Beyond Mommy

New on the Las Vegas Strip

2012-01-29T14:34:00.000-08:00

I encountered a strange new phenomenon on my last visit to Las Vegas (in November). Truly, Vegas is home to many strange phenomena, but by my tenth visit I was accustomed to most.

I found them amusingly charming when we first happened upon these Hello Kitty characters as we started our tour of The Strip. My daughter happens to love HK, so Tanya and I posed for this photo op outside Caesar's Palace. I had mistakenly assumed these two mascots were somehow connected to the hotel as part of a promotion or something.

I quickly realized my error when the knock-off costumed characters grew ubiquitous along the sidewalk. A few were mildly interesting, such as the man on stilts disguised as part of a tree playfully startling passersby. And at least Bumblebee's costume is impressive and fairly relevant.

Others were hideous and/or inappropriate, such as Garfield the loveable cat passed out to the tune of one too many (and sadly he wasn't the only character posed precisely the same way)...

...or this woefully homemade Spongebob costume.

This infestation brought me to realize that The Strip has been noticeably devoid of street performers in years past. I suppose the schmucks in horrible costumes plus a number of truly awful musicians are slightly less irritating than the "slap slap" of calling cards up and down the sidewalk. I'm just curious how they started and multiplied. And also, who throws money into the bucket of a person sleeping on the sidewalk with a bunch of empty beer bottles, just because he/she wriggled into a dirty costume? It must be fairly lucrative or there wouldn't be so many...right?

Bun in the Oven

2012-01-21T15:24:00.000-08:00

Gary and I found out the day after Thanksgiving that we are finally expecting our second child. Of course we are thrilled and had fun sharing the news with family and friends over the Holidays.

We wanted Madelyn to be the first to know. Assuming she wouldn't keep the secret, we told her the night before her 5th birthday, when we planned to share the news with the rest of the family.

Gary read Madelyn a special book I made for her. It's a story about how much everybody loves her with a surprise ending which says, "because Madelyn is so very special...everyone knows...that the new baby will love her too." You can read the book here; it is pretty cute.

It took Madelyn a minute and some additional explanation to understand. Her reaction is hilarious--make sure you hear her final comment at :35.

"I'm pretty nervous about a little leg poking out your...bagina."

Madelyn asked each of her grandparents to read this book to her when they arrived before her birthday party. I wore this "bun in the oven" shirt I had made at the party to surprise the rest of our family and friends.

And then our Christmas Card/Announcement spread the message far and wide.

It's a happy 2012 so far in our new home with a baby on the way.

Meet Lulu: My summer project

2011-09-12T11:41:00.000-07:00

Last summer I shared with Gary my birthday wish: to find a vintage travel trailer to fix up. I thought it would be a fun project and I love those cute trailers. Always the sensible one to bring me down to earth, Gary opened my eyes to the potentially complicated realities of such an endeavor.

I put the idea aside until driving home from a camping trip this past June. Maybe we were still tripping on the weekend getaway high, but this time Gary seemed downright supportive. Right there in the car I perused craigslist on my phone, found a few to look at, and exactly one week later had Lulu parked in my driveway.

She came with the name, and we decided to keep it. Lulu is a 1964 Fleetcraft travel trailer. The exterior is adorable I think, although in need of some cosmetic repairs. The interior had great potential but unfortunately the necessary repairs inside are more than skin-deep.

Major exterior repairs completed: fix broken window seal, repair rear bumper, waterproof and seal entire exterior, replace front trailer jack, lubricate and re-carpet doorstep.

The inside had five or six major areas of dry-rot and/or mold. To truly restore Lulu to "showroom" condition one would have to practically strip her down to the steel and start over. My goal was simply to have a cute, functional trailer that smells good and isn't going to fall apart when you sit down.

So to begin I had to bake the wet spots dry with a heater, then strip away the damaged wood paneling. My original plan was to replace all of the wood paneling, but I am grateful that my Dad (former professional painter) convinced me just to paint the interior instead. This meant I could leave good paneling in place and simply clean and sand the bad spots. I applied a layer of KILZ to seal in any odor that might have remained, then sanded it down to smooth finish. In the collage above, each row shows one corner in progression from left to right.

The previous owner had dismantled the dinette area in the front and used it as storage shelving only. The top left picture shows the bottom shelf which extended all the way across, plus he had a second shelf the same size sitting on top of the support rails he nailed around the outside. I removed the middle section to restore the bench-style seating base. Since the wood inside the walls in the front of the trailer was a little soft, I decided it would be best to leave his supports in place and build out new paneling. I used a nice beadboard panel and added trim around the top.

Painting! My dad, the pro, helped me get started with a complete interior paint job. He even donated the paint out of his supply of random mismatches and leftovers. I chose to leave the cabinetry unpainted because I do love the character of the whitewash wood paneling, and it was still in decent shape on the cabinets. Plus there is really great copper hardware on all the drawers and cabinets that I did not want painted and didn't want to mess with removing or taping them either.

Describing a few collages of before and after pictures makes this project seem comically simple! I must interject now that it took many weeks of hard work to get to this point! I consulted with a great vintage trailer expert at a local RV shop who provided a lot of free advice and assistance, and I also purchased some parts from him and hired him to complete a number of projects that were beyond my scope of comfort. Unforeseen challenges cropped up continuously. I spent a lot of time researching, planning, figuring, working, and cleaning. Some of the projects were dirty and difficult. Others were kind of fun...and difficult.

I found the greatest fabric material online. It was just what I wanted: a funky, psychedelic design that incorporated Lulu's turquoise and white color scheme. Without any sort of pattern, my mother and I figured out how to sew the curtains so that the pattern could be seen from inside and outside the windows, could be hung on a rod if desired (I chose to use the vintage ring clips but wanted both options), and looked professional and gorgeous! I had Lulu's zebra rug cleaned (by my wonderful brother) and trimmed it to a better fit. I absolutely love being able to store all of our camping gear right inside the trailer! Lulu has tons of storage space for such a small vehicle.

The pièce de résistance for me is the dinette set. I bit the bullet and ordered the more expensive vinyl I fell in love with. It has a great textured pattern of circles and has a soft finish that is very comfortable. Since Lulu isn't all square and symmetrical, I custom ordered each piece of foam. My desire to have a table that converted seamlessly into a bed required some creative thinking and mathematics, and I am so proud of the way this engineering feat turned out.

When it's time to lay down, lift the back cushions out and slide the seat back. This leaves the exact amount of room for the tabletop to rest on the edge of the bench base. The two back cushions not only fit exactly on top of the table, they are thinner than the seat cushions by exactly the thickness of the table so that the cushions are flush for the bed. It makes me a little giddy because it was not easy to get it all worked out but it turned out so nicely!

And I sewed the vinyl covers myself too! They look pretty darn good for amateur work, I think.

A collection of before and afters: The left column shows the back bench/bed area from moldy walls and ugly curtains to finished in the bottom picture with fresh paint, brand new cushions inside the washed folding cover, and adorable curtains. The right column shows the front dinette area from rotten walls to new paneling to finished dinette set. My brother-in-law Randy made the tabletop out of cherry hardwood.

And lastly a collection of different angles and close-ups of the near-finished project. Original mint-green appliances was one of the major selling points for me on this particular trailer: a stove and oven, sink, and old-fashioned ice box. Also the louver-style windows are so charming.

I wish I could say that Lulu is all done! She was done "enough" to go on her first adventure: a road trip to Southern California and Yosemite National Park in mid-August. But there are still a number of projects to complete to make her as wonderful as she can be. Some are functionality issues such as mounting the spare tire underneath, fixing a broken taillight cover, and getting the plumbing operational (the hand pump works if I put the tube into a jug of water under the sink, but the built-in tank is disconnected and the city-water supply has a crack in the pipe). Other projects are more cosmetic or fun such as welding on a hitch where we can put our bike rack, repairing the dents and chipped paint on the front panel, and having Lulu's name applied on the outside. And there's more.

Lulu has been an interesting and challenging project. I purchased the trailer for a good price (Steven, the RV shop guy, reassured me of that when I started learning about all of Lulu's problems and feared I'd been swindled) but we doubled our investment in supply and repair costs. Still, Steven is confident that when we're ready to sell Lulu we will make a profit because of her significantly upgraded condition. In fact, while Lulu spent some time in his repair yard, he had people walk in on a daily basis inquiring after her. I hope we'll get to enjoy many more fun vacations with Lulu before we're ready to get our money back. But it's nice to know the investment isn't just a waste. Now...the additional cost of gas hauling her fat butt might be...that upper bunk bed makes for quite a drain on the MPG. No wonder Airstreams took the industry by storm in the mid-century.

Here is a picture of Lulu on her first road trip, parked in the Yosemite Valley under a towering granite cliff. I am so grateful for all the help I received from Bryan, Steven, Randy, Gary, and my dad on this project. Oh, and Madelyn too! Thank you everyone!

Kezia's ACL surgery

2011-08-25T13:06:00.000-07:00

Introductions
This is Kezia. Pronunciation rhymes with amnesia and is a derivative of a Hebrew word for cinnamon tree - chosen to describe our Siberian Husky's unusual color. Kezia and her brother Loki (named for the Norse god of mischief) were born January 30, 2003 and have been members of our family since weeks before then as we anticipated their arrival.

The Incident Thursday, August 4, 2011 ~ 8:30am

Halfway up the stairs, where they turn at a landing, Kezia cried out in pain and halted her ascent. She yelped again and again but eventually limped her way to the top. She stopped crying and laid down so after offering some comfort by way of pets and smooches, I left her alone hoping that The Incident was merely a brief moment of discomfort.

