizos homes. Although it was not a palace by American standards, it was quite nice for a Dominican barrio casa. To add to my good fortune, I shared the space with one extremely tidy woman and her only slightly boy-crazy teenage daughter. I had no idea how good I had it.

Up in Nagua, the family to which I was assigned, had a small house with three rooms, a livingroom/kitchen and two bedrooms, which were divided from one another only by gauzy curtains. There were six people living there: two parents and four boys of varying teenage years. During my stay, they all slept the smaller room and let me have the parents' big double bed all to myself. Though there wasn't much privacy due to the lack of doors, I felt honored.

During our initial dinner of boiled green bananas and squeaky goat cheese, I glanced around the tiny house, searching in vain for something that might resemble an indoor bathroom. I was later introduced to the out house, a creaky wooden structure, full of gaps and rusty nails, plopped in the middle of a concrete backyard. And, as if it weren't bad enough that four teenage boys with terrible aim already shared this out house, I was informed that my hosts shared the facility with the two neighboring houses, as well. The stench was unearthly.

I was instructed quite firmly that I should never use the outhouse after dark because it was very dangerous. I imagined comic book-type muggers trying to steal something from me while I stood there in my jammies, rubbing my eyes sleepily. When I posed this as a possible scenario, I was further instructed that the real danger was from the giant 12" poisonous millipedes... and various other tropically-big crawlies of the night.

Now, I don't mind bugs, but when they can kill a small child with venomous jaws, I try to steer clear. I certainly didn't want to bare my ass around anything that can paralyze an adult's entire arm with one little nip of the skin. So, I aimed to comply with the rule.

However, this left me wondering... where would I pee in the middle of the night if I was not allowed to exit into the backyard minefield of deadly arthropods? I have a notoriously small bladder, and could not bear the thought of lying awake from 4am until sunrise, pinching my legs together in a desperate attempt not to wet my hosts' bed. My unspoken question was answered when, just before bed, the lady of the house handed me a basinilla. It looked like a slightly oversized, plastic coffee cup. I stared at it blankly. She explained its use in rapid Spanish. I tilted my head, eyebrows furrowed, confused. She took it back from me, put it between her legs and mimed as though she was urinating. A-ha! Got it. "Muchas gracias", I said sweetly. I was almost as horrified by the thought of peeing in a coffee cup as I was of the giant nighttime critters waiting just outside, ready to attack.

Wishing I hadn't had that last glass of jugo de melón with dinner, I crawled under the mosquito net and into the bed. Exhausted from an entire day of speaking Spanglish with my new friends, I quickly fell asleep. Late that night, I woke up, bladder full of pee, heart full of dread. I squinted at my little light-up clock. 3:14am. In an interesting twist, it was April 29, my birthday... and I was born at 3:13am. Happy freakin' birthday to me. Time to pee in a coffee cup.

I untucked my mosquito net and crawled out of bed quietly, so as not to wake my nearby neighbors. I took the small, plastic cup into the corner where I was sure I couldn't be seen through the gauzy curtain, which separated me from four teenage boys and their sleeping parents. I found some toilet paper in the half-light of the moon and dropped my drawers. Okay. Ready, aim, fire.

Suddenly, I felt the warm trickle of my own urine on my right foot. Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Stop peeing! I aimed again, this time with the cup a little closer. Success.. but only after soaking myself. The measly amount of toilet paper I had located was soaked and shredded in no time as I made a futile attempt to mop up the mess I'd made.

Sighing deeply, I dragged my still-damp foot across the back of my left leg in an effort to spread the moisture out a bit so it would dry more quickly. I slinked back under the mosquito net, damp and embarrassed, a coffee cup of urine and toilet paper at the foot of my bed.

Then, I giggled a little bit. I had just turned 23 years old and celebrated by peeing on myself. Welcome to the Peace Corps.

- - - - - - - - -
Bless the Americana Verde
(originally posted on March 25, 2005)

My first experience with sickness in the Dominican Republic came during my second month in the country. The entire group of Peace Corps volunteers-in-training were visiting Nagua, a town on the north coast of the island.

My host family for the week was a well-meaning group of five lovely people, but they had little training in the ways of the sensitive American stomach. The most common way that foreigners get stomach issues in the Dominican Republic is through the water. Drinking water is easy to monitor, but there are many insidious ways in which tiny water-born yuckies find their way into our stomachs. For example, when Dominicans cook rice, they don't measure. They just throw in more rice or more water as needed. Unfortunately, when more water is thrown in, it doesn't always boil long enough to kill the bacteria. And wa-la: Puke City.

The day after my 23rd birthday, I woke up to the familiar sounds of roosters crowing, bachata music playing, and children yelling to one another outside my window. Was I mistaken, or was it hotter than usual? I tried to get up and begin my day, but my limbs were all weighted down by the heaviest cotton sheet I had ever encountered. I was soaked in sweat and my head was full of concrete. Bleh.

After what seemed like an eternity, my host mother came in to check to see if I was awake so she could walk me to my training class that day. She took one look at my sallow skin and groggy gaze, and she panicked. They had entrusted her with a fragile American and she had broken the poor thing. She disappeared. Shortly after, she reappeared with a cold wet rag and some small white pills, which, in my stupor, I took without asking questions. All the while, she babbled on in Spanish, which I was too sick to comprehend. Then, she disappeared again.

The next time I woke up, it could have been five minutes later or five hours later. It was still scorching hot in my sun-filled room, and I was still drenched. My head hurt and my stomach was beginning to follow suit. I felt as though I'd been kicked by a mule (the Dominican equivalent of being hit by a bus).

Then, there was a commotion outside. I heard voices approaching and people shouting greetings to one another. And then they were in my room. I struggled to focus my eyes, which were now made of that wavy glass they use for bathroom shower stalls. It was my host mother with a man dressed all in black. He came over and sat on my bed as she rattled on in rapid Spanish. I wasn't' sure who she was talking to or what she was saying. I wished they would let me sleep in peace. The strange man put his hand on my damp forehead and began chanting something.

It was then that I remembered that, although the majority of the people in the Dominican Republic practice Catholicism, my host mother was what her neighbors referred to as una Evangelica, an Evangelical. They all snickered and rolled their eyes when they said it. Through the fog of my fever, I barely grasped what this meant at the moment. I did manage to figure out that he must be some sort of holy man, summoned by my host mother to pray for my large intestine.

His prayers continued for quite some time. His hand on my forehead annoyed me at first, but faded into the background, as did his rhythmic nonsense words, and I fell back to sleep.

Suddenly, he removed his hand and his chanting became much louder. I opened my eyes just as he raised his hand and his face toward the ceiling. I wondered if he was casting a spell on me, and if the next time I woke up, I would be some sort of amphibian.

Then, I watched in mild confusion as he turned back to look at me. He centered his hand several inches above my forehead. His chanting had reached a feverish pitch and he seemed lost in some kind of trance. And all at once, he slammed his hand down square in he middle of my forehead. THWAP! Shocked, I blinked at him a few times in the silence the ensued.

My host mother was sobbing somewhere behind him. He turned, stood, and walked out. My host mother followed. Everything was as it had been, roosters, bachata music, and children yelling. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had been a fever-induced figment of my imagination.

Incidentally, whatever he did, must have worked. To this day, I rarely get the stomach flu.

Darwin Hates Me

2010-04-13T11:54:00.000-07:00

In an evolutionary sense, I mean. I was recently considering the factors that went into my being and growing to be an adult. The biggest thing I kept coming back to was medical science. If we were living in Survival of the Fittest Days, I would be so dead, right now. And, when I gave it further thought, so would much of my immediate family.

Issue #1:
My foot was tangled in the umbilical cord when I was growing inside my mother. It came out bent and medical science fixed it for me. Hooray! Except in Darwin Days, I'd have been left in the bushes or eaten by a large bird of prey.

Issue #2:
As a child, I was allergic to nature. Given that those cave people lived in nature 24/7, I think I would have been left behind when they moved on to the hunting and gathering phase.

Issue #3:
I am largely myopic, as is most of my family. "Anyway, regarding what we'll gather today... Wait, where are you all going? Tiger? I don't see any - GAAAAHH!"

Issue #4:
Even if I had made it to adulthood (which I clearly would not have - see above), I would not likely have survived childbirth. My water broke very early, leaving me open to infection, which I have to imagine would be a lot easier to pick up birthing on the savanna than in a sterile hospital. Then, contractions slowed and I was left with... uh... where's the baby? Oh, trapped inside in my pelvis? Fantastic. Let me just go out to the middle of the desert and wait for the lions and vultures. It won't be so bad, though, because I won't be able to see them coming. I'm severely myopic. It's a miracle I made it this far, anyway.

Being a Mother

2010-04-02T10:38:00.001-07:00

"There's more to being a mother than breastfeeding."

My mother recently told me this. And I appreciate it because I'm having some major breastfeeding issues.

While it's never been extremely easy for me to breastfeed my baby, I had been managing without much supplementing of pumped breastmilk in bottles. But, I also hadn't come up against multiple issues at one time before this. My baby is nearly 5 months old, and, according to the pediatric nurse, possibly trying to wean himself, already. Could also be teething, but even if it is, there's nothing I can do to make him want to breastfeed while he's in pain. He just flat out refuses the boob most of the time. And I feel personally rejected, which I know isn't rational, but it's real.

Despite many, many hours of pumping (8.5 in March, according to the Total Baby App for iPhone), my supply is taking a major dip. Add to the issue that my period returned in March (after only four months), which can also make supply dip, and well... it seems my breastfeeding days are severely limited.

I find myself mourning the loss of what I thought it would be like to feed my baby. And trying to remember that there's more to being a mother than breastfeeding.

More thoughts on being a mother another time because the Tiny One awakes.

I Am Fertile

2010-03-17T11:26:00.000-07:00

After more than four months of sleepless nights, breastfeeding challenges, and giving up dairy in order to quiet a fussy baby... now my body wants to have another one?

My period returned at about 4am today. And I'm still exclusively breastfeeding my baby! Isn't that supposed to give me a hall pass or an exemption sticker or something?

The cruelest part of the joke is that I'm still wearing maternity pants! I don't even get to wear pants with zippers before having to deal with lady stuff again. Boo.

Moving On

2010-02-14T11:06:00.000-08:00

Another, much longer post, will likely follow this one. But, realistically, I can't say that it will be coming anytime in the next six months, so I'll just post this for now.

Empty

Full

Crankypants

2010-01-21T08:44:00.000-08:00

There are several circumstances in my life right now making it more and more difficult to stave off the crankypants mood I've been fighting for a few days. And, since I have no current therapist, and I value my marriage way too much to continue to whine about the same thing over and over to my loving husband, I will tell you, Internet.

But first, let me start by saying that I feel terribly guilty for even feeling cranky, at all. I read the news about Haiti, and I know my life is practically gilded. And yet, feelings are feelings, and I have had enough therapy in the past to know that I need to let them out. So... bring on the complaints.

Milk Supply
About the time my baby decided to have a major growth spurt, my body adjusted to his tiny self and his itty-bitty needs. So, for the past four or five days, we've been struggling with milk supply. I've been trying to keep him satisfied enough so that he will stop fussing between feedings (which happen about every 1 - 1.5 hours). So far, I have failed miserably at that task. I'm pumping and downing fenugreek tablets in order to try to increase supply.

Fussy Baby
Well, duh. He's hungry. We're supplementing him with breastmilk I froze a while back, but it's not an endless supply. Also supplementing too much interferes with his need to feed on me, therefore, interfering with my supply. An endless circle of fuss.

Fleas
4:00AM changing sheets, vacuuming, and scratching until it bleeds. Enough said.

Mice
Not just so much the fact that they exist in our kitchen, but more the fact that one seems to have gotten into the wall and died, stinking up the whole joint like roadkill. Speaking of joints...

Pot-Smoking Neighbor
He knows we have a tiny baby up here and that his smoke gets into our apartment (despite the fact that we covered all of our heat vents and no longer are able to heat our apartment because he won't stop smoking). And yet, he continues. Which leads me to...

Cold Apartment
We can only use two rooms of our house because the others are way too cold for baby. This makes our 1000 sq ft apartment into about a 200 sq ft hovel. It feels very confining. Which leads me to...

Rain
I love rainy weather, but don't have anything waterproof in which to take the little one out. So, we've been stuck inside almost the entire week, so far... with the fleas and roadkill and pot-smoking-son-of-a-bitch.

Lady Business
It's still not healed and mighty painful making me wonder if I will ever be a whole woman again.

Baby Finger Infection
The poor baby has come down with a finger infection. The whole tip of the finger is red and swollen and warm to the touch. The pediatric nurse said to soak it in warm water with antibacterial soap for 10 minutes several times a day. Has she ever met a 10 week old baby?

Out-of-Town-Husband
The love of my life has been out of town since Monday. The baby misses him and has been fussier for that reason (along with the milk thing). Baby sleeps less, mommy sleeps less, and friend who's here helping sleeps less than all of us because she's washing pump bottles at 3am while I'm trying to get back to sleep. So, thank you, Lisa, for helping out! And to my darling husband, when you read this... we love you very much. We never want to be away from you again. And not just because you change the poopy diapers. Thank you for finding us a new home far from all this cranky-making.

And, the baby just began fussing, so it's time to feed him again, and frankly, that's my favorite part of any day. I just love bonding with him. So, I guess that, overall, I'm one of the luckiest people I know.

A Year in Pictures - 2009

2010-01-03T12:39:00.000-08:00

It's been a big year here in San Francisco. I don't have much time to blog about it (scroll down to see the adorable reason for my time crunch), so I'll put up some photos, instead.

We started the year off well with Bryan getting his weirdo thoughts published on a bunch of kitsch from a San Francisco based company! His first paid job! Look for the items in novelty stores all over.

I got a new bike, and we took a ride in Golden Gate Park!

I got to meet my good friend's baby. He's half Frenchman.

We threw an anniversary party in Arizona for my wonderful parents.

Then, we did some sight-seeing in an old mine.

We went on a wine tour to some fancy-dancy wineries in Napa...

...and had a blast.

Funny that this is the next photo, but I swear, I didn't get knocked up because I was drunk from wine tasting.

For my birthday, despite the fact that I was still suffering from major morning (all the time) sickness, we visited the remodeled Academy of Sciences.

Bryan's sister came out from the East Coast to visit, so we got to do some touristy stuff with her.

Then, we went and did some more touristy stuff in Seattle! Most of it involved a lot of eating.