Serious
When Kezia attempted to walk, she held her back right leg above ground, awkwardly hopping on three good legs to avoid putting any weight on the fourth. I palpated her paw and ankle, flexed and extended her leg, hoping to discover the source of the pain, but Kezia never winced during these attempts. Through a concerned phone call, Gary and I agreed Kezia should see a veterinarian. Our usual vet is not nearby, so I clicked around online and discovered a walk-in clinic here in town.

I loaded up both dogs and packed a picnic for Madelyn and me, knowing a stop at the park afterward would make the excursion more enjoyable for all. I was impressed with the walk-in vet clinic: no appointment necessary (or even accepted) and a very short wait.

Diagnosis
The doctor asked a few questions and then knelt to check out Kezia's leg. Within moments he elicited her yelp which immediately confirmed a diagnosis. Kezia had torn her Anterior Cruciate Ligament (ACL) - an injury most common in serious athletes.

Do you know where a dog's knee is? For all my education in human anatomy and physiology, I've never really thought about a dog's knee, which forms the rounded front of the hind legs.

The veterinarian performed the action in the right photo to determine that Kezia's tibia freely moved forward away from her femur--no longer held in place by the connective tissue between them. You can see that if Kezia were to step on that foot, the tibia would slip right out from under the femur, causing collapse. He explained that knee injuries are very common in dogs because their knee joints are constantly flexed; there is always pressure on the knee. It would be like walking around in a half squat all day.

This news was fairly shocking to me, as I suspected a minor twist or strain, not permanent physical damage.

Prognosis

The only way to correct a torn ACL is through surgery. The veterinarian showed me the procedure on a tiny canine skeleton, but explained that he isn't comfortable performing it and recommended a highly skilled surgeon in Portland. When he awaited my response I said quietly, "It sounds expensive." Probably around two thousand dollars, he told me, and my chest tightened a little as I gazed at my poor puppy.

I paid my bill for the visit and numbly took the sheet of paper with the referral hospital's information from the receptionist. I tried to remain calm and control my shallow breathing for Madelyn's sake as we climbed back into the Yukon. But when I called my husband at work to share the news, I couldn't hold back tears. In addition to the sadness of seeing my baby in pain, we are in the process of moving to a new house (including making some minor-but-still-costly renovations) and were set to leave on an exciting-but-unavoidably-expensive family vacation in just over one week. This unanticipated expense was surfacing at a very bad time.

More Bad News

I called the clinic suggested by the vet. The surgeon would not be able to see us for a consultation until the following Friday. I was not interested in allowing Kezia to suffer for another week, plus that would be the day before our vacation departure so there would be no time to perform the operation before we left town. The receptionist gave me phone numbers for two other pet hospitals. Even though I'd already heard the estimate from the first vet, I decided to ask for a ball park figure for the surgery--just in case he was wrong. It turns out he was wrong. Without an apologetic note in her voice, the receptionist delivered their price: $3,400 to $3,700. "And I think we're all about the same" she said, referring to the other phone numbers she'd provided.

I hung up the phone in shock. I thought two grand was exorbitant; nearly double that was simply outrageous! Madelyn was getting restless in her carseat, so I started driving toward the park, piecing together all this information in an attempt to determine a solution to the puzzle.

The Picnic

I wasn't really in the mood for a picnic anymore, but I knew Madelyn was still counting on it. Because we had the dogs with us, I decided on a whim to go to the playground that also has an off-leash dog park nearby. Kezia might not have much fun, but at least Loki could burn off some energy. As we pulled up to the playground, I told Madelyn we'd take the dogs to their park after our picnic. But Madelyn suggested we have our picnic in the dog area instead. Normally I'd insist we stick with my plan because it's kind of gross to eat in the dog park. Perhaps I wasn't of the mindset to explain right then and I think I found Madelyn's desire to share our picnic experience with Loki and Kezia endearing at that moment, so I turned around and we carried our adorable picnic basket through the double gates along with one fit and one disabled dog.

The Stranger

There were two other dog owners in the park, possibly judging my parental aptitude for allowing a child to dine amid feces and urine but I didn't care. There is a picnic table, sheesh. The young woman sitting there said kindly, "Do you know your dog is limping?"

I nearly lashed out screaming at her that of COURSE I know my dog is limping do you think I am some kind of IDIOT she is literally walking on three legs it's not like I am BLIND what kind of heartless IMBECILE do you think I am?!? But I resisted and simply replied that yes, we had just come from the vet. And then sniffled.

I'm sure I already looked quite dejected, and then I called Gary with the Bad News described above. Thirty-seven hundred dollars. More tears. Especially when Gary reluctantly brought up Kezia's relative age and life expectancy. I mean, I completely understand the humanity of putting down a dog that is deteriorating--dying. If there isn't quality of life left to be lived, then euthanasia can be a loving option. But an injury with an available solution is not the same, and the idea of putting Kezia to sleep felt to me simply like murder.

I finally sat, wiping tears, adjacent to the young woman who also had two dogs with her. Her Golden Retrievers were lying panting in the shade under the table, and the white hairs freckling their faces told me they were probably older than my own dogs. She inquired--about the tears, the limping dog--and I told her Kezia had torn her ACL and it will cost over $3,500 to fix it and we don't know what we're going to do.

This girl shared that one of her dogs had a tumor removed a few years ago. She was told the surgery would cost $2,000 but a vet in Astoria removed it for $500. Before leaving, she expressed her well wishes and I memorized the name of the veterinarian and his clinic in Astoria. That is 90 minutes away from home, but it would be worth it if the surgery could be done for a fourth of the anticipated cost! Using that math, maybe we could make Kezia better for around $800 instead. I left the dog park with hope.

Research

I Googled Columbia Veterinary Hospital and found the recommended Dr. Goza in Astoria. But each time I tried calling the line was busy or they were closed for lunch. Meanwhile I called my mom and my closest friend for some sympathy. Barb recommended a local vet, which led me to another series of phone calls. Throughout the day I researched torn canine ACL and the surgical options on the web and youtube, periodically shedding a few more tears. Madelyn didn't like it when I cried. Each time, she pulled out a blank birthday card from a box in my office, colored in it, and gave it to me to help me feel better.

When Gary got home from work we discussed everything I'd learned: one vet was out of town, one recommended waiting until after our vacation to do the surgery, none would give me an estimate on the cost because "it depends on a lot of factors." I realized then that I still hadn't reached the clinic in Astoria. It was after 5pm, but I decided to try again in case they were still open.

Finally, Good News

Dr. Goza at Columbia Veterinary Hospital could see Kezia the next morning and perform the surgery that evening. Since we live out of the area (and I had to return to Aloha for our big remodeling project at Curves scheduled that weekend) we were invited to leave her overnight. We got a ball park figure here: three to five hundred dollars! I find this difference mind-boggling! And we were finally filled with relief that we could help Kezia without severe financial burden.

Columbia Veterinary Hospital

Madelyn, Kezia, and I left Friday morning and drove an hour and a half to Astoria. The clinic was dim and not especially clean. The building caused faint memories of summer camp mess halls and health clinics to surface. None of the staff members wore scrubs or a uniform of any kind. They all--including the doctor himself--sported jeans and ill-fitting tops that appeared to have been purchased in the nineties. Dr. Goza reminded me so much of an actor I couldn't place. Thanks to IMDb, I later determined it is Spalding Gray, an obscure memory indeed, as I've only ever seen him in Beaches many years ago. But he also looked a little like "Doc" from Back to the Future--sort of a mad scientist vibe.

I didn't take any pictures of Dr. Goza myself, but here is one I borrowed from this nice tribute to him.

Dr. Goza was friendly, yet to-the-point. His objective was to make my dog better and he knew how to do that. After telling me nonchalantly that the operation would cost $300, he offered an unsolicited explanation for the hospitals in Portland charging $4000 because "if you can't pay it, someone else can." He went on to say that in a small town, he simply can't watch all the dogs limping around. I kissed Kezia goodbye, he led her into the back, and that was that.

Post-Op

After another 90-minute drive the next morning, Madelyn and I greeted Kezia back at the clinic. Her leg was shaved and 18 stainless-steel sutures lined the 5-inch incision along her knee. She was a little out of it and drooly because of the pain medication. Dr. Goza said that the surgery went perfectly. Kezia's Cruciate Ligament was completely severed, but her knee was the perfect surgical candidate. He commended us for bringing her in right away and complimented Kezia's overall physical condition, which benefits the surgical outcome and her recovery.

After thanking Dr. Goza, I slowly led my hopping dog to the front desk to pay. There, she got a lot of sympathetic looks and comments from other waiting pet owners. With Kezia's two prescriptions in hand, I started writing the check. "Three hundred dollars" the receptionist said. I reminded her that I also had two bottles of pills. "Yep, three hundred dollars."

Incredible. ACL surgery, pain meds, and antibiotics for $300. It was already such a good deal, I would not have balked at an additional cost for the pills. I should mention that Dr. Goza performed a different procedure than the one we would have likely paid for in Portland. I read all about the newfangled surgery called TPLO (Tibial Plateau Leveling Osteotomy) but Dr. Goza said 75% of vets still do what he does and it is nearly as effective for a much nicer price tag.