Then, it was time to get the room ready for the baby. Bryan painted his former office baby blue for the upcoming little arrival.

At the end of the summer, we were able to get away to Yosemite with some friends from my work. It was Baby's first trip there. His room had no view, but perhaps, we'll go back soon.

We celebrated Bryan's birthday with ice cream cake from one of the best creameries in San Francisco. Mmmm... malted ice cream with chocolate sprinkles!

This fall, we had a babyshower, for which my parents flew in!

A fun time was had by all (including the little belly monster pictured here).

Bryan got to work assembling many baby items.

For Halloween, we tossed together his costume from things we had around the house... yes, he owns a sheriff button just for real life stuff.

And my mom made my costume.

We had some really bad car karma this year. When I was eight months pregnant, a woman in the Babies R Us parking lot backed into our Honda, causing $2300 in damages. We took it as a sign and decided to sell the car...

...in order to buy a much safer-for-baby brand new car...

...which was then hit by a crazy person while parked on the street outside our home less than a week later. The crash caused $8000 in damages. Boo. It's mostly fixed, now.

I spent some time, as my due date neared, taking advantage of maternity leave. I took this while I was strolling along in the Presidio.

Then, the big day arrived! Baby made his debut!

And my family came to visit for Thanksgiving, since the Little One was still too small to travel!

The grandparents enjoyed the baby at both Thanksgiving and Christmas...

...for which they returned bearing many presents.

That's the year in a nutshell. If you want to see more photos, you can add me as a contact on Flickr. I can, then, add you as a friend, so that you can see my "friends and family only" photos. That is, if you're really my friend.

Happy new year!

Six Weeks

2009-12-22T15:32:00.000-08:00

I'm not that strong a healer. I just had my 6-week postpartum check up. I knew I wasn't entirely okay yet because the evening before the appointment, I was sitting on the bed and moved to get up. Holy Bajeezus. It wasn't like pushing a baby out, or anything, but it sure didn't feel like my hoo-ha was all healed up nice and tidy.

Without getting into gory details (and they are literally gory), let me just say that fixing the issue involved cauterizing delicate bits of me with silver nitrate. It was the second time since I squeezed the baby out that I've needed that procedure performed.

Also, I have developed (through the course of pregnancy and during postpartum baby hauling) bilateral tendinitis in my wrists. Not easy with an 11+ pound, quickly growing baby.

Don't get me wrong, it's all completely worth it and I love my little B more than life itself. That said... to those of you who continue to ask when I'll be having the second baby I say:

Mwaaaahahahaha! You should do stand up comedy because that is terribly unlikely, my friend.

Baby B

2009-12-07T19:41:00.000-08:00

Apparently, my baby can read my mind. Or, he must have heard me reading my last blog post out loud. The same afternoon I posted my last blog entry, my water broke and it was GO time!

I started writing this post shortly after returning home from the hospital with my son... but holy crap, taking care of a baby is a lot of work! So, I'm taking a moment while he naps to finish my entry. I'm running on about 5 hours of sleep in the last 36 hours, so please excuse any typos, and I'm no longer responsible for my syntax.
____

I never really saw the appeal of reading someone's birth story. Having had the experience of giving birth has changed my mind completely. It's profound. So much so, that I'm afraid I won't be able to encompass the emotion involved... which is how I suppose a lot of people feel, and why birth stories aren't that compelling to the general public. Knowing what I know now, I can listen to the vast untellable behind the words in the birth stories I've read.

Here is ours.

It all began with a movie. With me being four days past my due date on Sunday, November 8, Bryan and I thought we should go see a movie, since it might be the last time we get to do that for a few years. The baby was really active during the film, and I figured he was reacting to the sounds in the theater, which were louder than our usual daily activities. On the way home, we stopped to get some small things at the store. I was feeling unusually sickish, but sick had been my constant companion all throughout the pregnancy, so I wasn't thinking much of it.

I was having some smallish contractions and figured I was dehydrated, so I drank a bunch of water when we arrived home. With so many false alarms, dating back for weeks, I was dubious that this could really be labor.

Bryan and I decided to take a little rest before dinner and laid down on the guest bed in the sunny front room. As we chatted, I felt the contractions come and go, so I drank some more water.

Around 4pm, I got up to use the bathroom and, halfway across the guest bedroom, I felt a rush of warmth starting at my nether regions and spreading all down my legs. We heard in our childbirth class that the water bag rarely breaks early and very rarely gushes like in the movies. I'm such a drama queen that way.

While Bryan called the OB's office, I tried to empty the rest of myself into the toilet and managed to get most of the fluid, at least, onto the bathroom linoleum. And with that, we rushed off to the OB reception. They'd seen us to much, I think they were ready to roll their eyes and send us away. Luckily, I had soaked my pants and had proof that I was in eminent labor (finally).

After all of the standard checking of vital signs, etc., they assigned us a nurse, who accompanied us upstairs to the labor and delivery room that we would occupy for the next 20+ hours. We stayed in that room through three nurse shift changes, one of which, I spent the entirity of nearly unconscious.

Because my water broke so early in the labor, and because I had tested positive for Strep B (a bacteria that comes and goes in healthy adults, but can cause issues for babies), the staff wanted to get my labor going faster. They gave me Pitocin, which increases the strength and intensity of contractions. Like they aren't painful enough to start with.

The OB on call came in, checked my cervix, and told me it was a big, fat one centimeter dilated. ONE! After seven hours of labor. Boo! She took that opportunity to chat with me about possible pain management options. I had been interested in attempting a natural birth, but with the IV for antibiotics, and now the Pitocin, I was feeling less able to move around freely. Besides, every time I got up, a new rush of fluid hit the floor behind me. My sweet, loving husband actually followed me around and cleaned it up. I have to imagine that was part of what they mean in the "for worse" part of "for better or for worse". The OB made a good point in that it was now nearly 11pm. My usual bedtime was 8pm, those days, so I was already good and tired. The OB said that when I was fully dilated (sweet Jesus, when would that be?), I would need to push the baby out. And... well, pushing is hard work, so I might want to be able to rest before my services were needed.

At 11:30pm, I was exhausted, contracting every 3-5 minutes, and terrified of having an epidural. A catheter in my spine? Come on. I have such needle phobia that I nearly passed out when they inserted the IV. But, fatigue is a funny thing that way. I called for the nurse, and she hooked me up with the anesthesiologist, a funny, charismatic man in his late 30s. He was magical, and in my blurry thought process, he was some sort of angel or elf or other do-gooder character. Mmmm... epidural.

So, for the next seven or so hours, Bryan and I slept on and off. I was constantly awoken by the automatic blood pressure cuff (every 15 minutes) and nurses checking my nethers (5 centimeters, 7 centimeters, 9.5 centimeters!). I also felt a lot of pressure in my... downstairs areas. I was confused as to why the baby wanted to come out of my butt, frankly. Nobody tells you that having a baby feels like being really constipated. Weird.

At 9am, the hospital staff decided it was time to push and, just like that, it was show time! The nurse said average pushing time is two hours for first timers. So at 11am, I was all, "What the hell, Baby? You're late!" He was, in fact, stuck on my pubic bone or something of the sort. I remember everything in a foggy haze of sleep deprivation and endorphins. Then, the nurse midwife (who happened to be a man, by the way), whom I had met several times in the past, came in to help out. According to Bryan, he literally stuck his hands inside my hoo-hah and turned the baby. Apparently, Little B was "sunny side up", or in layman's terms... facing the wrong way to make a clean exit. After that, within 10 minutes (or maybe it was an hour... who was counting?), my son was born. I had a mid-husband's hands all up inside and a lady doctor putting all of her weight on me just under my ribs, and then, someone said, "Look down." And there he was. All bluish and slimy and beautiful. He was so quiet and stunned. And then... he let out a wail I'll remember always. That's my boy!

Within minutes I was being sewn up. There was some business about a placenta. Did I want to see it? Ew. No. Bryan saw it and it nearly scarred him for life. Besides, why would I want to see some ugly old placenta when I had this beautiful little brand new person on my chest? His hands are huge, like Bryan's, and I noticed his fingernails immediately. Shaped like his daddy's.

Then, he was nursing. And they wheeled me upstairs to postpartum recovery. And Bryan and I spent the next two days blissfully falling madly in love with our baby. He took some time to figure out, and we're still working on understanding him.

And this is all the most incredible thing I've ever done or can ever imagine doing. And that's the best way I can put it. That's what I meant by not being able to put it into words. There just aren't any that suffice.

...

Okay Now... Seriously

2009-11-08T07:42:00.000-08:00

Come out!

I have a non-stress test scheduled for Tuesday, and really thought that this baby would be out of me by then. So far, no indications that he has any intention of going anywhere soon. Yesterday, I tried dancing around the living room for about 20 minutes to everything from merengue music to hip-hop beats. Some contractions ensued, but then calmed right back down. And... I think all that action rocked Baby to sleep.

So, non-stress-test on Tuesday, followed by my regular OB appointment. And the induction has been scheduled already (a fact which, originally, made me scoff in disbelief and disdain). Well, at least, I have a limited time to continue to be pregnant. I was just hoping to avoid the intervention because I wanted to have a prompt and obedient baby. I mean, I can't very well say, "Do you want me to pull this belly over?! Then, I suggest you start listening to me, Mister!"

November 4

2009-11-04T10:17:00.000-08:00

A year ago today, the United States finally succeeded in electing someone other than a stuffy white man for president. It was momentous, and I was so happy to be a part of that particular celebration in our nation's history.

And, just for the record, I think he's doing a stand up job, for the most part. But, this isn't a political post. (See my previous post on 10/21 for reference to why.)

Today is also a much-looked-forward-to day in our household because it is also (drum roll) my due date, and the little one is not cooperating with the schedule. Technically, according to my calculations, the actual due date was yesterday, but since Baby has yet to make any moves toward the exit, I'll go along with my OB's assessment.

So, just for any of you out there keeping score. No baby yet. Maybe I need better signage in there... or that exit lighting they have in movie theaters.

We Can't Have Nice Things

2009-10-29T14:22:00.000-07:00

That's what Bryan said when our brand new car was hit by some crazy person in the middle of the night. We had had said brand new car for less than a week and put only 140 miles on it since driving if off of the car lot. And it was really only that many miles because the dealership was pretty far away.

The note the offending person left (and I give her credit for leaving one because goodness knows she could have just driven away... if her car was still working... a fact about which I am dubious given the damage to our car after impact)... the note said, "I hit your car, obviously. Extremely sorry." Along with that was her name, phone number, and insurance information. Very decent of her.. and yet, I found myself very upset.

All of the things our brand new car symbolized to us now felt cheapened. A new life starting, acting like grown ups because we're going to have a baby, spending some extra money to be safe and secure for our family. Boo. Stupid lady blew that to hell, obviously.

The "obviously" part of the note baffles and amuses me. First, well, it was obvious that she hit our car. Seems superfluous to add the word. Second, she punctuated the sentence correctly, making it hard to assume she was a drunken teenager. I picture some college-educated mid-30s person, working some lame job which is far beneath her education level, but not being able to find something else. She comes into the big city (different area code on her phone number) and has a night out with her ladies. Either she's drunk or not. She reaches out frantically to catch her cell phone which slides off of the car seat as she rounds the U-turn a bit too fast. She's lost because this is not her town and ended up going the wrong way on a nearly deserted street at 1:00am. And... BANG! She hits our brand new, bought it for baby's safety, first new car either of us has ever owned, prized possession at 40mph, shoving it against the curb and taking out the entire bumper, the hatch on the hatchback, and enough of the driver's side to require replacing the entire metal panel.

And I'm sure she yelled at her steering wheel, "Shit! Shit! Shit!" before possibly pausing to consider driving away. Then, doing the right thing, she took out a notebook and wrote us a note with her info.

It was the same note we found, soggy and sticking to our windshield the next morning as we joyously rounded the corner to take our brand new car to a friend's graduation ceremony. I read the note through hysterical tears, cursed the woman for being a crazy drunk, and called our insurance company. They, by the way, basically said, "You have got to be f-ing kidding us" because we just reported buying the brand new car exactly one week before. We did not get to go to the graduation ceremony, since our car was no longer drivable.

So, now the news is that the car is not totaled (meaning no frame damage). The damages on the body pieces alone came to a grand total of nearly $8000. Holy crap. That woman's insurance must be very unhappy.

For our part, we're still saddened by the turn of events, want to go live in the woods away from society, but are very, very glad to have been sleeping safely in our home when the accident occurred. (And I feel baby kicking me in the belly as I write this, affirming my last statement.)

Before

After

I'm Only Capable of Talking About Babies

2009-10-21T10:44:00.000-07:00

Seriously. I find that I'm not able to even hold a conversation with my husband for longer than about 3 minutes without being distracted by something baby-related. Baby kicks, diaper service details, relaxation techniques, queasiness. My poor husband has held up well. Five stars, Bryan.

So, on that baby-related note, here's the latest.

First, I've been having contractions up the ying-yang. When I can sleep, I incorporate them into my dreams. Last night I dreamed someone was literally sticking something up my ying-yang! Ouch! I woke up to a contraction. With all that contracting, I figured something must be going on in there. Well, I had an OB appointment today. My cervix is totally closed and 50% effaced. 50%? Lame. But, still two weeks from the actual due date, so four stars, cervix.

Also, we bought a car! A brand new car! It was like picking what was behind door #3 on a game show! We worked with a broker for over five months. We were all burnt by the high prices of used economical, small cars, of late. Well, then, she had a brilliant idea and managed to get us a new car for less than one that was three years old. Government incentives on Pontiacs right now! And our Pontiac was built in the same plant as the Matrix, so we basically got a brand new Toyota for supercheap. Five stars, car broker.

Not that I ever wanted a new car. I know they lose value the minute you drive them off of the lot. I always thought it was silly to put more money out there just for a new car. But, that's the thing. We didn't! We put down a regular amount of money and got a NEW car! I'm so totally thrilled. Here is my belly with our newer, safer ride.

Living in California is Totally Sweet

2009-10-12T08:11:00.001-07:00

Leaving Yosemite
Originally uploaded by sprbert

This is my second attempt at blogging a photo through Flickr. The first time, the photo was way too big. I hope it works. I might just dislike that it's not the same as my other posts and delete it due to my OCD need for symmetry. If you're reading this now, I've overcome my issues, for the time being.

So, the blog post is really more of a test than anything else, but I do want to mention that I'm so glad to be living in California. I generally love the weather, the proximity to wonderful state and national parks, and the laid back attitude. But, mostly, today I'm noticing that it snowed in my native Midwest, and I'm planning to take a little stroll in Golden Gate Park to celebrate not having to wear moon boots ever again.