The morning after surgery

Close-up of incision

Sleepless Night

The first night at home was tough--Kezia seemed to be in a lot of pain and let us know it. I eventually slept on the floor with Kezia, mainly in an effort to facilitate a better night for Gary so he could be rested for work. I discovered that when Kezia starting whining I could help her calm down if I was close. Also, a few times in the night she struggled to get up, then walked around aimlessly. Since she couldn't easily go downstairs to the dog door, I put her on leash and took her out the front door a few times, although often she would stand there without relieving herself. It was confusing and frustrating not knowing how to help, not wanting a mess on the carpet inside, wanting her to be comfortable, but also yearning desperately for sleep. It was much like having a newborn baby. Thankfully, after the first night she didn't seem to be in as much pain.

20 Days

As I mentioned, we took a vacation a week after Kezia's surgery. She and Loki boarded in a kennel operated by a friend of mine on her farm. I was glad to be leaving Kezia with someone I knew personally in her condition. While we were gone Kezia did a lot of healing and she is now lightly putting her foot down when she walks much of the time. The fur is growing back on her leg. We are so relieved with the outcome of what began as a very emotional day.

August 25, 2011 - 20 days post-op

Close-up of incision

In Conclusion

I feel like this outcome was somewhat miraculous. I never would have known about Dr. Goza had it not been for the kind stranger who felt compelled to start a conversation and share with me. Had I responded rudely when she asked about Kezia's limp, she may not have done so. Had we eaten our picnic at the playground first, she might have been gone before we arrived. We so rarely go to that dog park anyway, it was an amazing coincidence to be there at all. I want so badly to thank this young woman and tell her it all worked out wonderfully, because of her. As for the vet who referred me to the expensive surgeon, I'll probably bring Kezia there next week to have her sutures removed, and I plan to explain our story and urge him to let patients know about other, more affordable options.

De-Lurk Day!

2010-12-06T00:01:00.000-08:00

Did you enjoy NaBloPoMo? I did. Writing 30 posts in 30 days wreaked havoc on my precarious balance between business workload vs. available time to be productive, but I enjoyed it all the same. And I want to continue writing on my blog. There is certainly an element of personal satisfaction inherent in blogging, but to be frank, I am self-satisfied in other areas of my life, so that reward alone is not enough to keep the wheels of Beyond Mommy turning. The implicit reality is that engaged and participatory readers are the lifeblood of a good blog. Without feedback wherein the writer learns who her readers are and what they enjoy reading, a blog can easily wither and die (I submit as evidence for your consideration: May through October on this blog).

Therefore, I am officially declaring today "De-Lurk Day" on Beyond Mommy.

Do you read this blog on a regular basis, or are you just stopping in? How did you find this blog? Did a less-than-hilarious Google search land you here? Did you click through from a mutual friend or a facebook post? Are you an ex-boyfriend's brother or my former boss or someone I've never met? Or do I see you every day and not even know that you are reading this?? Now is your chance to come clean. Let the world (and more importantly, me!) know that you're reading this blog.

Just write a quick note to tell us a little about yourself, how you know me or found this blog, and/or why you read it, if you want.

I happen to know that Bridget (from whom I received permission to steal this whole De-Lurk Day idea*) would love some company on my very quiet comment platforms. I find it plausible that some people fear commenting precisely because it is so quiet--it's like giving a speech in your underwear. But consider this blog as a social platform. If I wanted to have a conversation with myself, I wouldn't need a computer. And that is no fun anyway. If you have taken the time to read one of my posts, can you take another moment to continue the discussion a little further? Do you like it or hate it? Agree or disagree? Did it make you laugh or roll your eyes? Surely you have something to say. Everyone does. My posts merely provide an opening monologue for what could be an engaging conversation.

So go ahead...de-lurk yourself! And then please don't be a stranger...

*I know I 'll never get 55 comments on this post, but come on Beyond Mommy fans, let's have a decent showing here! I know you are out there lurking! :)

Preschool macabre

2010-12-02T20:57:00.000-08:00

Breakfast table conversation with a not-yet-four-year-old:

Without segue: "Mommy, I had the dream* when I pushed my friend Fanky** and she died. She died when I pushed her."

Grappling for the correct response: "That sounds like a scary dream, honey!"

Incredulous: "NO it's not!"

Tentatively: "I think that your friend dying is a little bit scary."

Confused: "No...dying is fun."

Still unsure of how to proceed: "Have you ever died before, Madelyn?"

As if it is so obvious: "Yes."

Curious: "Oh? How did you die?"

Matter-of-factly: "When a T-Rex ate me."

Thoroughly amused: "Really. When did this happen?"

Growing tired of this line of questioning: "In one hundred days."

These kinds of hilarious discussions are becoming more frequent as Madelyn's imagination and aperture of life experience are simultaneously expanded faster than her comprehension of reality can keep up.***

*This is the first time Madelyn has ever spoken about a dream or even indicated that she might understand that they occur.

**We hear references to a friend named "Fanky" who does not seem to actually exist.

***Bet you thought now that NaBloPoMo is over you wouldn't see a post from me for six months or so. Ha HA! I proved you wrong.

Curly hair FAIL

2010-11-30T11:32:00.000-08:00

The other day I got me some of them foam rollers that you wear overnight. My vision: after an evening shower, throw the curlers on wet hair, wake up with gorgeous wavy locks. Quick, easy beauty. And hey, I bet Madelyn would think this pretty fun, with bonus bonding time for us.

Last night I skipped one of my workouts because I had not been feeling well all day. Madelyn and I had a hot tub party instead, followed by a shower. I felt so much better afterward. It was a perfect time to try out our curlers, since we both had wet hair and I didn't have any commitments early this morning that would require a decent appearance. You know, in case they didn't work out so well. Ahem.

How to Curl your Hair

in Eight Easy Steps:

Step 1: Install foam curlers

Madelyn was very patient with the process, which surprised me a bit because she doesn't even like to have her hair braided or put in a ponytail.

The package suggested twisting the hair for a "spiral" curl. That sounded fun.

Step 2: Pose in anticipation

All done! (Madelyn didn't wear that handkerchief very long, but she wanted to try it out.)

Step 3: Endure very uncomfortable night with plastic lumps all over your head

Step 4: Wake up and remove curlers

Step 5: Marvel at the utter FAIL before your eyes

Have you ever wondered what I would look like with an afro? I actually haven't, but behold the answer.

Seriously. all I need is my pick. Curly hair: FAIL. Afro: WIN.

Step 6: Go for a run in the rain

A ponytail can hardly contain this hot mess!

Step 7: Wash away all traces of this mistake

Showered and back to my normal self. Sigh of relief.

Step 8: Return curlers to whence they came

Prepare to meet your maker, foam rollers. Assuming Goody has a satisfaction guarantee, that is. That 'fro was NOT worth such a horrible, poky, lumpy night's sleep.

Madelyn's hair, on the other hand, turned out pretty darn cute, even fashionably completing the look with her new 80's rocker outfit. But she says she doesn't want to sleep in curlers again, so they're still going back to the store.

Snowy sunset

2010-11-29T09:42:00.000-08:00

EDIT: My husband just informed me that these pictures are of our sunRISE not sunset. Me: "Are you sure?" Him: Yeah, the sun doesn't set in the east. Me: Whatever, jerk. Just kidding. But he is totally right, I took these pictures around 7am. I am an idiot. The pictures are still nice though.

I forgot I had these neat pictures on my camera to share with you. The first snow of winter dusted our neighborhood last Tuesday, and I captured this beautiful pink, orange, and purple sunset behind the white rooftops.

It would look much prettier without that giant lamppost mucking it up right in the middle.

So here is a close-up. You can click on the photos to enlarge them and see how bright the colors are.

Hm. Sorry for the lame excuse of a post today. I need to buckle down and get to work though, so this is what you get on Day 29.

Grilled cheesy adventure

2010-11-28T11:30:00.000-08:00

Laaaast Christmas I bought one of those "half price deals" from a radio station website and put it in my husband's stocking. The gift certificate was for a restaurant called The Grilled Cheese Grill, which I had never heard of. But it sounded right up our alley because a) we love grilled cheese sandwiches and the ad implied that this place expands the culinary delight to new heights, b) they are open very late, and the idea of a midnight run for grilled cheese is the kind of thing that we would have totally done back before we had a child sleeping, and c) the restaurant is in a bus. Yeah.

The problem is, The Grilled Cheese Grill is located far on the other side of town where we rarely have business, too far to reasonably drive just to get a grilled cheese sandwich, even if it is served in a school bus.

Fast forward to thiiiiiis year, when I was contemplating how to celebrate Gary's birthday. We tend to honor birthdays by doing something more often than giving something. My friend Sarah gave me the idea to check out Ape Cave, and while researching, I figured out that The Grilled Cheese Grill is only a few blocks off the path to get there. It was the perfect excuse to use the gift certificate and try a fun, new place for a special birthday lunch. And the best part is, I discovered that the certificate I had purchased was going to expire at the end of the month, so the timing could not have been better!

As we walked along the sidewalk in Northeast Portland toward our surprise destination, we encountered this:

In case it isn't clear, that is a wooden utility pole covered with a four-inch layer of damp flyers. They had been partially torn off to provide this stunning cross-section of so many lost kitties, grunge band performances, and bikes for sale. I love this picture.

The Grilled Cheese Grill was everything I had hoped for and then some. The concept of a mostly-outdoor restaurant doesn't usually swoon me in early November, but at least it wasn't raining.

In addition to the outdoor picnic tables, this old school bus had been converted into a dining area as well. The entire ceiling is painted with a semi-frightening mural the title of which might be "Otto's acid trip." We found ourselves fielding questions like, "Mommy, why doesn't that cat have a head?" and "Ha ha! That skeleton is wearing pants!"