I'm Not Officially Diagnosed

2009-10-09T12:44:00.000-07:00

But, I'm sure I have a diagnosable anxiety disorder. Doing what I do for a living, I can spot that kind of thing a mile away.

First, a warning. If you a) are currently pregnant or b) don't want to hear about tragedy in general, you might want to stop reading this post now.

In my last entry, I alluded to the fact that I'm fearful about certain aspects of this baby-having business. First, there's the whole unknown factor. But, truthfully, I'm not that concerned about how it will all unfold. I'm trying not to hang on tightly to any one scenario of birthing my baby. Back when I was in the Peace Corps, I became good at having few expectations in a situation. You want to take a bus to the capital? Be prepared to wait for six hours because the bus driver's neighbor let his goats get out of their cage earlier that day, and the driver had to help corral them before leaving town. Life happens. I waited. After a while, I learned to expect and enjoy life's little detours.

Second on the list of often quoted fears about birth is the anticipated pain. Here's the thing about pain, though... humans don't remember it very well. I have no concept of how much pain is a lot of pain, and therefore, I'll save that particular fear for the moment in which I'm screaming for an epidural. No, seriously, though, I do expect it to be painful. It's supposed to hurt to shove a human being out of your guts. I can't say I'm prepared for the experience, what with never having experienced it before, but I'm optimistic that I can handle it however I choose to manage it. And I trust in my husband to know my quirks and to manage the hospital staff, as needed.

So, that leaves the Big Third Fear. This is the one that wakes me up at 2:00AM. It's the one that gives me those photo flashback moments that terrify and paralyze me. It's something I wish I didn't know. Something I wish I had never experienced, but that made me more appreciative of life, overall. And I have no idea how to manage the anxiety and intrusive thoughts it gives me during these last weeks of pregnancy.

Back when I was in high school, I got hooked on Vietnam movies, both fiction and documentary. There was something about the tragedy that spoke to my deepest heart and made me so intensely sad. I had never experienced death in my life, personally, and the thought of so many families losing someone they loved took my breath away. And it became an obsession of sorts... focusing on other people's suffering. Just wishing there was something I could do to make the sadness stop for everyone involved. It just occurred to me that maybe that's partly why I have the job that I do now.

In any case, I eventually moved out of that phase and into my Save the World phase, which was made up of much of the same fascinations with hardships of others. It's been a long time since I felt that deeply for someone else's pain. I have training now to turn off that kind of personal involvement and emotion. And usually, it works for me. Most of the time.

As I near my due date, I feel my baby boy wiggle in my belly, and I fall more and more in love with him and the idea of holding him and watching him grow. It is now that I find myself mired in a memory of tragedy that refuses to be shut off.

In early 2006, my friends awaited the birth of their much-longed-for baby girl. We threw a baby shower and the atmosphere was all excitement and celebration. Exactly one week later, I got an early morning call on my way to the gym. She had had the baby, there was some distress, but things were being managed. Several minutes later, I received another call. The long-awaited baby girl had passed away just hours after being born. There had been no indication of any problems, and everyone was in shock.

I turned the car around and headed to the hospital. Once there, I stood awkwardly in the labor and delivery room with my friends and their baby who would never grow up. I was silent as I stared at her. A dead baby. Nobody knew why; it just was. And here are the memories burned into my mind... mother holding infant and sobbing as though her own life would end, father crying while talking to relatives on the phone during what should be a joyful moment, the wrong-ness of how still she lay, those little toes and the tiny pink hat they had put on her head. The images haunt me as I get close to giving birth to my own baby at the very same hospital.

Those next months were heart-wrenching, and I was very sad for my friends, during that time. But now, feeling my own baby inside me, and knowing that my friend must have felt similar wiggles and kicks, and had such love and expectations for her own baby... it leaves me stunned into renewed sadness for all of them.

And there is no erasing that experience... the knowledge that, even though all the baby books say, "No matter what type of birth experience you have, you can be sure you'll be taking home a wonderful new addition to your family," it just might not happen. I find myself wandering around the house, imagining my friends coming in and taking down the baby gear we've been excitedly setting up... so that we don't have to endure doing that ourselves.

And I catch myself doing this. This is the diagnosable part. I know that odds are in our favor. But, I'm feeling superstitious and scared... and I just want my baby to be healthy and okay. I want to bring him home with his little sleeper and hat and carseat and blanket. And I want to snuggle him and feed him and watch him grow.

There's so much in me for him. I can't bear to imagine an alternate scenario... and yet, some days, it's on an endless loop in my head, which I can't seem to control.

Contraction Jackson

2009-10-08T17:48:00.000-07:00

I've had the Conjunction Junction School House Rock song stuck in my head for several days now. Mostly because whenever I have a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions in a row, I start singing, "Contraction Jackson, what's your faction?" I know it makes no sense, but it's stuck there, so I go with it.

I've been having a lot of contractions every afternoon for about a week. Yesterday, I started having them pretty much all day long, about 3-10 minutes apart. Today, they hurt a little more. And the poor Baby is in there all intermittently wiggling around and scared into stillness. What the heck? Go Time already? I was just getting the hang of these hiccups.

My last day of work is supposed to be October 16, but we'll see if I make it that long. I've been on my rear end at home since 11:30 this morning, when I returned after a failed attempt to go to work with every-3-minute contractions. Lesson learned.

I'm hoping this all just means I'll have a really strong uterus when the time comes.

I'm getting all excited to meet him. And I'm a bit fearful about the whole baby-having experience for several reasons that I'll go into in another blog entry. It's a little too much emotional stuff for this particular time of day.

Unexpected Happiness

2009-08-31T20:45:00.000-07:00

Today, we had a small scare. We ended up at my OB's office, and were sent for a third trimester ultrasound to check on the placenta. Apparently, everything looked okay. And, as a bonus, we got this neato 3D photo of Baby!

My fetus already has his daddy's nose!

Holy Freakin' Crap

2009-08-29T19:33:00.000-07:00

I cannot believe this is my body. I feel the same inside! Except when the little one kicks me. Then, I feel all happy and silly inside in a way I've never felt before.

My Issues

2009-08-23T16:38:00.000-07:00

(As a note: This is mostly for my own emotional masturbation, and I do understand that it's likely very, very boring to most. Please feel free to skip this entry, if you can't stand to hear people whine.)

Despite what a do for a living, I have plenty of my own deep seated issues. Today, two major ones are in play... and I am about to sound like a whiny pre-teen in front of the whole internet.

Today, I had brunch with a friend who is also pregnant. And, who also reads this blog. So, Dear S, please know that all of the following Emotional Garbage I am about to express has only entirely to do with me and my above mentioned issues. You are radiant and wonderful and a joy to spend time with. I honestly really value that we're having this experience together. In addition to the sheer neato-ness of having such a good friend so close and going through similar feelings, it clearly also helps me (and the internet) evaluate my hang ups.

I have two major hang ups (though if you ask my husband, he might come up with a few more). In my opinion, my hang ups are these: 1) anything to do with my looks, 2) anything to do with not being capable or strong. Both were triggered by my outing today.

First, a detailed description of my issues because you can't fight an enemy you can't see.

Hang Up #1: My Looks
Let's face it, in a society where Angelina can be pregnant and only gain about 10 pounds while still wearing fabulous designer dresses to the Academy Awards... and people thinks that's a good thing, instead of asking why she would put her baby in danger like that... well, how am I supposed to feel, really? But, this issue is much deeper than just hormones or pregnancy. This is something I've had my whole life. Am I thin enough? Am I cute enough? Do the boys like me? If they don't, what can I do to make myself prettier? (Not smarter, mind you... prettier.) It sounds so silly, and when I step back and pretend I'm listening to someone else, I seriously want to slap me across the face and tell myself to get over it. But... well, it's just not that easy.

I've examined this and, I assume because it's too close to home, I just can't figure out what the heck is the road block in getting over this particular issue. I mean, I certainly value my intelligence, my sense of humor, my other talents. Thing is, I don't value them as much as I imagine other people value my looks. Oh dear god, now I sound like every other woman I've ever heard complain about this. And it's painful... being in this place where I know I'm feeling something totally irrational that I completely don't respect or ascribe to in theory. And yet... here I am.

Sure, I wish I had been brought up to believe that my value is deeper than my physical appearance. And, to give my parents credit, they did try. The thing is, who would you believe? Fashion challenged old(er) people or Entertainment Tonight and Seventeen Magazine? I believe the messages that we give to girls in our society are reprehensible, and frankly, I'm relieved to be having a boy (which comes with separate issues, but ones with which I feel more capable of dealing logically.)

Hang Up #2: My Ability and Strength
Having been born with my foot tangled in my own umbilical cord and, therefore, bent the wrong way, I feel like I was often given the message that I wasn't strong enough or capable of doing the things other kids did. Perhaps, it was just implied; I know children pick up on their surroundings. But, I totally bought this line of thinking, and despite the fact that my foot was totally fixed by the age of three, I remember knowing deep within myself, that I absolutely could not become a track star, a figure skater, or a professional dancer. I was incapable of being any type of athlete. Too weak, too different, too broken because of my foot. I don't think anyone ever said, "You can't do that." I just knew it was true.

Years later, after moving to the Bay Area, I became quite a hot commodity in the swing dance scene, much to my surprise. I could dance, and out here, nobody knew my secret... that I was truly incapable of greatness because of my foot. I had fooled everyone.

Around the same time, I had a friend who wanted to take me rock climbing. I had been lifting some weights to avoid a family legacy of osteoporosis, and thought climbing sounded like a fun way to build muscles. I was terrified and not at all graceful, when I started out. And then, suddenly, after months of attempting to climb more difficult grades, something clicked and I got it. I mean I really got it. And I was, objectively, measurably good at it!

During that period of time, I complained to my chiropractor that I seemed to always have some pain or another I needed him to fix. And he said the nicest thing I had ever heard to that day, "Well, that's pretty normal. You're an athlete." An athlete! Damn straight.

So, I have a knee jerk reaction (ask my husband and his sore shins about it) when someone even sort of, kind of, almost implies that I can't do something. Or, when I imagine it's true in my own twisted head space.

So then, the reason these issues were invoked by the power of this casual outing with my friend? You see, my friend is in her 17th week of pregnancy. She's lovely and sweet and not at all sickened by the smell of coffee (which I still am sometimes). She's also only gained about 3-5 pounds, so far, is wearing all of her pregnancy clothes, and looks fantastic. And I remember that at 17 weeks, I had gained over 20 pounds already and was wearing maternity pants. And, people at work kept telling me how huge I was. (Don't ever tell a pregnant woman she looks huge. It's just not nice. She knows it, already.)

I'm pretty sure the giant weight gain was mostly because I was so totally sick that I dropped going to the gym (a before pregnancy daily routine) and started eating only graham crackers or anything else that would make me feel like I didn't want to hurl 24/7. (Joke's on me, since I sort of still feel like tossing my cookies much of the time.)

So you see... now, at nearly 30 weeks pregnant, I have gained a total of 37 pounds, already over the upper end of "normal" on the weight continuum. And I still have 10 weeks to go to reach full term. At a pound more per week, that puts me solidly in the "holy crap what have I done to my body" category. I'm already disgusted by my own thighs and the amount of cellulite that's hitched a ride on my once-muscular ass. And then, I'm disgusted at my attitude because, honestly, a healthy baby is way more important to me than the shape of my ass. And yet, those thoughts tumble around in my possibly poisoned by People Magazine mind.

Which leads me to being capable. No matter how silly it sounds when I say it out loud to my husband or to you, internet, I can't help but feel as though I'm failing at pregnancy. Like I'm doing it all wrong. I'm constantly sick, I gained too much weight, and I never had the second trimester honeymoon that everyone talks about. And though I know everyone's pregnancy is different, I feel like I can't, and I hate that word.

So, thank you, internet. I do feel better having taken a better look at all that. And thank you, S, for facilitating my introspection. Everyone should look inside at the weirdness they carry around, once in a while.

Eggsperiment

2009-08-21T16:54:00.000-07:00

Today, I brought a hardboiled egg with me to work. When I went to get it from the fridge, it had one single impact point on it, which had cracked in a circular fashion.

For some reason, this reminded me of a task we did in 10th grade health class. All of students were paired into heterosexual couple partnerships (I now wonder which of my classmates felt judged or different because of that) and given an egg. Not hardboiled, though. A raw egg. (This likely sounds familiar to many of you, as I think it's a pretty well practiced health class lesson in the USA.) Each couple was told that they were the "parents" of this egg, and needed to protect it for one week. If the egg broke, both members of the partnership failed the assignment.

Each team was to set up an elaborate schedule of which partner would take care of the egg during which hours. Who took it home at night, who brought it to gym class, when the handoff would occur, and in which hallway. Perhaps, to an adult, this seems like a good way to teach responsibility to a teenager during the sex education portion of health class. Looking back, I see some flaws.

Flaw #1: First, I didn't choose this partner as I would choose someone with whom I would be caring for a baby. I don't remember who my partner was, but I remember being dismayed when his name was read off. Also, it's incredibly awkward as a 15 year old to be put into a partnership with a boy in your class. A lot of "ooooo"s and "ooohhhhh"s were heard during the assigning. And, at 15, I was not one of the girls that the boys were secretly crossing their fingers about, and I was painfully aware.

Flaw #2: Most of the boys in the class were either 14 or 15 years old. Seriously, make a schedule of who takes care of a raw egg that we're pretending is a baby? That sounds like a sissy game of playing house, to me. The boys were much more interested in the making of the egg baby than the possibility of caring for it. I have to imagine that the lesson was totally lost on most, if not all, of them. And, I have to imagine, on some of the girls, as well, as proven by the fact that several of them ended up going to a continuation school due to "unfortunate circumstances".

Flaw #3: The assignment, perhaps because of the teenage boys' involvement, really became "who can design the most impact proof encasement for the egg". This, in turn, led to competitions after lunch where the boys (generally unannounced to the girl in the partnership) would take the eggs out to the back stairwell at the school (the highest spot possible from which to test an egg's "impact proof" container) and drop the styrofoam or bubble wrap or cardboard container containing the hapless egg... usually to its certain demise. And, therefore, failing both themselves and their blissfully unaware partners.

This last one I only know about because my partner, What's His Name, did exactly that.

And, I find myself, 20 years after 10th grade health class, thanking my lucky stars that I did not marry that boy... mostly because he's probably working at McDonald's because goodness knows, he made a sucky engineer.

Adventures In Pregnant Land

2009-08-17T12:54:00.000-07:00

I never really want to call my doctor when I have questions or concerns... even seemingly important concerns. I feel like a hypochondriac. Being that this is the first time I've been pregnant, I never quite know what's normal and what's gone horribly wrong. Yesterday was a perfect example of that.

My adorable cousin and her polite boyfriend were visiting, so we took them to Napa. We had a lovely picnic in the 90+ degree heat, but I felt fine sitting on the ground in the shade of a tree. They shared a bottle of wine, and I drank my little fizzy grapefruit juice (a treat, since I generally just have water). Peachy, fabulous, superfun time!

Then, I stood up. Shazam! Knives stabbing me in the gut. What the heck was that? Wait. It's not gone. It was like someone took a 5" rusty nail and jammed it into that soft space below my sternum and jaggled it back and forth under my ribcage... for the next three hours. Well, that can't be right.

So, when we got home, I looked this strange new pain up online. Let me say right here that if I am a hypochondriac, I blame the internet. Seriously. Nobody ever just gets a little sick on the internet and all symptoms could potentially lead to death. The internet told me that any upper abdomen pain could be a sign of preeclampsia. I had no other symptoms, though, so I wrote that one off. (Pats self on back for not overreacting.) The other thing it said about abdominal pain was that if it doesn't get better, to seek medical treatment immediately. Damnit.

We called the on-call nurse at my practitioner's office, who said I should get checked out. Twenty-five minutes later, I was checked in at OB emergency reception and wearing a hospital gown and a spandex girdle. They monitored the baby's heartbeat and my contractions for about 45 minutes. Apparently, the rusty nail pain I felt (it had faded significantly at that point, making me feel like even more of a hypochondriac) was not contractions because the nurse pointed out that I was having quite a few, which I didn't feel at all.

This created a new issue, now unrelated to the pain. I was having "on the borderline" too many contractions. So, the nurse unplugged the monitor, slung the cords around the back of my neck like a Versace scarf, and told me to pee in a cup. Gown a-flappin', I went into the bathroom to comply. Peeing in a cup while your stomach hurts and your wrapped in electrical cords and stuffed into an elastic girdle is much more difficult than you might imagine. I'll spare you the details.

And the verdict? I was dehydrated, causing too many contractions. Cervix? Happily, still closed. Pain? No idea. Likely, it was what I first assumed before the internet got me all screwed up. My abdominal muscles just under my ribs are stretching like a hot air balloon to accommodate baby. Nobody ever mentioned this to me. There's all this stuff online and in friends' stories regarding "round ligament pain", but that's generally low in the abdomen.

Well, now I know... and I'm glad because the rusty nail is back today.

The good news is, it wasn't an unpleasant experience (except for the cervix check, which is never a cause for celebration). Two great things came out of it.

1) We got a little preview of what it will be like in a few months to show up when we're actually having a baby. The nurse was nice, the doctor was fast to arrive, and the facilities are clean and quiet.

2) While on the fetal monitor, the baby got the hiccups, which was adorable because he would bump the monitor with his little spasms, making it sound like he was testing a microphone at a party. Without hiccups: thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa. With hiccups: thumpa-thumpa-TAP-thumpa-thumpa-TAP-thumpa-thumpa-TAP.

3) (Okay, there are three things.) Without me even knowing, Bryan had packed me extra socks, underwear, and a t-shirt... just in case, reminding me that I have the best one and he loves me. *swoon*

What Did I Ever Do To You?

2009-08-06T12:02:00.000-07:00

Now, perhaps, it's the pregnancy hormones, but I feel totally offended by the comments made on this page of The San Francisco Chronicle's site, sfgate.com.

I'm speechless at the sheer hatred, animosity, and sometimes violence, being expressed toward these pregnant women and they're lovely bellies! Where does something like that come from? Seriously, how do you dis a pregnant woman for putting a photo of her beautiful, life-creating form in a gallery dedicated to said photos? And, why are those people looking at that gallery if they find such topics so disgusting? Furthermore, why doesn't The Chronicle do anything about the inappropriate comments?

To me, these negative, hate-spreading, ignorant people embody all that is wrong with our country. Pregnant bellies as "target practice"? Target practice?! Not to mention the seeming consensus that photos of pregnant women are lewd and should only be displayed in private albums, if at all. Closed-minded, puritanical prudes.

I'm ready to move. I'll tell you that, right now.

Painting Baby's Room - Part II

2009-07-19T16:14:00.000-07:00

Today, we put up some foam circles that Bryan painted. They're our baby's decorations!

Painting Baby's Room - Part I

2009-07-13T21:05:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, Bryan painted the baby's room (formerly, his office).

Before

During

After

We tried going with no-VOC emissions paint, but unfortunately, to cover that dark orange, we needed a good primer. So far, no-VOC primers are only made to go directly onto drywall. So, listen up natural paint companies, I have a market for you. We did manage to get a paint/primer in one combo thing, which worked both economically and labor-wise (especially important since the VOCs kept me out of the room).

Ultrasound Tells All

2009-06-16T18:13:00.000-07:00

I was just checking out our recent ultrasound photos again, and came to a shocking conclusion. I'm pretty sure our baby is a superhero.

Nearly Halfway

2009-06-13T13:48:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm finding myself nearly halfway done with this pregnancy before I even really came to terms with the fact that I'm actually making a person. Here's the history, so far.

Week 1: I hope I'm pregnant.

Week 2: Maybe I'm not pregnant. Let's go wine tasting and get all tipsy!

Week 3: What's that cramping feeling? I'm tired and grouchy. I guess my period is coming again this month.

Week 4: Wait. What's this? Positive pregnancy test? I'm pregnant!

Week 5: No symptoms so far. And my boobs look great! Being pregnant is easy!

Week 6: Bleh. Nothing sounds good. I feel a little queasy.

Week 7-12: Please don't even mention food again and bring me my bucket. I'll be napping if you need me.

Week 8: Confirmed and with a heartbeat!

Week 13: Holy crap! That's what's going on in there?! And this was on my birthday. What a wonderful gift to see the little person wiggling in there!

Week 14: Isn't this morning (all the time) sickness supposed to let up? Maybe I should stop taking this supplemental iron? Could it be making me sick?

Week 15: Bryan's sister visited! Super fun, but I was tired and out of shape from not going to the gym for nearly three months. Some short walks around the neighborhood and through the park, but nothing like what I was used to before this whole adventure.

Week 16: We went to Seattle! I sure did feel tired while we're at the Folk Festival. I had to go home early and lie around on the couch napping and drinking a lot of water. I'm finding out all sorts of interesting things about what my body now needs.

Week 17: Was that movement? Maybe? Not sure. Hm... jury's out. My OB said I've gained 20 pounds! Some of that must be my heavy lunch! No?

Week 18: Definite movement every few days! Little flicks under my bellybutton. And more so if I drink some juice and hold really still. Baby loves sugar. Bryan is excited to be able to feel the baby in the future. And I'm back to the gym. Thank goodness. Feeling better already about the exercise I'm getting.

Week 19: Last ultrasound, unless my provider has some more concerns. A boy is confirmed! I know because I saw the male parts on the screen. The genetic testing all looks great. Looks like the little one is in the 80+ percentile on most measurements... including his head. Ouch.

Here's his little smiling face at week 19.

The Miracle of Life

2009-04-29T17:14:00.001-07:00

I now understand why they call it that. In just five weeks, the small person in my guts has gone from this:
8 weeks

to this:
13 weeks

It's mind blowing! And, also gives me a concrete reason to continue to choke down food, despite the fact that I'm still feeling nauseous at 13 weeks and 1 day pregnant. The little one is worth it.

BorderCam "Altruism"

2009-03-13T10:29:00.001-07:00

My brother just sent me a link to this article.

I'm baffled and saddened that the people in this story think they're doing something "altruistic," a word used by one of the interviewees. His definition of the word is sorely out of line with my idea of what altruism means.

I think the part that most makes me slap my forehead in dismay is this:
"Abernethy said he will continue to watch the cameras because he feels like he's part of an altruistic group of volunteers. Friends tease him about watching the site, he said. But he sees it as no worse than any other form of quick entertainment -- and maybe he can be of some help in the process. 'It's no different than watching Everybody Loves Raymond reruns," he said. "It's just something to do.'""

Quick entertainment? It seems these bordercam watchers have lost sight of the fact that the people crossing the border are... well, people. I hardly agree that watching Everybody Loves Raymond reruns is as benign as changing the course of someone's life. A life that might be deeply difficult due to issues of poverty, political problems, and disease. My feeling is that the bordercam watchers haven't taken the time to understand the issues on the other side of the fence.

That said, I'm not all for a completely open door policy because a system like that would likely overtax resources which we are already struggling to provide for some US citizens. However, I don't think watching for "the bad guys" (who could very well be a poor woman with her three young children) crossing the border is really something to be proud of.

Here are my suggestions to those bordercam people who want to help out. Some "altruistic" ideas, if you will. A good first step would be lobbying for our leaders to assist the Mexican government in building a more effective infrastructure, therefore, diminishing or even eliminating the causes of illegal immigration. Show that you believe in a policy that will help would-be immigrants make a living wage, live in healthy surroundings, and have a fair shake at building a future in their own country. We do that in countries where we want something they have. Why not for our own neighbors?

Also, for people like Abernethy, in the story, I have an even better idea. Rather than watching Everybody Loves BorderCam, go to an actual country from which the US receives a large amount of immigrants. Experience life the way its people do. Learn to really appreciate what it is that these people are seeking and why. Give yourself the opportunity to remember how wonderful it was to be able to rely upon clean water from the tap in your US home, around the clock every day. Then, help someone in that other country to live a healthier, more satisfying life. That Mr. Abernethy, is something in which to have pride.

And just to note, I also think we should continue providing amnesty for those who need it. It's a belief on which we built the country originally. And Mr. Abernethy ought to be a little less short sighted when looking at himself. Unless he's a Native American, his people once crossed our border looking for a better life, too.

Anniversaries and Overhauls

2009-03-09T12:46:00.000-07:00

Two stories in today's news caught my eye. The first is a local piece about an overhaul of one of the giant downtown mall/theater complexes, The Metreon.

When I moved to San Francisco in early 2000, the Metreon had just been built. It was big and dark and full of neon guts. The Metreon was built by Sony, who seemed to want to capitalize on all of the Internet Millionaire Buzz that was happening around the Bay Area. High tech, high prices, high energy.

Cut to 2009. With Bay Area housing prices stalled at best, falling in most places, and many people losing their jobs, the Metreon has become a monolithic eyesore, a memory of, not so much a better time, but a more self-absorbed one.

The article talks about the Westfield Group's recent purchase and planned remodel of the building. While I don't advocate spending on unnecessary projects during tough times, the Westfield people seem to be doing okay... financially speaking. Therefore, I'm all for the upgrade! More open spaces, more light, more community area for lounging and connecting to friends.

The reason this story really hit home, though, was because I remember when The Metreon was the place to be, all new and shiny. Thing is, I never really saw the draw. I didn't like the neon or the darkness, especially since Yerba Buena park was right there. It always seemed a bit of a sin against nature to close the people off from the sunlight into a dark, albeit technologically neat, cave. So, a decade later, they will start construction on The Metreon as I envisioned it. I should really write these things down when I think of them.

The second story is that of the Barbie doll's 50th anniversary. There are many new articles online about Barbie's 50th birthday bash. While I did play with Barbie's as a child, and very much enjoyed the imaginative play her world helped me create, I do still see a flaw in the whole concept.

The main reason for my insistence on ruining Barbie's party is that I don't and won't ever look like Barbie. Some people go to great lengths to reinvent themselves into a living Barbie, by way of some extreme decision making (don't get my started on psychoanalyzing this one).

For myself in the matter of Media Blitz + Larger Than Average Rear End = Twelve Year Old With Battered Self-Esteem, I remember the exact moment in which I held my Barbie up while facing the mirror. We looked nothing alike. And in that moment, I had the crushing realization that my breasts, burgeoning though they were, would never look like Barbie's. At the time, it was heart-breaking. She was who I thought I would grow up to be. An all American Girl, fun-loving and successful. And, I assumed, these things were all based upon her natural, beachy good looks. (Remember, I was 12 years old; this was a logical conclusion for me.)

So, I remain torn on the celebration of an icon's 50th. She's a real bitch with a bad attitude, but I can't seem to shun her because of the fun times we shared several decades ago. A toxic friendship from my past of which I'm reminded every 10 years or so.

Recent News

2009-02-26T17:10:00.001-08:00

There's no good excuse for not having written for so long. Except that I've had nothing of real interest to say. No witty observations. No big travel stories. So, here are some recent photos, so that you know I'm still here... making an effort.

Wine Tasting Last Weekend in the Pouring Rain

Golden Gate Bridge Stop in the Pouring Rain

Visiting the Missle Museum (Bryan Looks Good in a Hardhat)

Parents' 40th Anniversary Party That We Threw

I'll see if I can come up with some other good stuff soon.