While we waited for our sandwiches to be grilled, Madelyn played bus driver. She is wearing those hideous silver sparkly shoes. We hate them, she loves them. What are you gonna do?

And then. And THEN. Our glorious grilled cheese sandwiches were served. Mine was called the BABS: bacon, apples, bleu cheese, and swiss on rye. This taste sensation might be enough to make me say OMG, if only I were not fundamentally opposed to uttering that abomination. I will say that it was so yummy that tomato soup dipping was unnecessary. Gary got The Pops with ham, tomato, havarti, and honey mustard on Dave's Killer Cracked Wheat. We wanted to get the requisite tomato soup of course, plus a kids' grilled cheese for Madelyn. A la carte, this would have cost $21.75 (actually not a bad deal for a 3-person lunch). But they have this cleverly titled special called Fromage a Trois where you get three sandwiches ("one for me, one for you, one to split") plus two soups or two chips for $17.50. So instead of the kids' sandwich, we got The Gabby, which features four cheeses, to share with Madelyn. Our gift certificate was a $20 value, and of course they don't give change, so the $1.75 charge to add ham to Gary's choice brought us up to $19.25--perfect!

The food was delicious and the concept so unique and fun that we'd consider driving all the way over there. Just for a Grilled Cheese Grill grilled cheese sandwich. Because I still really want to try The Jalapeño Popper and The Hot Brie. Plus--and this is a BIG plus--they also have sweet grilled cheese sandwiches. Various combinations of brie, Nutella, marscarpone, bananas,and peanut butter grilled between cinnamon swirl or white bread. You can even add bacon to create The Fat Elvis. Yes, we will definitely need to venture out to The Grilled Cheese Grill again.

How to find this blog

2010-11-27T11:47:00.000-08:00

I don't look at the statistics very often, but I do have a couple of tracking widgets installed on Beyond Mommy. They give me basic information about how many visitors my site receives each day, where they are located, how they landed on my page, etc. Pretty boring stuff, really. But it can be kind of fun to see that in the last 48 hours I have entertained guests from Birmingham, Alabama; Civitanova Marche, Italy; Macon, Georgia; and South Lanarkshire, UK. I do not know anyone who lives in these places.

That always makes me wonder how strangers find my blog. Enter Google Analytics, which tracks the various search terms entered which result in a "hit" for Beyond Mommy. The most common search leading to my website is questions related to the NikePlus iPod Sensor, which I reviewed in depth last year. I sincerely hope that it has helped answer these queries, ranging from [sic] "what does nike+ do?" to "nike i pod odometer" to "Nike sensor Sinagpore price." That last one I know didn't find the answer on my blog. I also get other bland requests such as "bringing kids to las vegas" and "how to diy streak hair."

Beyond the mundane searches with an obvious motive, it is much more fun to see what other odd phrases cause Google to bring up my site and lead a person to click on it. For your entertainment, here are a few of my favorites:

bikini babes in the snow probably led some disappointed pervert here or possibly to any one of my American Idol posts referring to "Bikini Girl."

"husband's last name" (in quotations, meaning searching for this exact phrase) innocuously led someone to my post about combining last names when we got married, but I like to imagine somebody forgot her husband's last name and was trying to find it.

oh crap probably linked to this post, but could just as easily have led someone here. I admit to having multiple entries featuring this phrase.

Chicago skyline scene shower curtain. Yes, I have written several posts about Chicago recently, but I'm not sure how the shower curtain comes into play.

diznee collection obviously found this lovely experience, but it makes me wonder whether or not the searcher intended the misspelling, as I did.

dressing up as a fear factor contestant and fear is not a factor logo must lead to one of my favorite flashbacks, and I hope that first person was pleased with my example.

I did discuss puffy paint popularity here, and showed off some unhalloween costumes here but I find these search phrases amusing in general. Don't you think it's fun to wonder why a person would enter any of these various combinations of words? What are they looking for?

And now for the grand finale, the best phrase leading to Beyond Mommy in recent weeks, exactly as entered in the search engine:

live forfoming and boob show

I can't begin to comprehend what this even means, much less what it has to do with my blog. I am going to assume that the individual searching did not find what he (or she?) was looking for with this particular click.

Flashback Friday: Madelyn's Birth Day

2010-11-26T06:05:00.000-08:00

My daughter entered this world in our home on December 14, 2006, 46 minutes before her official "due date." In the days that followed, I recorded a journal of her birth based on my personal recollection combined with notes my mother made. These notes were important for piecing together the timing and sequence of events, as a woman's mind lost in natural labor doesn't pay attention to such details.

I want to share this story as part of my series of "family history" flashbacks. It is very personal and real. If you're squeamish about childbirth or pain, you may wish to skip this one. Until today, I'm fairly certain I had not read these words since shortly after they were written. The emotions they stirred in me are powerful and beautiful. I am not only grateful for this most incredible experience in my life, but for the fact that I had the sense to record it in such detail so that I may never forget. And thus, it serves as the perfect Thanksgiving-weekend tribute.

MADELYN’S BIRTH DAY

On Thursday, December 14, 2006 I woke up at 6:40am feeling what I thought might be a contraction. It was fairly uncomfortable, but I wondered if I just needed to go to the bathroom. Having never experienced labor contractions, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The same pain returned every 20 minutes, so I was pretty sure they were contractions. After two hours I got out of bed, and the contractions did not return. I was a little disappointed because it meant I was not in labor after all.

I did a few things on the computer, read a few chapters in “On Becoming Babywise,” and then played some “Dance Dance Revolution” on Playstation, hoping to stimulate labor to begin. I talked to my mom on the phone, and she informed me that there was a pretty major storm coming in tonight, so she was going to be staying with Diana and Randy next door since Dad was out of town and she didn’t want to be home alone if the power went out. She planned to work out at Curves and then watch Diana’s boys so she could also work out. I called Diana and offered to watch her kids so she and Mom could work out together, but she said Randy would actually be home. But she asked if I would come over and play with Kaden while she ran to the post office. So I went over there around 4:00pm, and just before Diana got back from her errand, those pains returned. While talking to Diana before I walked home, I tried to brush them off, thinking it probably wasn’t the real thing.

Back at home, I had two or three contractions in a row, several minutes apart, but for some reason I still wasn’t sure they were really contractions. It sort of felt like a gas bubble passing through. Gary thought I should call the midwives, just to let them know something was happening, especially since there was a storm on the way. I thought it was too early to call them, but I did it anyway. After my first call, the contractions kept coming regularly. They were already getting quite painful. After a few calls back and forth with Wendy and Linda, they decided it was time to come out. Linda was quite concerned about the storm, fearing a downed tree would block our route to the hospital. To reassure her, Gary drove from our house all the way out to the freeway, reporting plenty of traffic, all the power on, and not so much as twigs on the roads. He wasn’t worried anyway because we know so many ways to get where we’d need to go. But I’m glad he made the effort to put Linda’s mind at ease. Our midwives Wendy and Bonnie headed out from East Portland into rush hour, stormy weather traffic toward our home.

I called my mom to tell her that I was in labor, and things were getting difficult, so I hoped she would come right over instead of going to Curves first. She was only a few minutes away from home, where the power had just gone out. She told me she was so glad that she was already planning on staying at the Fairhursts’ tonight, because she had spent the morning getting ready to go and packing, which would have been far more difficult to do now that there was no power.

Gary and I changed the sheets on the bed, put away the comforter and laid out my handmade birth blanket. We had all our birth supplies set up on tables in our room, ready to go. I felt as prepared as I could have been for this moment. And I was so excited thinking that it would not be very long before we’d finally meet our beautiful baby! We joked a little bit that Madelyn is already showing she’s a drama queen, choosing to be born on the night of the big winter storm. J In early labor I mostly laid on my bed or leaned over it, just trying to get through the contractions. I was concerned because if it was already this painful, I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through the really difficult parts!

It took a while for my mom to get here because a road was closed due to flooding. I was glad when she arrived, because Gary had left to check the roads to the freeway. I was so pleased that my mother could be with me for this, even though the idea of giving birth at home was a little scary and strange for her. Her support by my side meant a lot to me. I asked her to take pictures, and shared that I would like candid, story-telling shots, not smile-for-the-camera shots. My mother did an excellent job and we have some beautiful photographs to remember this special night.

I had started recording the times of my contractions early on so that I would have a record to show the midwives when they arrived. After a while, it was pretty obvious this was true labor, but my mom helped me continue to record the times anyway. My contractions remained about 5 minutes apart for most of labor. Other than that, I had no sense of time. Labor is a powerful drug that takes you to the place you need to be to get through it. And that place is in the body, not the mind. Our power went out a little while after my mom got here. We got out all the flashlights and battery-lanterns. It was actually kind of neat to labor quietly in the dark, hearing the winds whistling through the trees outside.

Diana and Randy stopped in to see how I was doing, which was really nice of them. I was glad they came over, but because my contractions were pretty painful, it was difficult to enjoy their company. I was glad to be able to talk to my dad on the phone a few times. He was a little disappointed that Madelyn didn’t wait for him to come home from his Utah trip to be born, but he was so sweet and supportive on the phone. It would have been nice if my dad could have been here for her birth, but I have to admit I did not want to wait!

Loki and Kezia were so relaxed; they actually slept through most of labor. Their presence was very calming and comforting to me. I don’t know if they had any idea what was happening, but it brought me peace to have them nearby and be able to snuggle with them when I wanted to.

Eventually Wendy and Bonnie, our midwives, made it here through the terrible traffic. Gary gave them the cozy socks with rubber traction that I had gotten for them for our slick, cold hardwood floors. After checking on me and giving some sweet words of encouragement, they went to work setting up supplies and organizing. They listened to Madelyn’s heartbeat during a few contractions, checked my blood pressure and that sort of thing, but were very quiet and slow, mostly observing.

I thought it would feel nice to get in the hot tub, but Gary was pretty worried about debris in the storm hitting me outside. At one point the winds calmed down and so he helped me get in and stood outside in the cold with me. After only a few contractions in the hot tub, the winds picked back up, and Gary thought we would be safer inside. Coming in from the hot tub I was very chilled, but I got dry and wrapped in a cozy robe.

I would get very hot during contractions, and then in between them I would shiver at the cold. I kept taking the robe or blankets on and off because my temperature was fluctuating so much. I remember having no thoughts whatsoever about modesty, my mind and body were just completely focused on the work of labor. I felt very primal, and tried my best to listen to my body and work with the labor, not against it. I didn’t have any specific pain-coping techniques that I felt worked well. I just tried to remind myself during each contraction that it would end soon. I also focused on my breathing, and tried to relax. That was the hardest part; I noticed myself tensing my body during contractions. Another thing that worked for me was allowing my body to make the noises that felt natural. I needed to moan through the pain. My mom, Wendy and Bonnie all helped soothe me and tried to help me relax. Gary was a great labor partner. He remained quiet and calm, brought me water and juice, did anything I asked of him, and told me I was doing great. One of the most helpful things was when he put pressure on my lower back during contractions. That felt really good.

Everyone was quiet and calm, and the darkness was almost romantic. Gary asked if I’d like to take a walk around the house, so we did. It was a tender moment for just the two of us to be together. I went into Madelyn’s nursery and sat in the rocking chair. That actually seemed to help during contractions, so I stayed. Then three contractions happened right in a row, without the usual break between. We went back to our bedroom, but Gary brought the rocking chair in there because I liked sitting in it.

I told everyone about the three strong contractions in a row, and my mom wondered why the midwives hadn’t checked yet to see how far I was dilated. Bonnie said that they will check me whenever I want them to. I was nervous to have them check, because after all the pain and hard work I’d been through, I didn’t want to be disappointed at a lack of progress and get my mind thinking in terms of “labor math.” But then while I was standing over the bed, I had a really intense contraction. It made me want to cry it hurt so bad, and Bonnie held me and let me cry on her shoulder. I believe it was at that time or maybe the next one that my water broke, and the pain was so intense that I could hardly speak, so I remember trying to mutter, ‘It broke. My water just broke,” since I’m not sure anyone could see that in the dark. Someone quickly cleaned up the puddle on the floor. I also had a little urge to bear down! That’s when I decided I wanted to see how far I was dilated, because I was confident that I had to be getting close. I was so surprised to be feeling the urge to push. I actually had no idea how much time had passed, but it felt so soon to be getting near the end!

I laid down on the bed while Bonnie checked my dilation, and she said I was at about 8 centimeters! I was so glad, but that meant that I needed to hold off on pushing until I was a little further dilated. So I laid down on my side to counteract gravity’s effect on my urge to push. I breathed quick, shallow breaths to keep from pushing, which was difficult. The lights came on during this time. Gary placed a cool washcloth on my head, which felt wonderful. Soon Bonnie checked me again and said that my cervix was ready and it was okay to push now! It felt natural to just roll up onto my hands and knees for pushing. Then in between I could rest my head down.

Pushing felt so wonderful. I mean it really hurt, but there was something so relieving about it. I could actually feel her little head moving through the birth canal, and I don’t recall that part hurting very much. I was able to control my breathing and push slowly and deliberately. Gary got to see her first wisps of dark hair inside me and watch the birth. Wendy stayed by my head to give me support, and once again the power went out.

When Madelyn’s head was crowning it was very exciting, I couldn’t believe I was nearly done and she was almost in my arms! I kept thinking of that reward and so was able to stay focused on getting through this last, difficult part. The stretching of the vaginal opening burned quite a bit. Bonnie applied counter pressure to the perineum, and I tried not to push too fast so I wouldn’t tear as much. Gary told me when her head was coming out, and he sounded so excited.

After a little rest, I pushed the rest of our baby out with the next contraction. Bonnie handed her between my legs into my arms, and I was able to sit back and hold the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I am crying now as I write this, because the memory is so vivid and wonderful. I clutched my baby girl to my chest and looked at every little part of her. I couldn’t believe this perfect little being came out of me. At the time, I didn’t cry because I think I was still under the power of Laborland. I was so elated to have my daughter in my arms, and so relieved that labor was over and I did it!

Someone pointed out that the lights were back on, and we realized that the power must have returned near the exact moment that Madelyn’s head emerged. I attribute that to the arrival of her electrifying spirit. J

We toweled Madelyn clean, and after the cord stopped pulsing, Daddy Gary got to cut it. Then I got to nurse our baby for the first time, with Gary by my side. That stimulated contractions to push the placenta out. Wendy showed us how it worked inside me to nourish our precious baby. The next day Gary planted it under Madelyn’s own Golden Delicious Apple tree in our backyard, so it will continue to nourish the tree and us by its fruit.

Wendy and Bonnie helped get everything cleaned up, and finished the necessary procedures to take care of the new baby and new mommy. When they were sure everyone was healthy and happy, they left. At 4:00am, Gary and I, exhausted and blissful new parents, went to sleep in our own bed, with baby Madelyn Bryce Winter finally in our arms.

(Click to enlarge)

Editorial: It's hard to say when labor officially began, but if we assume it was around 4:30 or 5pm when I returned from Diana's house, and Madelyn was born at 11:14pm, then my labor was only 6-7 hours. I recall that I was pushing for only about 20 minutes. There are SO many factors at play in every birth scenario, but I feel strongly that my mental preparation and choice of surroundings was an integral piece in the puzzle of my successful birth experience. Thank you Vivante Midwifery for facilitating this joyous occasion for our family.

Thanks

2010-11-25T10:17:00.000-08:00

In honor of this day of giving thanks, I want to say:

Thank you for reading my words. I hope that they have occasionally made you smile, or laugh, or think about something a little bit differently. I appreciate you for taking time to let me into your world, just a little bit.

Now let's all go stuff ourselves to the brim in celebration of a bountiful harvest (made possible by privatized farming). I feel totally justified since I ran 6+ miles in freezing conditions this morning. Also, I have made my best squash soup EVER, and I love this version I've perfected so much that I'm putting my name on the recipe. Let me know if you want to try Kristen's Ginger-Curry Squash Apple Soup (only 70 calories in a cup, but oh-so-delicious!).

Better movies than books?

2010-11-24T12:04:00.000-08:00

Marvelous works of literary fiction are frequently adapted for the Big Screen. Especially in the recent decade or so, it seems that books-turned-movies are all the rage--Hollywood has opened the floodgates to endless new stories and to a certain extent, a new audience by latching onto the bestsellers, even multiplying their fortune by the number of volumes in a popular series.

If you view one of these movies without having read the book by the same title, there is little room for disappointment. For example, my gleeful enjoyment of the first Twilight movie (which I saw in the theatre for free) inspired me to finally read the series. Also, I've never cracked a Harry Potter book, and thus harbor no disenchantment with the filmmaker's choices. But when you have read the book upon which a movie is based, and especially if you loved said book, it is common to feel, as the credits roll, some combination of dissatisfaction, aggravation, and grief at the disturbance to the movie your imagination alone created while reading.

How often, then, do you finish a book and think it would work better as a movie? I would say it is a rare notion in the afterglow of a fine story. The last book I finished left me feeling this way, however, and as I wondered if that was a strange estimation, two other books came to mind that had given me a similar impression. So either I just like movies better than books, or perhaps the sentiment isn't so strange after all.

There are a few reasons that I think The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield would work better as a movie. First of all, for all the author's adjective-laden paragraphs describing her settings, I still had a hard time envisioning the scenes and spatial relations as the characters interacted. Sometimes that isn't a big deal, but this story was somewhat dependent on each character's point of view within the setting. And I do think that the images and tone Ms. Setterfield worked so laboriously to describe could be captured instantaneously with the camera. Also, flashback narratives tend to annoy me because there is no way a person could remember all that quoted dialogue to flesh out the story. But I believe those flashback scenes could be handled very effectively with creative cinematography, and then when the twist all comes to light at the end, a series of clips of the same scenes from a different perspective would make the emergence of understanding so satisfying. As it is written, I really had to search back for how the revelation of truth could have possibly worked in the story. It would take a second read to identify with any certainty where I believe there may be holes in the possibility, beyond my general disbelief that (spoiler alert, highlight to read) half-sisters could look enough alike to be mistaken for the same person. Maybe a movie could make some sense of that.

There was SOOOOO much hype about this book, and if you've read it, then you might be wondering why I would possibly want to see some of the grotesque imagery it contains portrayed on film. I realize that this title has already been released in theatres, and I have not decided whether or not I will watch it. But bear with me while I explain why I prefer the idea of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson as a movie. My overall impression of this novel is that all of the action was condensed into the third quarter. Sometimes it takes a chapter or two to get into a story, but I was nearly halfway through this book before I began to feel engaged. And the denouement also fell flat after the exciting climax was wrapped up with nearly 100 pages yet to go. So much boring political background and family tree illuminating could be handled far more efficiently on film, and the ending could be condensed, leaving the satisfying thrill nearer the actual end of the story. Plus, I wouldn't have to stumble over pronunciation of a litany of Swedish names with all their excessive consonants.