100 Places I've Been

2009-01-13T14:55:00.001-08:00

1. Amalfi, Italy
2. Amesbury, England
3. Arthurs Pass, New Zealand
4. Atlanta, GA
5. Austin, TX
6. Badlands, SD
7. Bergen, Norway
8. Birmingham, AL
9. Boulder, CO
10. Carmel, CA
11. Cheyenne, WY
12. Chicago, IL
13. Christchurch, New Zealand
14. Clearlake, CA
15. Cleveland, OH
16. Copenhagen, Denmark
17. Denver, CO
18. Depoe Bay, OR
19. Duluth, MN
20. Florence, Italy
21. Fort Collins, CO
22. Fort Lauderdale, FL
23. Gatlinburg, TN
24. Geneva, IL
25. Genoa, Italy
26. Grand Portage, MN
27. Honolulu, HI
28. Kaneohe, HI
29. Kansas City, MO
30. Kapaa, HI
31. Kekaha, HI
32. Keystone, SD
33. Kilauea, HI
34. Kissimmee, FL
35. La Fortuna, Costa Rica
36. Laie, HI
37. Lake Tahoe, CA
38. Las Vegas, NV
39. Lihue, HI
40. London, England
41. Longmont, CO
42. Los Angeles, CA
43. Lucca, Italy
44. Madison, WI
45. Malmo, Sweden
46. Mammoth Lakes, CA
47. Manuel Antonio National Park, Costa Rica
48. Memphis, TN
49. Miami, FL
50. Miami Beach, FL
51. Milan, Italy
52. Milwaukee, WI
53. Minneapolis, MN
54. Monterey, CA
55. Napa, CA
56. Naples, Italy
57. Nashville, TN
58. Nelson, New Zealand
59. New Orleans, LA
60. Nogales, Mexico
61. Orlando, FL
62. Oslo, Norway
63. Owego, NY
64. Paris, France
65. Philadelphia, PA
66. Phoenix, AZ
67. Pisa, Italy
68. Poipu, HI
69. Pompeii, Italy
70. Portofino, Italy
71. Princeville, HI
72. Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic
73. Puerto Quepos, Costa Rica
74. Punta Cana, Dominican Republic
75. Reno, NV
76. Rochester, NY
77. Rome, Italy
78. Rotorua, New Zealand
79. San Diego, CA
80. San Francisco, CA
81. San Jose, CA
82. San Jose, Costa Rica
83. San Juan, Puerto Rico
84. Santa Barbara, CA
85. Santa Monica, CA
86. Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
87. Seattle, WA
88. Sedona, AZ
89. Sonoma, CA
90. Stockholm, Sweden
91. Superior, WI
92. Tampa, FL
93. Tucson, AZ
94. Turrialba, Costa Rica
95. Waialua, HI
96. Washington DC
97. Wellington, New Zealand
98. Winnipeg, Manitoba
99. Wisconsin Dells, WI
100. Yosemite, CA

Resolutions

2009-01-01T13:19:00.000-08:00

I don't make New Year's Resolutions. They're just not for me. It implies that I'm wrong in what I have or haven't been doing - as if I am, in someway, already flawed and need to promise to fix myself.

Boo. Bad attitude right out of the gate.

Also, I think making a long list of things to accomplish each year is really just setting myself up for failure. And the list would likely get longer as time passes because the longer the list, the more remains left undone each year.

There are things I do, and would like to continue doing, which I feel are the most important things. It's a short list of five items. If I try to add more than five, it can get messy and stressful, which is exactly what I'm trying to avoid in my life by remembering to do these five things.

So, this is my resolution solution for myself.

Bert's All The Time Resolutions List
1) Be nice to people.
2) Try new things.
3) Stay active.
4) Stay informed.
5) Laugh a lot.

Easy to remember, and covers most of the ideals by which I'd like to live my life. That said, it's not rigid. Depending on the day, I might add something like "eat more ice cream".

After all, life is to be enjoyed.

"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." - Annie Dillard

We've Become That Couple

2008-12-24T17:33:00.000-08:00

...who accidentally dresses alike.

I got dressed and left the house before Bryan even woke up this morning. When I got home, he was wearing this.

The Last 30 Days in Photos

2008-12-14T16:41:00.000-08:00

We had some good times this past month. Here are the highlights.

We had some friends over to play poker. Doug, the man shown here with the cards, won all of our money.

Bryan made a fantastic Thankgiving dinner. The only thing I did was steam the green beans (a little too much, actually).

We ate like kings that day.

And then, I put up our Christmas tree for this year. Last year, we bought a living tree in a pot, so as not to waste natural resources. Well, we didnt' have anywhere to plant it, so it ended up dying, anyway. This year, we will recycle our tree.

Google Totally Has My Number

2008-12-08T16:43:00.001-08:00

I judge my relative worth as a human being by the ads that Google puts in that right hand column next to my emails.

Google has software (or one really bored guy) that searches the main topics of your emails and puts appropriate ads next to them, so that you might be enticed into clicking on something of interest.

Some of my favorites from recent emails are:
* Cat Video - takes your cat on a virtual walk
* Banquet Rooms at CoCo's
* Hannah Montana's IQ = 122
* Play Fish Tycoon
* Drunken Unicorn Tickets
* Free Chuck-E-Cheese

The best is the last one. I have to wonder, is this, like, as in "Free Tibet"? Is he being held somewhere against his will? Will Amnesty International become involved?

E is for EKG

2008-11-13T08:25:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a huge pain in my ass, but has restored my faith in the health care system.. for now. Here's a breakdown.

1:00pm
I arrived at the gym and began working out on the elliptical machine. I was feeling exhilarated due to several previous days of inactivity. Then... ouch! For the past two months, I've had a bit of pain in my chest, now and then. I had been assuming it was a pulled muscle and ignoring it. Stupid muscle, messing up my workout.

2:00pm
I called the doc to make an appointment in the next few weeks, just to check in. Well, it turns out, when you say shortness of breath and chest pain, the doctor's office really moves fast! So, they fit me into a 2:30pm appointment. This is the same office that couldn't schedule me with primary care until "three months from now" on other occasions. I've learned a valuable lesson about presentation.

3:00pm
Both resident and supervisor said it was likely nothing, but wanted to be sure. They sent me in a wheelchair to the emergency room for an EKG. Apparently, the wheelchair is part of their legal requirements. I noticed that being in a wheelchair made me feel sicker than I had before. People on the sidewalk stared as the nurse bumped me across the street to the hospital.

4:00pm
Originally, I had hoped to get home in time to watch Oprah. Bummer.

5:00pm
Still waiting. I amused myself by watching shows I had downloaded to my iPod for my recent travel.

6:00pm
I was called in to an actual patient room and asked to don a stylish hospital gown. A very nice resident came in and gave me apple juice since, at that point, it had been nearly 7 hours since I'd eaten anything. They offered me graham crackers, but I declined. Surely, I would be headed home soon for some real dinner. I also got some free stickers applied to my chest and side for the EKG. They were not shaped like unicorns, however.

7:00pm
My iPod died. The sweetheart of a nurse had come in to move me to another room a while back, and I was now I was sharing a room with a woman from Tonga and her family members. They spoke in staccato speech to one another. I amused myself by imagining what they were talking about. I was given a call button (my very first ever) and left alone. I noticed I had no phone service, so the nurse assisted me in making a call to my husband from a hospital phone. I left him a message.

8:00pm
The same nurse took copious amounts of my blood for cardiac tests. faint The doctor wanted me on a heart monitor. More stickers, but still nothing with sparkles or glitter. I spent about 10 minutes amusing myself by holding my breath and trying to manipulate the numbers and spikes on the screen while I waited for my chest x-ray.

9:00pm
Time for my chest x-ray! I got wheeled into x-ray on my gurney. Again, people staring. This time because I was the best dressed in my style-y hospital robe and workout pants.

9:15pm
I left another message for my husband. I was nearly falling down out of hunger. The nurse saw me drooping and offered me the holy grail of hospital food, a sandwich bag! Hooray! I got dressed and happily ate my turkey sandwich, washing it down with a little carton of milk. Mm. It was the best sandwich in the entire world.

9:30pm
I got news that everything looked good. Seems as though it's acid reflux or some such stomach issue. I'm in tip-top cardiac shape. They didn't even follow it with the caveat "for someone your age". Discharge papers!

I guess it wasn't so bad, after all. I mean, honestly, I got to lie down and relax all afternoon and evening, which, I suppose is a bonus.

WOOO-HOOO!

2008-11-04T20:05:00.000-08:00

Halloween Party 2008

2008-10-26T20:33:00.000-07:00

We went to Bryan's work's Halloween party this weekend.

Acting My Age

2008-10-19T17:29:00.000-07:00

I got a haircut.

It is the shortest my hair has been since this haircut given to me by my mother in 1977.

Hopefully, my current 'do is easier to pull off than my earlier short hair look.

Masquerading

2008-09-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

In San Francisco, recreation can get pretty expensive pretty quickly. Since we've been saving for a house, we've been cutting back on the money we spend to go out and have fun.

Fortunately, I discovered Yelp.com, a site dedicated to reviewing local restaurants and shops. A very nice idea, but here's the kicker - if a member writes enough reviews, and is witty and informative, they make that member an Elite Member. And this is good because they invite the Elite Members to a free party each month. Free food, booze, and the ability to chat with others who are beautiful and popular. I feel like I've finally succeeded at high school!

If you want to see my reviews, you can search for me on Yelp with my email address.

Beautiful and Popular

Humble Pie

2008-08-03T18:20:00.000-07:00

We've been checking out real estate. Knowing full well that we can't afford to buy a cute, little 3-bedroom home in San Francisco (for the average price of nearly $1 million), we've been looking into different cities.

It seems that wherever we want to live, someone has discovered it first. It's been very daunting. I find myself pouting and thinking that all I want is a smallish, 3-bedroom place with a cute kitchen in which to make blueberry pie for my husband and future children.

We were especially discouraged today, after perusing Redfin, a site that shows real estate listings with photos, as well as price drops. Yes, prices have come down significantly in many areas. Unfortunately, this being our first home, we have no equity on which to rest our lofty home-buying goals. It seems we will be relegated to a crappy, 80s-style 2-bedroom condo in our town of choice. Unless, that is, prices fall by more than $100K by next year.

But, as I was saying, today we had ourselves worked up, until Bryan asked me if we were poor. It's a perfectly valid question, given that we have tried to live as frugally as we can, but still can't seem to save enough for a starter home in any decent area.

When he asked that, I remembered my Peace Corps experience. I said, "No, we're not," and I found an internet tool that proves it.

Global Rich List

I found this tool at The Wall Street Journal website. The article from which I got it is also interesting.

We are in the less-than-1% richest range for global richness. We are richer than more than 99% of the world's population!

So, I feel better about a crappy, 80s-tastic condo than I did earlier today. Sometimes, I forget to be grateful for what I have.

Hooray for Woot.com!

2008-07-16T18:51:00.000-07:00

My husband just said these words to me:

"I can't wait to vacuum!"

Seriously, this is the best day ever. He bought a Dyson vacuum on woot.com, and he is so excited. You can understand why it's my new favorite website.

Granted, he did treat the vacuum as though it was a lightsaber when he first took it from the box, so perhaps there is a bit more going on here than just an instinct for cleanliness.

It works super well! Woot for the new vacuum!

Baby's Got Back Injury

2008-07-16T11:11:00.000-07:00

Since the end of May, I've been struggling with a back injury, which has had me staying away from the gym, hiking, and… well, sitting. My chiropractor called it early on, saying it was a disc injury.

My primary care, on the other hand, decided it was a muscle and told me to call if it got worse. Well, it got worse and I called two weeks later to schedule a follow up, and to get an MRI referral to find out the extent of the damage.

The administration in the office is far beyond what I would call disorganized. I've been mad at them for over a month. They continue call my defunct home phone to make appointments, despite me giving them my cell phone number on four separate occasions. (Finally, I had one of the admins remove my home phone number from the database entirely.) And, they keep scheduling me on days when I say I absolutely cannot make it.

Is this opposite day?!

I finally got in to see the doc, who said it's a disc injury. Something I’ve known since May 30. Late to the party, but at least she showed up. She wrote me three referrals.

1) MRI
2) Physical Therapy
3) Spine Orthopedist

I felt relieved, and went home to make all of my appointments. Well, today, the spine doc still does't have the referral from my primary care that was supposedly faxed last Wednesday to her office. Even better, I received a letter from my insurance that says they won't cover an MRI unless it's ordered by an orthopedist.

And here's the funny part that makes me want to pull out my hair and wander the street babbling to myself... the orthopedist won't see me without an MRI.

It's like a Mobius strip straight out of hell.

What's really annoying is I'm not even sure to whom I should direct my increasing ire. Private insurance for being yet another failing American invention? Or, the primary care clinic for being so lame in the first place?

Meanwhile, my left foot keeps tingling. That can't be good.

Farmers' Market

2008-07-12T08:41:00.000-07:00

Bryan and I have been frequenting the local farmers' market for the past month or so.

The progression to where we are now in our grocery buying adventure has been a gradual one. We began with the standard trip to Safeway, a large, west coast grocery chain. Then, somehow, we learned of the evils of high fructose corn syrup, and began looking for it in the ingredients of all of our food. It seems, nearly every food carried by regular grocery chains contains this sinister ingredient. From yogurt to bread, check it out.

Enter large chain organic grocery store, WholeFoods. Having previously avoided this behemoth due to its often exorbitant pricing, we did some cost comparisons. Most of the Safeways have an organic section, which sells many of the same foods found at WholeFoods. However, when we crunched the numbers, we realized that Safeway was gouging people who wanted to to eat healthy foods with whole grains and no poison in them. This seemed wrong... and expensive. So, we changed our regular grocery store to WholeFoods. During this time, Bryan was reading "An Omnivore's Dilemma", as well. So we began looking for organic animal products, including organic milk, free range chicken and eggs, and grass-fed beef.

We definitely pay more for the humane and organic versions of these products, but we feel good because we're not only helping the individual animals, but also the environment, by reducing the antibiotics and other unnatural things that are often added to these foods.

We were pretty happy with our weekly trips to WholeFoods and occasional trips to the city's co-op market to buy our organic goods. However, while the staples at WholeFoods are more reasonably priced than their counterparts at Safeway, we found that buying organic produce was putting us in the poor house. Grapes from Chile, peaches from Alabama, apples from New Zealand... That much travel costs a lot for a small piece of fruit, both in dollars and in pollution. Hmm.

We began to consider the farmers' market as a possible alternative. Hallelujah! We found that we could buy a pound of peaches for $1.50 per pound. Contrast that with the $2.99 per pound we paid at WholeFoods. And the produce at the farmers' market is local. None of it travels from other countries, or even other states. As an added bonus, much of it is labeled organic, even by rigid California standards.

So, Bryan and I are enjoying the lower cost and, quite frankly, better taste of local foods produced by small farms. And, in a world of growing pollution and environmental problems, our consciences are pretty clear, with an occasional splurge on bananas from afar.

Spitting Mad

2008-06-24T12:07:00.000-07:00

For most of the late 1990s, I lived in a small, Dominican village working with together with local people to create sustainable development practices in the community. I took bucket baths with stored rain water that I kept in large containers behind my little cinderblock home. I went to christenings, weddings, and funerals with my neighbors. I suffered from Dengue Fever and giardia, neither of which I recommend.

Presently, I work with extremely poor people, many of whom are homeless and have serious illnesses. I help them navigate the struggles in their daily lives and, for the most part, I enjoy my work.

I do not consider myself to be culturally insensitive or closed-minded about personal differences.

That said, I never want to be showering at the gym and hear someone hawking up a loogie and spitting it out in the shower stall next to mine. Ever.

The gym I frequent is full of people who are very culturally different than me. And, while I can appreciate that their customs are diverse and not always going to match mine, I do not want to step in someone else's phlegm in the shower.