I picked up this hardback at a garage sale last summer because the jacket description sounded so intriguing (excerpt): The story of Susie Salmon, who is adjusting to her new home in heaven, a place that is not at all what she expected, even as she is watching life on earth continue without her. There is a great deal I expected from such a unique concept that unfortunately I didn't get from The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. It's been over a year since I read it, but I do clearly remember having the distinct thought that this book would have made a better movie. And at the time I had no idea that one was about to be released! It hasn't been on my mind until musing about this post in recent days, so I moved it near the top of my Netflix queue so I can finally see whether or not I am right. While I don't relish viewing the events which lead to the vile end of Susie Salmon's life on earth, I hope they will be handled with taste enough to capture the wretched tragedy without being vulgar. Because the book was really a character drama, delving into the fundamental changes in people after losing a daughter, sister, friend (and also those who are not changed by it), I hope to experience in the movie a more seamless flow of the story as a whole. I'll let you know how it goes.

If you have read any of these books and/or seen their Hollywood adaptations, please share your thoughts! Feel free to disagree...

My mom is cool like that

2010-11-23T15:15:00.000-08:00

I know I am pretty lucky that I have such a great relationship with my mother. And this is not only because I am aware that many people cannot claim this reality or would never want it, but also because my life has taken me down paths that are far from the future my parents imagined for me.

Rather than beat around the bush, I'll just be clear: I am no longer an active member of the church to which the rest of my family is devotedly faithful. To most of the world, this isn't such a shocking experience. Commonplace, in fact, for many families. Except that the religion which formed the foundation of the first 19 years of my life is Mormonism. And if you're not a Mormon, then you probably won't understand the difference. But if you are, then you will understand why this was a very significant alteration of my life and why I profess gratitude for the closeness my mother and I share.

In truth, the early years of this new direction were difficult for my family. But I guess that is a whole other story, and likely one that I won't share publicly. But suffice it to say, the fact that my mother and I came out on the other side with a genuine friendship, in addition to mutual respect, is one of life's little miracles. I've always believed that miracle was indisputably aided by the opportunity we forged to work together closely as co-owners of our Curves clubs. However, I suppose family relationships just as easily have been destroyed in joint business ventures.

What I do know is that my mother is a loving, kind person, and she soon deemed her relationship with me, her daughter, to be more important than reiterating pious disapproval. Another important piece of our happy little puzzle is that my choices were not born of a desire to rebel. I was not trying to upset my parents, rather I wanted them to understand and love me in spite of our differences. I would venture a guess that I am not your typical "ex-Mormon" because I still appreciate the culture, value the traditions, and even respectfully attend my niece and nephews' baptisms and the occasional Relief Society activity (the fun ones, tee hee). Even though I don't go to church and say my prayers and read scriptures, I am still a good person and live my life with values remarkably similar to those I learned in my parents' home. Which probably makes it easier for my mother to accept.

This whole introduction grew more sentimental than intended--I was planning on just telling you an amusing anecdote from Chicago illustrating my mom's "cool" factor. But I like what I've written, so it stays. And here is the story:

We spent a few days touring Chicago with my cousin and her mom (my mom's sister). Rachel is only 20 days older than me, and we were very close as children. I think she grew out of our relationship before I did, and these days we only communicate a few times a year, but when we do we still laugh about our old inside jokes and childhood memories.

It's not my place to describe the private details of my cousin's life, but maybe you can draw your own conclusions from these facts: 1. She is single and does not plan to have children. 2. She lives in West Hollywood, CA. 3. She also no longer attends church. From what I understand, the tension with her own mother resulting from her personal choices has never quite lifted, and sadly, arguments about it often ensue.

In Chicago, Rachel made plans one night to meet up with a girlfriend who lives in the area. She invited me to go, but I was hesitant to accept because a) I was exhausted and would have been just as happy to read my novel in the comfy hotel bed, and b) I did not want to risk accepting a "courtesy invite" and be an unwanted third wheel. While the plans were being laid for where/when to meet, Rachel checked to make sure that her mom wouldn't be upset by her going out--a thoughtful gesture I thought, since this was kind of a mother-daughter trip. The moms were getting ready for bed anyway, so she gave her consent.

The next thing I know, I am hearing the louder half of an argument going on in the bathroom, and it seems that maybe my aunt is not as comfortable with the idea as she first let on. This is about the time that I decided to go, because I thought it might help if Rachel wasn't going out into Chicago at night all alone. My mom was a bit surprised when she noticed I was dressed and grabbing my purse, but not alarmed or upset. I said jokingly, "Yeah, someone's got to keep Rachel out of trouble!"

During our exhilarating run along the Chicago River the next morning, Rachel explained that her mother was upset upon learning that she was going to a bar. We both laughed at the thought: "where else would you go to meet friends at 11:00pm?" Apparently her mother wasn't able to sleep until we returned. I can't say I disagree with Rachel's frustration over her mother's protectiveness when they are together (Rachel has taken to getting a hotel room when she visits home for this reason), since I'm sure my aunt doesn't suffer from insomnia every other night of the week. You know, when Rachel is at home in L.A. with her friends... I assure you, a few cocktails at a bar is quite a tame evening.

We also mused at the possibility that Rachel's mom was being extra critical because my mom (her big sis) was there. No one wants to look like a bad parent in front of her own sister, and my aunt might operate under the mistaken assumption that I am some sort of righteous individual who would never stay out late drinking with guys I don't know and didn't want my mom to view Rachel as a bad influence on me. It was only natural for Mama Bear to emerge and present the audience with a convincing case of her disapproval.

After enjoying our free breakfast at the concierge lounge (I never want to stay in a hotel without access to this glorious feature again!), my mom quietly asked me how our evening went and if we had, in fact, gone to a bar. I responded this way: "Well, yeah, that's kind of the only place that would be open that time of night." My mother responded this way: "That's what I was thinking!" She proceeded to say that she knows we are both grown women who can take care of ourselves, and she's not sure what Auntie was so worked up about (that is my pithy summary, not her words).

My heart swelled with pride, knowing that my mom is cool like that.

My cool mom and me

Chicago ~ October 2010

Mini-Movie Reviews: Three sci-fi/thrillers

2010-11-22T11:11:00.000-08:00

I think we can all agree that M. Night Shyamalan hasn't been able to top The Sixth Sense. My next favorite would have to be The Village, since it actually had a real twist and I didn't see it coming. His other movies lack that touch because the mysterious occurrences were in reality exactly as presented. Case in point: Signs? Oh, it really was aliens, just like everyone thought. Anyway, The Happening was just alright. Overly dramatic as one would expect from the genre, and admittedly gory too, since the premise involves people being exposed to something which makes them commit suicide by whatever means are immediately available. But I found the explanation for such macabre events nothing but laughable (spoiler alert--highlight to read): The PLANTS got angry at humans for mistreating them and released chemicals to defend themselves. Seriously. A lame statement against our horrendous contamination of the planet.

Nicolas Cage's character dubiously deciphers a number code found inside a time capsule unearthed at his son's school which contains accurate predictions of tragedies which have already occurred, and oh my goodness, one that is on the horizon! I have a hard time losing myself in films like this where the connections between point A and point B don't flow naturally. For example, the cup ring left on the paper prompts Cage to solve a complex code through a subqequent series of guesses, some of which are just too far-fetched. And the ending was just too strange for me (highlight for the spoiler): He sends his "chosen" son off on a spaceship to live with aliens while he stays behind to die, their parting comments beaming with religious undertones. There was a lot going on in Knowing, and too many contrivances to make it really work.

I have to admit I got a little bored during Push. And there is always that matter of the paradox of time, impossible to be consistent with the effects of a person being able to see the future and how they change that future. But it was still worth a viewing, just for the fun of it. It was the best out of these three selections at very least, and I do know a lot of people who liked this movie a lot.

Frozen legs

2010-11-21T16:08:00.000-08:00

It was 32 degrees outside this morning. So I ran eight miles.

Of course, "so" is not the proper coordinating conjunction here; perhaps "yet" would be more appropriate. Sunday morning is about the only time I can semi-conveniently fit in a run longer than 3-4 miles, so I guard the opportunity vigilantly, even when my well-meaning husband tries to encourage me to stay in bed.

Running outside when the temperature is near freezing (or at, in this case) is a very peculiar sensation, at least to me. My skin is tingly-numb from the biting cold, even under my layers and highly functional but not glamorous free running gloves. But my muscles, primarily quads and hamstrings--not the entire body, are saturated with internal warmth from the exertion and resulting circulation being directed there away from my extremities.

It reminds me of a reverse incarnation of Lisa Simpson's fish sticks: "They're burned on the outside but they're frozen on the inside, so it balances out!"

Birth blanket

2010-11-20T10:00:00.000-08:00

This is kind of a continuing of yesterday's Flashback Friday. I had read about the idea of a birthing blanket in a book, and decided to make one. The blanket is designed to be ~~waterproof~~ messproof in order to protect the bed or floor, while providing a soft place to labor. I also tend to agree with the sentiment that a "birth project" of any kind can aid a mother-to-be's preparation for the big day.

Common sense indicated that I would be throwing this blanket away after its purpose had been fulfilled. So I knew it didn't need to be pretty. I found two flat sheets at Goodwill, but bought a new shower curtain because really--is there a used shower curtain in existence that isn't covered in mildew and soap scum? I'm no seamstress, but I've done a number of sewing projects, including a pieced quilt duvet cover and my "senior quilt" made as part of my church young women's program. A birth blanket is uncomplicated, like a senior quilt: the shower curtain is layered with the batting between the two sheets to create a watertight barrier.