Ew.

That's really all I have to say about it. No witty tie-together at the end. Just... stop spitting in the showers at the gym, please. Yuck.

Isn't It A Little Early to Come Full Circle?

2008-06-20T12:51:00.000-07:00

A HISTORY OF FAVORITES
by Bert

Childhood
Food: fresh fruit
Beverage: lemonade
Activity: playing outside

Teenhood
Food: Cheetos
Beverage: Coca-Cola
Activity: writing morose poetry

Young Adulthood
Food: macaroni and cheese
Beverage: wine - all of it
Activity: dancing until 1:00am

Present
Food: fresh fruit
Beverage: lemonade
Activity: playing outside

Aloha

2008-06-03T21:13:00.000-07:00

We went to Kaua'i for a wedding! It was fabulous. Here is a photo journal of some of the events. I took over 700 photos, but managed to whittle them down a bit. You can see the rest of the ones that made the cut by clicking here.

We were thrilled to arrive in Hawaii.

Puka Dog - as seen on No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain.

I injured my back and went to the ER. Just because I'm old, so don't ask.

The Hyatt salt water lagoon is lovely.

Luau Mai Tais (Bryan had five).

Bryan snorkeled.

Then, he joined a boy band.

Wailua Falls is taller than Niagara Falls.

Hiking in the rainforest takes muscles.

Waimea Canyon. Bryan said those boats were Magnum PI chasing a drug runner.

We took a catamaran to the Na Pali Coast.

Neither of us got sea sick.

Then, we went to the wedding in our fabulous wedding get-ups.

Woo! Happily ever after.

And I got my dance on at the reception with Elan.

Birthday Weekend

2008-05-05T19:48:00.000-07:00

Bryan took me out of town for my birthday last weekend! We went to the Tallman Hotel in Lake County, an 1890s building restored to its previous glory, but with fun new amenities.

We stayed in a cute casita behind the main building. Bryan booked it because it had a Japanese soaking tub on the back patio. (We don't have a usable bathtub at our apartment, and he knew I missed submerging myself.)

We went wine tasting in a limo at four lovely vineyards near Clear Lake.

One of them even had pirates!

Later, a giant cake was delivered to us after dinner! We're not sure why they thought we needed to feed 30 people since it was clearly just the two of us!

Then, we came back to go to my old roommate's wedding. It was cold in Berkeley, but still a lovely end to a wonderful weekend.

Here's the happy couple.

And here's to love!

Click here for more photos of the birthday weekend and ex-roommate wedding fun.

It's About Time

2008-04-18T09:02:00.000-07:00

This morning, this article was called to my attention.

I'm giddy like a schoolgirl because someone has finally taken notice of what I've sensed all along... Dr. Phil is a hack. I feel vindicated because I've always thought that:

1) Verbal abuse is not therapeutic.
2) Though a Texas accent makes him charming in a homegrown way, it does not necessarily make him an expert.
3) He has already broken several ethical codes and has moved into legal territory, of late, including practicing without a license (which was revoked nearly two decades ago).
4) But most importantly, lasting change is only made when a person recognizes, on his or her own over a period of self-discovery and learning, that there is a problem... not when he or she is assaulted by a crazy man on national television.

My Coveted Parts

2008-04-14T17:54:00.000-07:00

This morning, I was at the gym. My iPod blasting and my brow sweating, I stretched my hamstrings and brought the funk to 24 Hour Fitness.

Suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder. I looked around. Nobody. I continued stretching. Another tap. I looked again, and this time spotted a very small woman speaking silently up at me.

I held up my finger in the "one moment please" gesture as I wrestled to shut off my my iPod.

Me: Yes?
Small woman: (English was not her first language) How you get that butt?
Me: Pardon me?
Small woman: How you get that butt? (she gestures to her butt, then mine) I like and want to make that butt.

A-hem. I'm sorry; I don't do that in the gym. Then, it dawned on me that she was asking me how to make her butt as large and round as my own. A-ha!

I showed her some exercises I do that work those muscles. She, in turn, showed me, once again, her flat butt. I smiled and nodded. So did she. I smiled again. She stood there, staring and smiling, until eventually, I went back to stretching, and she wandered away.

It's a weird little moment in itself, but this is all on top of the fact that a woman at work, also small and foreign in the same way as the above-mentioned woman, keeps patting me on the butt and saying, "Oh, I like your butt! I want to have butt like that!"

I'm not quite sure what to make of this phenomenon. I'm scared to go to Chinatown alone.

Where Have I Been?

2008-04-09T16:53:00.000-07:00

Turns out that David Beckham is a Dreamy McDreamerson.

Another hottie that flew under my radar until I saw Leatherheads. He's so great that even Bryan has a man crush on him.

I have got to pay more attention.

That said, I'll keep my own dreamboat, thanks.

Time Versus Money

2008-03-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

I just read an article about the average commute time in America. In itself, it was shocking and appalling. I miss the America where people walked down the street to work at the corner store, law office, postal counter, or other local job. I say that like I knew a time when that existed, but I guess what I mean is that I miss the idea of it from the books I've read.

Anyway, another shocking statistic in the article was:
"San Francisco... the average cost of a home was $1.45 million in 2007." Well, let me just write you a check for that $300,000 down payment. Again, I am forced to ask myself, just who are the people buying these homes, and how are they doing it without jumbo mortgage loans? Well, I can tell who it's not... me. I'm not rich, but I'm certainly not poor, either. Which, I suppose, puts me solidly in the middle class, which, media tells me, has been priced out of all of the three bedroom homes anywhere near any city on the east or west coast.

I'm not really stunned, but more... let's call it miffed. I'm miffed at the silly housing market and economic state of the USA.

Worst Paid CEO in the USA

2008-03-24T12:29:00.001-07:00

I just read an article that I found particularly uplifting. I wanted to pass it on and encourage people to use their services.

Where Are They Now?

2008-03-20T08:06:00.000-07:00

And where would I be if I had stuck around?

Frankly, I don't expect anyone to be interested in this except me, but it needs to get written or it will stay stuck in the corner of my mind, like a splinter, until it gets infected.

(The caveat is that I'm still friends with some of these ex-boyfriends, which is fun because I don't have to date them, anymore.)

Boyfriend #1 (The Uppity): He was going to St. Paul Academy, a private high school for the rich kids. His divorced mother, who I can only assume took her ex for everything he had, lived just off of Summit Avenue in a grand, turn-of-the century home. And their lives were all that this implies. Had I stuck around, I assume I would be rich, uppity, and perhaps running a charity for poor children or abandoned puppies.

Boyfriend #2 (The Druggy): High school dropout. Currently, deceased. So, I would be widowed. Likely living in a trailer or a tent by a river somewhere with several fatherless children.

Boyfriend #3 (The Druggy II): Same as above, but still alive, as far as I know. I'd likely be frustrated, cheated upon, and spreading from having had four children. I would also be thinking about finally attending college.

Boyfriend #4 (The Nice Boy): Too nice, in fact. I became disinterested at all of his not-cheating and not-drinking himself to death. If I hadn't broken his heart when I left for college, I'd likely be teaching elementary school in Minnesota while he worked at his office job. We'd live in a modest townhome and have a 9 year old and a 7 year old.

Boyfriend #5 (The Drunken Frat Boy): His antics freshman year kept me feeling resentful and confused, so I'd likely be over-eating to squelch my hatred of him, by now. Possibly divorced, probably with children, and trying to support us on a teacher's salary.

Boyfriend #6 (See Boyfriend #8): College boyfriend... later revisited.

Boyfriend #7 (The Dominican): His home country was my Peace Corps assignment. He spoke English and was younger than me. I'd likely be living in Minnesota, teaching, and possibly have some lovely mixed-raced children, whom I would spend my time defending in the sleepy, mostly white suburbs. Or, we would live in a sweet Caribbean home in an upscale Dominican neighborhood, while I worked for USAID. I'd be missing my family.

Boyfriend #8 (The Goof Off): We met and dated in college when his goofing off was cute and age-appropriate. His motorcycle really won me over. But, after I had seen some of the world, it all seemed less charming. I'd likely be miserable, living in a tour bus, traveling the country swing dancing, while trying to write my memoir. I don't think I'd have had any children with him, given he was so much like a child in so many ways.

Boyfriend #9 (The Outdoorsman): Quiet, humble, honest. I'd likely be camping in the Sierra Nevada, or working in a fire tower somewhere. I would not have likely gone back to school, and would still be saddled with only a teaching degree. Therefore, I would have been recently laid off of work, since San Francisco cut the budget. I'd be nowhere near having children because of the nomadic lifestyle Outdoorsman led.

Boyfriend #10 (The Accidental Boyfriend): He danced with the Oakland ballet before I met him, but had been mostly club dancing and showing off his tattoos when we began hanging out. I'd likely be a lesbian stripper if we'd stayed together... because it seems like those are the people with whom he rolls.

Boyfriend #11 (The Rich): We traveled and had a blast, but couldn't find our communication groove. If I had stayed with him, we'd likely be in much of the same place we ended, fighting about his ex-girlfriend. Luckily, the break-up brought us both some important insights about ourselves.

Boyfriend #12 (The Cowboy): A two-stepping, heart-breaking, old-school man of the west. I can't imagine a world in which this would have lasted longer than several months, since we were destined to be just good friends right from the start.

Boyfriend #13 (The Dangerous): What the hell was I thinking? He was in the middle of a divorce. Enough said.

Holy crap, that's a lot of boyfriends. Keep in mind that it was over the span of nearly two decades. And, that I'm a slut.

Boyfriend #14 (The Keeper): Finally! The one for whom I was meant! I had to go all the way to a different state to find him, but it was so worth it. Kind, intelligent, sexy. We have fun and we can communicate. Despite his lack of tattoos, motorcycles, and alcoholism, he is a winning combination of fantastic qualities. I married this one. *sigh of relief*

Tahoe City, CA

2008-02-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

This weekend, Bryan and I went to Tahoe City to snowshoe, chill out, and spend some time with old friends. Here are some photos... more to come on my photopages.

The Nut with Goggles

Bryan Shoveling the Icy Driveway

Snowshoeing

Lake Tahoe, North Side

Bryan Hiking Near Emerald Bay

Apocalypse

2008-02-02T19:50:00.000-08:00

The other day, I was at the gym, the only venue in which I watch local news. They force gym-goers into it, really, facing all of the machines toward the giant televisions with the closed captioning running along the bottom of the screen. Iraq war, stock market crashing, murder rate, traffic back up on I-5...

This particular day, I saw something that convinced me, for certain, that our modern society, as we know it, is on its way to a steep down turn and eventually crash.

Doggy diet drugs. No, it's not an SNL skit, though it bears an eerie resemblance to one. The story was aired on ABC news at 6am. I wasted a good portion of the rest of my day feeling baffled by these dog owners who are giving their dogs too much food, not enough exercise, and then trying to fix it as they fix their own issues - with a miracle drug, which allows them to maintain their exact lifestyles, changing nothing, dodging the bullet of inconvenience. Did anyone else notice that the only fit-looking person in the clip was the vet who remained dubious about using weight loss drugs on dogs? Fat people have fat pets. If a person doesn't eat healthy and get enough exercise to maintain a healthy weight, why would they ensure their pets would? Or, their children, for that matter.

This from a woman who ate ice cream for dinner. At least I'm not feeding it to my dog and then making him suck down some SlimFast.

Knitting

2008-01-12T13:44:00.000-08:00

Over the holidays, I asked my mother to teach me how to knit. Now, I'm knitting my very first scarf. Unfortunately, without my mother nearby to fix my mistakes, so far it's a very wavy scarf with holes in it that goes from thick to thin back to thick again. And that's only in the 6" of scarf I've completed.

I'm thinking about starting a business of badly made scarves. People could give them as gifts, and say they made them. Very believable. Good brownie points. The only thing is, I'd have to charge $2000 per scarf because it's will take me months to complete one. Still, perhaps there's a market...

Sliding Google Doors

2008-01-06T13:05:00.000-08:00

Bored and with a bad cold yesterday, I played a little bit on Google, looking up just about everyone I've ever known. I ended up having two very strange Google experiences. One, an interesting coincidence. The other, a melancholy visit to the past.

First, I googled my own full name, curious about whether my maiden or married name has more entries, at this point. When I've googled my maiden name in the past, I've generally gotten some entries about me and some about a woman living in Australia. This time, I got her Facebook page, so out of curiosity, I sent her a message. From her Google entries, I know is that she's 5'10", blond, and 23 years old. Gee, we're practically twins. Anyway, I hope she answers; it could be interesting.

The second Google encounter was less of a whimsical coincidence and more of a solemn heart-wringer. I googled my very first love. At age 16, I had been drawn to him because of his idealistic, save-the-world attitude. I was likely already on my path to Peace Corps service and was completely taken with him. We only dated for a few months, but in high school time, it was enough to be forever changed.

Unfortunately, he turned out to be a really screwed up kid with a broken family and a drug problem. The affair was short-lived, due to his substance abuse and "free love" attitude. He broke my little adolescent heart, and it was crumpled for quite a few years, afterward. You just don't forget a first heartbreak that easily.

So, I googled him, along with other exes and old friends from decades past. Only two entries came up. One with his name followed by the dates 1972-2007. Hmm. Sounds like the beginning of an epitaph. The other entry was a MySpace page, on which his friends had written, "R.I.P."

My first love, it turns out, had drown in a swimming pool. With a little more research I found out that he had, apparently, been drunk with some friends. It seems he had never stopped his substance abuse. I also found out that the date of his drowning was the day before my wedding, while my friends and family were having a celebratory pool party.

*shiver*

Apparently, he had been well-loved by many in the pseudo-hippie community. He had had three children and had been living with a woman who had loved him very much. There was a large turnout at his funeral, which brought people together after years of separation.

It was nearly 17 years ago that we briefly dated, and yet, I find myself having a Sliding Doors moment around the situation. His future, my future, might have been different if either of us had made a different decision back in the summer of 1991. Strange how small decisions make a huge difference in the course of a life.

Sometimes, the things that break our hearts and seem as though they might crush our very essence at the time, turn out to be events that save us from a much worse fate later on. In a different world, they could have been my children without a father. It scares me a bit that I didn't walk away from him. I'm glad that, though I was too young to have the sense to put an end to our relationship, he broke my heart and left me alone when I was still pliable enough to heal and make a better life for myself.

In the end, it sounded like he had a life he wanted. Traveling, free-loving, and making friends out of strangers. I'm happy he got to have that life for as long as he did. Being human is amazing in that we can feel sadness, relief, caring, and wistful happiness... all at one time.

Remembering Events of 2007

2008-01-02T09:45:00.000-08:00

As we enter 2008, I find myself remembering some of the good and bad times from 2007. Here is a photo history of just some of the main events of my 2007.

On March 18, Bryan proposed to me with this ring. We were at the beach, and I was sure I would drop it and lose it in the sand. Luckily, the ring made it onto my finger, and we spent the rest of the day smooching and making others around us sick with all of our schmoopy-ness.

Then, in April, we went for a hike on my birthday.

Later we had dinner with some of my wonderful friends.

Not wanting to wait until summer to use my new birthday camera, Bryan and I went to KFOG's Kaboom in May. Colder than July, but we had front row seats!

Then, in the end of May, we were rear-ended by an airport van. It totaled my adorable, little Honda del Sol. Luckily, we made it out with few injuries, the last of which seem to be almost healed.

After weeks of searching, we replaced my old Honda with a different one. Our first mutual purchase. (I still miss my SPR BERT.)

Over the summer, Bryan and I went to the Monterrey Aquarium.

And also visited local pirates during our site seeing. Yar!

In June, my friend Lisa threw an engagement party for us at our favorite hangout. Many friends came to wish us well.

In July, my friend since junior high, Amber, came to visit San Francisco. We did some more site seeing and went up to wine country on a sunny, summer day.

My friends, Rich and Stacy, had twins! I felt honored to be one of the first people called, and went to see the tiny ones in the hospital, as well as later in their home.

In August, Bryan and I took a trip to Seattle for his friend's 30th birthday. This is the only photo I took during the whole trip. Bryan getting coffee; it happens a lot in Seattle.

In September, our biggest event took place. We got hitched in Arizona! With all of our friends and family there, we decided to have a big pool party the day before...

...and got married the next day.

Then, on to honeymoon in Costa Rica. First, the volcano, which erupted nearly constantly.

Then, the beach and other national parks.

Also in September was Bryan's birthday. We had been on our honeymoon, so when we got back, I made him this lemon-lime jello cake. I know... euw. But, we both grew up with white-trash processed food, so this is basically the birthday cake of the gods.

For Halloween, we were Mr. and Mrs. Frankenstein, after their honeymoon phase ended.

My brother had a difficult year. In late summer, his marriage, very unexpectedly, came to an end. Our family was shocked and broken-hearted for him. He's a strong, intelligent man, whom I believe will continue to work hard on his future goals, despite the setback. In November, I went to visit him at his house in the midwest. We had great fun, as usual.

Also in November, Bryan and I went to the, now infamous, San Francisco Zoo. We actually watched one of the tigers pace for about 10 minutes during our visit. This photo is not of the tiger pen, clearly.

For Thanksgiving break, Bryan and I decided to drive to Austin, TX. We're thinking of leaving the Bay Area in several years, in order to raise a family, so we wanted to check Austin out as a possible location.

On the way to Texas, we stopped in Arizona to visit my parents.

Despite its beauty, we decided not to move to Austin, but we still enjoyed the sites...

...including the state capitol.

Also in November, Bryan's sister had triplets! We've yet to meet them, so it's an event of which I still have no photos!

And, of course, in December, there were Christmas parties and friends to visit.

We also went back to Arizona for some family time. Here is us with my parents at the Desert Museum.

Now, as we cross the threshold into 2008, we hope for good things in the coming year.

Holidays 2007

2008-01-01T18:27:00.000-08:00

During the holidays this year, Bryan and I had a great time as a married couple. We went to a party and brought tater tot hotdish, a food of my childhood, which Bryan cooked like a native midwesterner.

And we saw our friends with their twins in silly winter hats.

Then, we went to Arizona to visit my family and open Christmas gifts.

And we also did some hiking in the desert.

It was a very nice end to 2007. Stay tuned for the full 2007 recap.

I'm At Work

2007-12-24T13:13:00.000-08:00

It's December 24th and I'm at work. Even worse, I'm the crisis person on call, so I can't leave my desk to go for a nice little stroll in the crisp winter air.

It's sunny out. I'm sitting here under the fluorescent lights feeling like the damned as I see people outside carrying gifts and laughing with family and friends. They're on their way to turkey dinner, and I'm at work with about five other disgruntled workers who have to be here.

The good news is, my husband is making dinner because he gets today off. Crab, sourdough, asparagus, and some sweet potatoes that need cooking before they go bad. Tiny cheesecake from the corner store for dessert. And then, we exchange gifts.

It's amazing how my instinct to just make a run for it out the window gets stronger as the day wears on. Why didn't I study graphic design instead?

Dedication to My Christmas List

2007-12-21T16:40:00.000-08:00

When I googled "last minute Christmas shopping", the search produced 296,000 entries. I did this search because, recently, I've been noticing TV commercials filled with harried shoppers, reminding me to make sure I get things for each person on my shopping list. In the weeks since Thanksgiving, giant billboards have popped up on the sides of buildings and city buses, "BUY BUY BUY!" These ads seem to be telling me not only to purchase the merchandise, but also how to do it. Make sure it's frantic and as stressful as possible. It seems that my relatives and friends will certainly disown me if I mess up this task and end up with nothing in hand on Christmas Eve.

This all leads me to wonder when Christmas became just another checkbox on the To Do List of Life. We seem to have lost the real meaning of the season. I'm not talking about the religious significance, which varies from person to person, but instead the idea of setting aside time to spend with those whom we love most in the world. My Christmas list isn't a series of checked boxes of tasks accomplished; it's a list of people for whom I've thoughtfully chosen items which I believe will show them that they were on my mind for longer than it takes to run into Target at the zero hour. For me, Christmas is about being able to dedicate some time to thinking about the people I love, getting inside what it is that makes them unique, and finding something they will, hopefully, enjoy receiving.

In pondering who my loved ones really are, their likes and hobbies and beliefs, I'm also taking the time to honor what they mean in my life and the things I've learned from having them so close to me.

That is the reason why I don't buy half-assed gifts for people. I take the time to find something that fits. And I don't just mean the size on the tag.

Review: I Am Legend

2007-12-16T19:30:00.000-08:00

Okay, here's a little secret I've been sitting on. I am a huge post-apocalyptic movie fan. Even if it's really badly written, I can generally enjoy the imaginings of the weird fantasy world in which the movie is set.

Unfortunately, despite my imagination, I Am Legend disappointed me. In order not to spoil it, I'll just say that I really liked the first half of the movie. Many plot devices seemed to be set up. The story was smart and suspenseful. The monsters were nearly unseen and scarier for it. Also, Will Smith is one of the best actors I've ever seen on the big screen. He's so genuine and believable. The second half went quickly downhill with a poorly developed character, seemingly added into the movie as an after thought and convenient plot device. The earlier clues I had that the plot might move in a very interesting, intelligent direction were dropped, seemingly ignored and forgotten.

My husband said it best. It's like the first and second halves of the movie were written by different people. *sigh* I had high hopes. But, you know, it was still fun to go watch buff Will Smith do pull ups with no shirt on. Three out of five stars, mostly due to the weak ending.

Avatar Time Suck

2007-12-16T12:57:00.002-08:00

I just re-discovered one of my favorite internet time wasters, which I'd almost entirely forgotten. Yahoo Avatars!

I'm going to sit here all damn day and make more of them.

Here's climbing me.

Safari me.

And me on Dance Fever.

Holiday Warm Fuzzies

2007-12-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

I really enjoyed my agency's holiday party! I know, I know. I was all, "His party will be better... money equals happiness... I am a consumer whore," about it before. But, after enjoying an evening of Christmas carols, Santa visits, warm hugs from kind coworkers, and unpretentious comfort food, my husband and I both agreed - my holiday party was much better.

Though there was no high-priced menu or entertainment, children played together, adults laughed and shared stories. We even drank cheap wine out of a cooler in a coworker's trunk (due to the no alcohol on the property law). These people are genuine and earnest. Life lesson learned. Warm fuzzies all around.

Contrasting Holiday Parties

2007-12-09T09:26:00.000-08:00

I work for an agency that helps people who have little or no money. I enjoy my work and get a really warm feeling from doing it. My darling husband works at an company that entertains people and the owner is a billionaire. Needless to say, his company's holiday party is better than mine.

Compare and Contrast

Event Space
His: rented a historical downtown building and did up each floor with a different fantastic theme and related activities for each one
Mine: our clients' community room in the office

Expected Dress
His: fancy, fun, fabulous
Mine: work clothes, since the party is right after the work day

Food
His: delicious food for each theme on corresponding floors
Mine: catered by Marie Calendar's

Drinks
His: free flowing, bartenders on each floor
Mine: soda or water

Cost
His: $9 spent at parking garage
Mine: $25 per person = $50 to attend

I still like my job, but I'm so glad I have someone else's holiday party to attend.

Wise Guy

2007-12-07T12:43:00.000-08:00

My dad can be very silly, which is fun. But sometimes, he turns into the wisest man I know.

This morning I sent an email to my parents, explaining finances and the less-than-extravagant gifts we're able to give this year due to our saving to buy a house. My dad sent back these kind words.

"If we are able to still smile and mean it when we see each other that is all the gift that is really important. So please build your future the best way you can because it will last the rest of your lives."

And my mother's thoughts were similar. I'm so lucky to have had such wonderful people teaching me how to be in this world.

Walking In A West Coast Wonderland

2007-12-04T21:18:00.000-08:00

In recent days, I've found myself drawn to large public squares where there are Christmas trees and children squeaking out holiday music with their middle school bands. I'm craving apple cider on a daily basis. I made bread. It's fair to say that I have a bit of holiday fever.

On mild, rainy California days like today, I notice I'm reminiscing about my snowy childhood Christmases. So many memories flood back, as though they've been programmed to reappear every year at this time. My dad would make a crazy sled route on the back hill for us, so we could use our saucer sleds. (They were the best sleds because you could get someone to spin you as you took off!) My mom would bake this bread recipe she inherited from her mother, whose own mother brought it from Slovenia before the turn of the century. And my brother and I would run around, playing all sorts of made up games in several feet of snow, until it got dark. Then, we would clamber inside, banging boots and scarves and mittens on the side of the house before entering. We'd peel off our wet jackets and snowpants and sit by the fire my dad had built. We'd eat delicious wintertime food and watch cartoon Christmas specials.

As bedtime approached, it was cold in the house, so I would wear my robe and fluffy slippers (which is, incidentally, what I am wearing right now). I'd sit, propped on my knees, leaning over the back of the couch, looking out of the huge picture window in our living room. Our backyard would be glowing, the large oak and maple trees coated with the newly fallen snow. The moon glinted off of it, making the world sparkle.

It's seems like such cheesy thing to say, but when I look back on that time, it really was like magic. So much snow and love and food. The warmth I felt, though it was so very cold outside, is something I will always carry with me.

So, when this holiday time of year rolls around, something in my body clock recognizes that this is the time for hot cider, sledding, and family. And I spend hours daydreaming about that childhood time when nothing seemed scary and everything was soft and white and full of sparkles.

Excess

2007-11-28T14:19:00.001-08:00

In what could be considered poor judgment, I have just consumed nearly an entire bag of dried mixed fruit from Trader Joe's. I'm already paying the price for this lapse. And yet... I still find myself tempted to re-enter the kitchen and eat the rest of the lemon-ginger cookies. Mmm... cookies!

More to the point about what's on my mind (not dying slowly in my belly) - I've found that, recently, something in my life seems to be draining my creative spirit. Could it be my job full of bad news and hard-knock life stories? Or, perhaps, my total lack of free time (hmmm... also due to my job)?

Though my job is quite taxing at times, my best guess is that the cause of my stifled imagination is financial woe. Despite finally reaching middle class status, after years of graduate school and non-profit poverty, I'm finding I'm not able to afford the life I want for myself and for my family. Recently, Bryan and I have been looking at buying a home. Not only to start a family someday, but also to escape the fleas from the people in the apartment upstairs (we don't have any pets) and the immense amounts of marijuana smoked by our downstairs neighbor (Victorian homes are not well sealed). For home buying options, clearly, the Bay Area is out of the running with a median home price hovering around $850,000. It's no mystery that the dot com millionaires took over most of the Bay Area in the late '90s and early 2000s, driving home prices into the untouchable range for many residents. (Incidentally, my deadbeat, weed-smoking neighbor is also one of those dot-com-ers. Paradoxically, I wish he would go buy a ridiculously expensive home and get out of my life.)

Having heard so much about the mortgage crisis and a falling housing market, Bryan and I went looking elsewhere for reasonably priced homes. We traveled far and wide to other cute cities in which we could both find jobs. Well, unfortunately, it seems the middle class is, in fact, disappearing. Perhaps, the former dot-com-ers are buying up the other moderately cool cities in which I might want to live and, therefore, driving prices sky high there, as well. Why do they hate me so much?

So, my rhetorical question is: How am I supposed to have a family, a dog, and a yard all within walking distance from a coffee shop, if people keep flocking to those quaint, unassuming areas just ahead of when I can afford it? Now the prices in most areas of the west coast (and some areas of the south) are high enough to exclude the middle class (read: me), and I cannot seem to afford my American Dream... which really isn't all that elaborate. This is exacerbated by the fact that I'd like to take some time off of working to raise little ones. That cuts us down to one income (possibly one and half), which only worsens the situation. How do American families survive on one income, anymore?

It's pretty infuriating. Luckily, I'm in the oh-so lucrative field of helping people who are on welfare to have a better life. Which, now that I say that, makes me feel like a bit of a whiner because I have it better than they do. I guess I'm just saying that middle class people should be able to live in town where they feel comfortable raising families and not have to settle for a Central Valley farm town, if that's not what they're into.

I grew up in the midwest. I'm so done with cows.

(To my midwestern friends, whom I hold very dear to my heart... this is not to say that I think that the whole midwest smells like cows. I recognize that's not true, and, in fact, miss many things about my childhood home, including the friendliness of the people. My main issue is really the winter. I'm a California wussy to the core, now.)

Thank You, Ira Glass

2007-11-02T10:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I had a root canal done. For this entry, I'll leave out how old this experience made me feel. Seriously? I'm only in my early thirties.