So I set about making the blanket in much the same way I remember making my senior quilt. For added liquid-catching ability, I rolled up the sides before clumsily stitching them shut. This blanket was for function, not beauty, remember? Then in order to secure the batting in place, I proceeded to tie the quilt with yarn, as I recalled having done so many times in young women. The needle goes through the blanket, tie a knot, then repeat over and over again all over the quilt, and cut the yarn between the knots to make the little ties that add flair to your finished blanket. Ta-da!

With my blanket complete and a table in my bedroom covered with supplies like sterile gloves, disposable blue underpads, garbage bags, and flashlights, I was ready to have this baby.

And I did. Which you'll be able to read about next Friday.

But you may have already figured out the inherent flaw in my birthing blanket's design. Because YOU are clearly a much more intelligent human being than I, whose mind the error never crossed until it was too late. All those HOLES I poked in the blanket with a quilting needle resulted in a failure of its waterproofing capabilities. So directly under the place where Madelyn was born, we have a lovely dark red stain on our memory foam mattress' pillowtop. I'm sure my brother who owns a carpet/upholstery cleaning business loved trying to clean that up. Ha ha, Bryan. That's what you get for putting nooses on my stuffed animals and flying them around on the ceiling fan.

Flashback Friday: From OB to Midwife

2010-11-19T14:34:00.000-08:00

Now that you know how I feel about planned home birth, let me tell you a little bit about our decision process and some of the steps we took to prepare for the adventure.

Gary and I shared an intuitive leaning toward natural birth practices before we conceived a child and started researching. When I found out I was pregnant, I automatically called my uncle, who is also my OB/GYN. At our first visit, I broached the subject of home birth. At that time I was completely unaware of the divisive crevasse between hospital vs. home birth mentalities; obstetrics vs. midwifery. I naively thought that all birth professionals worked together toward the end of happy mothers with healthy babies exercising their right to experience birth in the way that is most comfortable to them. I've since discovered a great deal about the intriguing history and modern implementation of birth practices around the world.

My Uncle promptly discouraged me from the idea, with tact and professionalism. The gist of his main line of reasoning was that as a first-time mother, I would have no idea what to expect and should experience childbirth the "usual" way before trying something outside the box. Also (this will reveal the extent of my naïveté) I learned that he could not attend to a birth at home. Being the obvious rookie in the room, I accepted his advice and made my next appointment.

A couple of months later I was reading Birthing from Within by Pam England on an airplane headed for Waco, Texas. Above the clouds, I read the chapter the author almost chose not to include about home birth (because she did not want her book to be viewed as advocating for home birth specifically). The words and the ideas resonated in my so deeply that I knew. While waiting for my baggage to cycle past, I called Gary and told him that I had decided that I wanted to give birth at home after all. He wanted to know why I had decided and if I was really sure, then we agreed that we would talk about it more when I returned home.

The two big steps which came next were finding a midwife and notifying my doctor.

1) Finding a midwife. This wasn't too difficult, because Google and a few other resources only produced a small handful of midwifery practices that attend home births. Of these, only two of them had Certified Nurse Midwives in the group, and our research lead us to feel most confident having a CNM because of their higher education and more extensive experience. We interviewed these two sets of midwives, and immediately felt a more pleasant connection with Wendy from Vivante. Our conviction compelled us to choose her even over the group that offered in-home prenatal care! (Of course, I've always wondered if perhaps they weren't as welcoming to us because they weren't keen on the idea of driving 45 minutes from their office for my check-ups.)

2) Notifying my doctor. This one was more difficult because I love and respect my uncle so much. The more I expanded my knowledge of the birth culture divide, the more I realized how difficult the announcement would be. I decided that the best way to speak to my uncle was in his own language. So I gathered links to several recent studies regarding the safety and outcomes of planned home births published in esteemed medical journals. I believe that I confirmed my decision to Uncle over the phone, then emailed him links to the studies, additional resources, and my own testimony of my own reasoning. I was surprised and elated when he phoned me (this man is very busy and we don't really have a talk-on-the-phone kind of relationship) to thank me for sharing the information. He said that it opened his mind to understand the practice of home birth and made him more accepting of my decision. I know he does not now regard home birth as a better or even equal alternative, but at least he gave me his blessing and assured me that he would be praying for a successful outcome.

With those barriers out of the way, we spent the next several months having the (mostly) usual prenatal care, acquiring the usual newborn supplies, and gathering some not-so-usual provisions in preparation for D-day (Delivery, not Doom). The midwives provided an entire folder of resource materials, inside of which is the official "Homebirth Handbook." It contains a list of supplies to have assembled in advance, many of which we were able to order online in a kit. We took a childbirth preparation class modeled after the Birthing from Within book that was integral in my decision to choose to give birth at home. And I created a birth project during the final month or so of my pregnancy, the defects of which left us with some unusual consequences.

To be continued tomorrow...

At last!

2010-11-18T05:00:00.000-08:00

I have my husband to thank for providing the material for today's post. Gary came home last night very excited to show me the "blog-worthy" picture he took at the grocery store. How thoughtful, and on Day 18 of Nablopomo, his assistance is most welcome.

Reeeally, Campbell's? 'Spose I should throw out the 3 cans of Spaghetti-O's that are hanging out in my pantry now, since they are clearly UNhealthy. I just love marketing campaigns and food labeling that unmistakably emphasize a product's former inferiority. Just yesterday afternoon, several hours before Gary brought me this beauty, I reached for a box of tea packets at my friend's house which boasted "Improved Taste!" I chuckled under my breath, but never mentioned it to Gary, so you can see how we truly have a profound mystical understanding. Thanks, Gary. It's nice that my blog can be a team effort.

I know you've seen them too. Won't you please share some of the marketing delights you've noticed which tend to have the opposite of the desired effect on your interest in the product?

Your park information specialist

2010-11-17T10:03:00.000-08:00

Here is another tale of excitement and intrigue from Chicago, although rather than fascinating or thrilling, this one is downright funny. Or at least it is to me.

The piece of conceptual art pictured above is official called Cloud Gate, but we referred affectionately to it as "The Bean" and I'm certain we're not the only ones. As we approached the giant sculpture in Millennium Park a woman appeared next to us, seemingly from thin air. I believe she may have been crouching in the bushes. Anyway, as she bent down to extinguish her cigarette on the sidewalk beside her, the woman introduced herself: "Hello ladies, I'm LaFawnduh*, your park information specialist." She explained how she could answer any questions we had about the park or Cloud Gate, and offered to take our pictures together. Rachel and I knew precisely where this was going, but my darling, innocent mother jumped on the opportunity to have a photographer without hesitation.

LaFawnduh confidently led us over to the far side of The Bean, where she all but pushed a group of girls taking their own pictures there out of the way by explaining that she was the park information specialist and would be happy to take their pictures after she was finished with ours. The whole time, I felt uneasy about the situation, and you can see it on Rachel's and my expressions in all our photos.

And the instinct was not unfounded. After returning the cameras, LaFawnduh launched monotonously into her memorized spiel about representing Rainbow House, a shelter for abused women and children or something and asked for a donation. Her speech sounded fake; it reminded me of a teenager forced to sell wreaths door-to-door, where their eyes wander about the ceiling instead of looking at you....in fact, she did a perfect impression of this guy from Office Space (one of the best movies EVER). I noticed that the lanyard around her neck held a name badge on which she'd written her own name in Sharpie, and I could just make out the schedule of events printed on the back, with dates listed in April 2010. A lot of Conventions are held in Chicago; it would be pretty easy to come across a discarded lanyard like this and turn it into an official "park information specialist" accessory. I rolled my eyes when she couldn't see.

My mom gave LaFawnduh five dollars, which we all agreed was fair, since in spite of the odd situation, she cleared the area and took some great pictures that we would not have been able to capture without her. It only took her 5-10 minutes, so that's a pretty fair wage, too. But rather than thank us graciously, LaFawnduh took the bill, then looked expectantly between the other three of us and asked in an incredulous tone, "And...this will be from all of you?" When we confirmed and thanked her again, she put the money in the pocket of her hoodie, slung her backpack over one shoulder and walked away saying "Have a nice day" over her shoulder. I laughed.

Here is LaFawnduh "helping" another group of unsuspecting tourists.

My problem now is that I looked it up. Rainbow House is a real non-profit agency in Chicago dedicated to supporting victims of domestic violence. Was LaFawnduh truly raising funds to support their efforts, or just using the name of a real organization to cultivate genuine sympathy for her endeavor? I will never know. It still seems sneaky to claim to be a park information specialist on one hand, and ask for donations afterward on the other hand. I would prefer a more direct approach: tell us up front that you volunteer in the park on behalf of Rainbow House, and would gladly take our pictures if we would consider a small donation to support the cause. And then have some official paperwork, a nametag, etc. to help us believe that your operation is legitimate. And whether or not you are honestly fundraising or just trying to make some cash for yourself, be grateful for every dollar you get.

A great picture of my mom and Cloud Gate reflecting Chicago's skyline.

*I don't actually remember our "park information specialist's" name, so I borrowed this one from Kip's girlfriend.