Anyway, due to a series of bad dentists who put shoddily done fillings in the same tooth over the past six years, I found myself in an endodonist's office full of scraper thingies, long pointies, and giant syringes. I do have to admit, the endodontist was extremely patient with me, and even got out his tooth models to show me what he was planning to do. Despite this, I was still focused on the picture I had seen on Wikipedia of a nerve, ripped from a tooth and splattered onto a stark, white surface in an ugly, unnatural way. I lie there reclined in the dental chair, knees weak from this image, which I had accidentally burned into my brain with my constant revisiting of the webpage to stare in horror at the photograph.

Luckily, I had spoken with some people at work (many of whom shared their own root canal horror stories - why do people do that?), so I knew that the procedure was a long one. I had brought my iPod along, thinking I would listen to soothing music while the endodontist drilled away at my face. At the last moment before he began working on my tooth, I had an inspiration and clicked on my podcast of This American Life, created by Ira Glass. I totally want to marry this show. It's funny, poignant, and insightful. So, while my endodontist pried my mouth open with a rubber clamp and used just about every alien instrument on his various little tables, I closed my eyes and listened intently to Ira Glass and his weekly cast of everyday people talking about maps.

I was so relaxed and into the podcast, in fact, that when the endodontist sat me up for some x-rays, I was bewildered. I even paused the podcast to see what he was up to. He x-rayed and then reclined the chair once again. I opened my eyes to see him removing three impossibly long corn-poker things from my tooth. Seriously, I'm surprised they didn't impale some much-needed cortex area. The endodontist did some measuring of the corn-pokers. I briefly considered staying focused on the disturbing things happening in my mouth, but instead closed my eyes, un-paused Ira and crew, and went back to my happy place.

All in all, it wasn't a terrible experience. We'll see how the follow up appointments go. One thing is for sure, though... Ira Glass will be accompanying me to all of my dental appointments from now on.

Holy Earthquake!

2007-10-30T20:15:00.000-07:00

That was a big one! Biggest one I've experienced in the Bay Area, anyway.

Name Those Monsters

2007-10-28T10:58:00.000-07:00

Bryan and I went to his work Halloween festival this year, thinking our costumes would be less obscure than last year. We might have been mistaken. As you might remember, we were the Spoon Guy and the Banana from the Rejected cartoon last year.

Dear readers, can you name these monsters?

Also present were the following cute costumes. To our dismay, we missed photographing some of the really good ones that were leaving as we arrived.

Gnomes

Office Space (They won an award.)

Post It Guy from 'Office Space' and Hulk Hogan

Lindy In The Park

2007-10-14T19:28:00.000-07:00

I went to Lindy in the Park last week. A friend, Mark Kapner, took this photo of me writing on an envelope. He's getting pretty good at the artsy stuff.

If I Didn't Have A Day Job

2007-10-08T20:02:00.001-07:00

Today, I had the day off of work due to Columbus Day. After my two hour stint at the gym and some long-overdue grocery shopping, I spent some time in the sun, leisurely walking by the pier. With all that time on my hands today, I didn't have to choose between time outside and reading a book. I did both because I wasn't trapped in some building doing something I don't really feel like doing for 10 hours a day.

I also had time to think while I was walking along with myself today. That hasn't happened in months. Perhaps, you've noticed that I no longer seem to have anything remotely witty or well-thought out to say on this blog. One of the hazards of thinking is that I discovered my life is rather routine and, I dare say, boring. I figured out how to fix this when I realized that my life would be much better without a day job.

Things I Could Do If I Didn't Have A Day Job:

* remember birthdays
* cook real dinners
* visit museums
* start a private practice
* learn to tango
* climb outside
* take more vacations
* write to friends
* research interesting stuff
* get more exercise (not at 5:30am)
* read books
* vacuum
* lie around in the sun all afternoon
* buy another set of sheets
* call my family members
* make photography a serious hobby
* enjoy social activities without bailing out at 8:30pm
* write something besides lists on my blog

You Might Be A Minnesotan

2007-10-05T23:16:00.000-07:00

If you had told me a decade ago that our country consisted of different cultures in different regions, I might have disagreed. Well, my mother just emailed me something that reminded me how far I've moved from my cultural roots as a Minnesotan. Forgive me if I indulge my inner midwesterner for a moment. You betcha.

You Might Be A Minnesotan - by Jeff Foxworthy

If you consider it a sport to get food by drilling through 18 inches of ice and sitting there for days hoping that the food will swim by.

If you're proud your state makes the national news 196 nights each year because International Falls is the coldest spot in the nation.

If your local Dairy Queen is closed from September through June.

If someone in a store offers you assistance, and they don't work there.

If your dad sleeps in his baseball hat.

If you have worn shorts and a parka at the same time.

If you know how to pronounce Wayzata, Mahtomedi, Cloquet, Edina, and Shakopee.

If you think that ketchup is a little too spicy.

You measure distance in hours.

You can drive 65 mph through 2 feet of snow in a blizzard without flinching.

You see people wearing hunting clothes to church.

You install security lights on your house and garage and leave both unlocked.

You think the 2 major food groups are fish, and deer meat.

You carry jumper cables in your car, and your girlfriend knows how to use them.

There are always 17 empty cars running in the parking lot at Mill's Fleet Farm.

You design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit.

You know all 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter, and of course, road construction.

If "Down South" to you means Iowa.

You find minus 10 degrees "a little chilly".

YAR!

2007-09-19T17:43:00.000-07:00

It be talk like a pirate day, mateys!

Got Hitched

2007-09-14T22:33:00.000-07:00

I got married a few weeks ago. More photos and stories to follow.
Here are some photos taken by a friend.

Also, see more photos taken by a friend here:
Wedding Photos by Leland

Marci Marie

2007-07-11T13:46:00.000-07:00

A very talented friend of mine, Marci, has been making jewelry for several years, now. She has a store on Etsi.com. It's lovely jewelry, so check it out if you're in the market. She puts new items up all the time. There's even one named after me. See if you can spot it.

Good News and Other Cool Stuff

2007-07-05T16:44:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've found myself shying away from the news. All of it... TV, radio, newspaper, internet. According to the American media, there seems to be no good news happening anywhere in the world. I've found myself even switching off NPR on a regular basis. I know that there are people who thrive on bad news, but overall, I believe that there is only so much negativity the American public can take before we just shut down and stop listening.

Knowing I don't want to turn a deaf ear to what's going on in the world around me, I went on a little internet search for some good news, and I found it here at Good News Network. As far as I can tell, this isn't a religious site (which is a lot of what comes up when you type "good news" into Google). It's just a bunch of happy things happening all over the world.

There's also a tip or two, if you look around. Listed in one of the stories, I found this WebMD article about ways to be less tired.

I just thought I'd pass the good news along to the other peeps out there.

Found Items

2007-06-28T20:35:00.000-07:00

While cleaning out some old files on my computer (it keeps telling me my startup disk is almost full and I can't seem to make my backup harddrive work correctly) I found this video in a file called "Old G3 Stuff". I think I was about 28ish. I sure could shake that big old booty... back in my younger years. *wink*

Recommendations

2007-06-27T15:38:00.000-07:00

In recent weeks, I clearly have had very little time, wit, or energy to write, so I figured I'd just put up a list of some things I love and recommend trying. It takes less effort than actually putting together coherent paragraphs.

Wallaby Yogurt: Especially lemon or key lime, but all are good.

Nalgene bottle spill guards with smiley faces on them: Good for a little pick-me-up when you're feeling down and need a beverage.

Zazzle.com: Fun for making personalized stamps for invitations, thank you cards, or just so your bill collectors can put a face to a name. (They also personalize other stuff.)

Kashi anything: A great company that uses whole grains and organic foods to make very delicious, quick, portable food (crackers, cereal, trail bars, frozen meals, etc.).

Dancing: Oh, how I miss it. Good exercise and, as a bonus, fun to do! Also, if you do it obsessively enough, you can go out after the dancing and have french fries and a milkshake at 12:30am and not gain any weight. (Those were the days.)

Deep tissue massage: Don't be such a pussy. If it doesn't hurt, it's not doing anything.

Asking for a raise: You're worth it, and they know it. If they don't, move on.

Shoe shopping: You don't have to buy anything. But you probably will.

Giving thoughtful gifts: You get to put a smile on someone else's face because they know you really care. And it's relatively easy.

Surprising someone (in a good way, not just jumping out to say "boo"): See reason above.

Psychotherapy: Well, duh.

Going to college away from home: Being a grown up is hard sometimes. Difficult choices and moral dilemmas abound. College is a good place to practice that with training wheels.

Chocolate: Go on. Live a little.

B-Mobile

2007-06-26T16:08:00.000-07:00

Well, we found a new (old) one, finally! No longer just a Bert Mobile, it's a Bert&Bryan Mobile. B-Mobile, if you will.

1997 Honda Accord Coupe SE

Hit By A Bus, Part II

2007-06-04T14:20:00.002-07:00

Well, some things are becoming clearer. The greatest of which is that Bryan, at 6'1" tall, does not fit into an economy-sized car. That leaves us searching for a reasonably priced mid-sized car. Parking will be more difficult, but Bryan and his lanky legs will be able fold in under the steering wheel, saving him from bashing his knees into the dashboard (again) if anyone were to rearend us at full speed (again).

This big truck came to take my car away today. I watched from the window. I didn't want to make nicey-nice small talk with the driver.

Insurance is going to pay me more than what I thought it was worth, so that's nice. It's not enough to get a pimpin' automobile, but parking on the streets in San Francisco and having had my car totaled twice now, I'm fine with getting a used car that's been more used than not.

Oh, and the insurance stops covering my rental car on Wednesday. I'm not sure exactly how I was supposed to have received the check from my insurance company and purchased a new car in all of five days when I just received the paperwork from them to transfer title today. Policy is a strange beast.

Health wise... my vertebrae appear only to be bruised, not chipped or cracked, as my doctor had thought they might be. It eases my mind, but not the pain. Might possibly look for a lawyer. Having never done that before, I'm unsure about how to begin.

Bryan seems to be fine, so far. Fingers crossed that he stays that way for the long term.

And... I've developed a nasty cold. My guess is that it's in reaction to all of the stress and injury. Hopefully, it will clear up in time for us to fly to Arizona on Thursday. We'll be finalizing the wedding menu. I'd like to be able to taste it.

I Feel Like I've Been Hit By A Bus

2007-05-29T15:54:00.000-07:00

Now that I have a real 8am-5pm job, I find it difficult to take vacations, so this past long weekend was long-awaited in BertVille. I had been planning a surprise for Bryan for some time. I booked the hotel reservations three months ago.

The morning was still foggy and cold with few people around. We had gotten a very early start in anticipation of our relaxing roadtrip vacation. It is a lesson I keep relearning... things do not always turn out as we plan them. Less than three miles from home, one stoplight before the freeway, an airport van full of people (you might say a bus) slammed into us at top speed while we were stopped at a stoplight. He never hit his brakes and admitted to Bryan, "I never even saw you!" The impact bashed us into the car in front of ours, sent Bryan's orange mocha careening into the windshield where it exploded all over us, wrenched our backs and necks, and generally scared the living hell out of us. We walk away, relatively unharmed (x-ray results still pending). I don't think my car, however, is going to make it (insurance results still pending).

Running on adrenaline and still in shock, I made the executive decision that we were still going to go, damnit, and have some f-ing fun and relaxation this weekend. We rented a car and the airport and we were off. It wasn't as I had pictured. No method to plug in my iPod, so no cool tunes. A slowly stiffening neck. A sinking feeling that, with our wedding three months away and our finances maxed, we were going to have to buy a new (to us) car. Not the happy-go-lucky time I'd been imaging for the past months.

We did manage to find some fun things to do, if not all that I had so meticulously planned.

We hiked along the beach, taking in the coastline and enjoying the brisk, windy weather.

Our hotel was excellent. We had a real wood-burning fireplace in front of which to sit and be grateful that we still have one another.

It was not as planned, but it created in me a desire to think about the things in my life that matter. I've been running fast and taking things for granted... so busy making to-do lists that I forgot to pay attention to right now. Once this is all ironed out between insurance, doctors, and mechanics, I want to spend more time appreciating. In fact, I'd like to start now. No need to wait for the details to get settled. It's time to begin noticing again.

Engagement Photos

2007-05-18T09:36:00.000-07:00

Recently, Dave Wong, an old dancing friend, asked to take my engagement photos as a wedding gift! We had a blast! He's a full time professional photographer, and he and his assistant take incredible photos! See all of them on his blog at SweetSmile.com.

Likes & Dislikes

2007-05-18T08:47:00.000-07:00

In the past 7 years, 4 months, and 1 day, since I moved to California, my tastes have changed.

Things I used to dislike, and now like very much:
* olives
* wine
* fitted clothes
* tomatoes
* toenail polish
* sushi
* sparkly baubles
* working out
* beer
* country music
* figs
* goat cheese
* the color pink
* anything vegan

Things I used to like, and now dislike:
* city driving
* rap music
* high fructose corn syrup
* hippies

Things I'm still practicing liking:
* oysters
* mariachi music

Kaboom!

2007-05-13T09:12:00.000-07:00

Last night, Bryan and I were invited to see the KFOG Kaboom fireworks up close. Here are some shots taken with my new birthday camera.

Jesus Age

2007-04-30T20:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned Jesus Age.

And if that's not enough religion talk for you, get this! On my actual birthday, I got to see the fourteenth Dalai Lama speak about Positive Change Beginning with Inner Happiness.

He was the most adorable man. Seriously. He told jokes and laughed at them, himself. A woman asked this very sweet question about how to raise her new infant daughter to be a joyful and mindful person. After a moment of quiet thought, he said, in his broken English, "You asking wrong person. I am monk. I think if I spend a few hours with children, it's okay. But more than that, (he shook his head) I don't know." And he laughed heartily and his little funny.

In addition to being raucously funny, he also exudes this peaceful presence. He moves slowly and deliberately. He speaks about creating peace in oneself, which spreads, by proxy, to others. He also recognized that there are many religions. He said that it's not possible to say that one is the "best" religion if speaking about many people, but only if speaking about an individual. He likened it to applying different medications for different illnesses. This medication is the best for that illness. This other medication is the best for another illness. Similarly, this religion is best for that person. This other religion is best for another person. It was beautiful. A perfect Jesus Birthday present.

Then, my friends and I went to a new restaurant with a California twist on comfort food and an amazing Zinfandel. Mmmm. I love birthdays.

Birthday Hiking

2007-04-30T19:04:00.000-07:00

Bryan and I went hiking up to see Turtle Rock for my birthday weekend. We ate lunch on a big rock and took in the scenery.