Montessori Morning

2010-11-16T11:43:00.000-08:00

While many preschools and elementary schools require a minimum number of parent volunteer hours, Madelyn's Montessori school is quite the opposite. Parents are not even allowed to volunteer in the classroom; maintaining the learning environment cultivated by Dr. Maria Montessori being the ultimate goal. We are, however, encouraged to sign up for classroom observation appointments beginning the fourth week of the school year. I have one good friend whose decision to send her daughter to a different preschool was influenced in part by the idea that she would not be able to visit the classroom to see how her child was managing in those early weeks. I can certainly relate to that uneasiness, but I also believe that protecting the students' environment while it is still being created is a worthwhile endeavor.

It brings me great joy to observe Madelyn in her world at school. Parents are offered a clipboard to jot notes/questions and asked to sit in any of three different chairs around the rooms. The students understand that visitors are only watching, and remarkably, they ignore the intrusion to a degree that allows a parent to get a true sense of how the classroom functions in her absence. What follows is a summary of my 30 minutes in Mr. Tarnowski's Primary classroom this morning.

After placing her own coat on a hanger, Madelyn breezes past me with a hint of a smile, acknowledging that school is to continue as usual. She walks around the circle of students already seated and extends her hand to Mr. Tarnowski, patiently waiting for him to break momentarily from the story he is sharing. He looks her in the eye, shakes her hand, and greets her.

Madelyn sits on a section of the blue line away from other students. I wonder to myself whether she has particular friends by whom she likes to sit. At the end of Mr. Tarnowski's story, music begins, and without a word of instruction, the children stand and begin to sing along and act out the motions of the song. A new song follows, and with one short stanza of introduction, the students begin to sing. Very enthusiastically, I notice, and even Madelyn is singing the words, and following the blue line around in a circle as they mimic riding a pony that is walking, trotting, and then galloping. Even though the twenty-plus students here today are between 2.5 and 6 years old, and they each choose a different pace for their "pony's" gait, there is no pushing or impatience in the circle.

When the music stops, every child sits down quietly. Still the teacher has issued no commands, but quietly watches or sings and gallops along. He joins them on the blue line and booms a friendly "Good morning!" to which he receives a boisterous echo from the class. After a reminder about how to breathe as if the lungs are divided into three parts, the children take several long, deep breaths along Mr. Tarnowski--filling the upper, middle, then lower lungs and exhaling in the same fashion. One little girl rises to squirt some hand sanitizer, then returns to her seat. A very young student is kindly guided back to his space by Mrs. Tarnowski. The atmosphere is serene and peaceful. These students behave maturely as a result understanding and respect, not fear.

Yesterday's unfinished work is handed out to a few students. Mr. Tarnowski advises a couple of older girls (probably age 5) to go select an age-appropriate job in either language or math. He then calls names one by one to join Mrs. Parker in Practical Life for a new lesson. I notice the students filing out are some of the youngest. He asks Madelyn to bring him the farm animals job, and the remaining students gather around him for a lesson which involves reading the names of the animals. First they same the name of the toy plastic animal as he sets each one on the carpet. Next he shows them a small card with an animal's name written on the front, and they work together to sound out the letters and read the word. Everyone participates, and Mr. Tarnowski corrects by using phrases such as "It's important to look at the first letter in a word. What does "pig" begin with?" And when the children respond with "puh," they look again at the word he is holding and say, "dog!" He also reviews new sounds like "sh" and "ee" in sheep.

When she is excused to return the farm animal basket to its shelf and find her own work, Madelyn heads straight for the painting easel. She clips a paper to it, puts on her apron, then asks Mrs. Parker to write her name on the paper. "Madelyn" is written in small dashed letters, which Madelyn traces herself with a pencil before creating a bright orange masterpiece. While she paints, I notice Madelyn's cousin Jack working on a job with dried beans and two wooden bowls. Another child is using an eye dropper and blue liquid in a cup. Two students are enjoying a snack: juice they poured and crackers they counted out themselves. Mrs. Parker returns to help Madelyn hang her painting to dry, then Madelyn washes the easel with a sponge, folds the apron and returns it to a shelf before finding her next job.

I follow Madelyn back into the other room. An older student has asked Mr. Tarnowski to check her work, and Madelyn watches him play a little game asking her to read the words on some cards. As she sees the letters and hears the words, I know reading skills are developing. When that game is finished, Madelyn chooses a job from the shelf and asks her teacher for a lesson. She unrolls a small rug on the floor to designate her work space and they sit together. Another boy has finished his previous task and joins them because he is interested. Mr. Tarnowski and Madelyn begin to lay out the series of small paper clocks for a lesson about time.

There is laughter and chatting, these are normal children. But the environment is orderly and peaceful. Two students work together on a puzzle. An older child compliments a younger one on his letter-tracing. Mrs. Tarnowski notices that the paper with pre-printed dashed letters is upside down, so she gently turns it and suggests in a friendly tone, "sometimes it works better this direction." The culture cultivates respect. When one student inadvertently walked across another's rug (her designated workspace), Mr. Tarnowski reminded her, "I don't believe it's polite to walk on someone else's rug, but I do believe it's polite to walk around it," and the child returned and walked around the appropriate way.

As much as I value the time I have to work uninterrupted while Madelyn is at school, the few times that I have scheduled an observation I have felt a desire to just stay and watch the rest of the morning. I find the interactions between children and with teachers very intriguing, and it is a rare pleasure to watch Madelyn conduct herself freely in a realm that belongs to her, not to me.

Madelyn and Mike Tarnowski ~ Spring 2010

Skydeck Ledge

2010-11-15T09:44:00.000-08:00

Up on the 103rd story of the Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower) in Chicago, there is an attraction called the Skydeck Ledge. Instead of merely taking in the vista through large windowpanes, a visitors can walk out into a glass cubicle and be surrounded by the view in all directions--including straight down.

There is an admission fee to ride the elevator up to the observation floor, and once there, we were free to roam, go in and out of the boxes freely, and take as many photographs as we wished! I liked this format much better than waiting in line for a single opportunity to stand in The Ledge.

Here is a glimpse of the glass box from the side--a photo of my cousin Rachel taken from inside the other box.

My mother displayed a sampling of our Chicago pictures at Curves (because we attended Curves Convention there after this girls' trip), and so many women have remarked to me that they would never walk onto that glass. You couldn't pay them enough to do it, and other such dramatic refusals.

Looking down (my aunt's shoes here) did offer a bit of a thrill. My stomach did a few little excited flips, and even looking at the pictures makes my feet tingle (does this happen to anyone else?) But I wouldn't say it was terrifying, or even scary. There is a difference between a fear of heights and a fear of falling, in case you don't know. It does not bother me to be high above ground, but I am terrified of falling. Amusement park rides involving sudden or steep drops, bungee jumping, skydiving, these activities which involve or mimic freefalling are of absolutely no interest to me, even if they are only a few stories above ground.

Shortly before we left for Chicago, my parents happened to catch a "How it's Made" program on TV describing the engineering behind the Skydeck. I'm sure that was fascinating, and possibly helped my mom take the plunge and walk out into the sky.

This is my absolute favorite picture from this part of our trip. My mom was obviously nervous about stepping out there--I think she had planned to be the contented photographer from inside on solid ground. But her expression here perfectly captures the childlike joy resulting from such a venture out of the Comfort Zone. She might be gripping my wrist, but her laugh is so genuine. This picture is precious to me because of that.

We had a lot of fun experimenting with different ways to photograph the scene to maximize the effect of the context. It was fairly crowded up there, and I thought it was neat how polite everybody was about taking turns in the box and offering to photograph one another.

We arrived at dusk, and stayed up there goofing around and taking pictures until after the sun had set. It was a perfect time to go, since we got photos of daylight as well as the beautiful city lights. Both of these pictures are a view to the northeast toward the John Hancock Tower (the black on with angled sides near the back) and Lake Michigan.

Allow me a moment of self-indulgence to include this picture, just because it's pretty and I look good.

Rachel and me posing enthusiastically with an external image of the Willis Tower. The Ledge was one of the most interesting and exciting parts of our trip; I'm really glad that we did it.

A measly 200 friends

2010-11-14T12:46:00.000-08:00

I got started on Facebook much later than most people I know. Of course I still occasionally run into someone who continues to resist; my husband is one of those. From the beginning, I mainly interacted with my Facebook profile when it interacted with me: if someone "friended" me, I responded; when someone wrote on my "wall" or sent me a message, I viewed it. I made only a few efforts to find people from my past, and quickly grew weary of the superficial "OMG how are you?" posts that rarely progressed beyond those few words. So even though I was "on" Facebook, I just didn't spend very much time on Facebook.

For reasons I can't quite identify or recall, I've clicked over to Facebook more often recently, and as much as I would have preferred to remain oblivious, discovered that I am deficient in friends. I've always found the implicit pursuit to collect the most "friends" on a social network to be a ludicrous paradox, so I never meant to get involved. But I accidentally noticed on a few of my (real) friends' profiles that they have over 300, 400, even over 500 Facebook friends. That day I had 183.

Pretend that you don't care how many friends you have if you want to, but there is no denying that personal connections make us feel liked. Also, it's easy to pretend you don't care if you are one of the ones with many hundreds of friends. Now, we all know that Facebook friends do not equal real friends. They aren't all people you'd invite to your birthday party, even if they all lived nearby. I started out very selective about my Facebook friends, but lightened up about it as time went on. The truth is, I don't have copious opportunities to make acquaintances like some of my church-going/world-traveling/bar-hopping associates. So many of the people I know are my business clients, and it makes me nervous to think about them viewing photos of my private life or clicking on the link to my blog. But I got a little fire under my butt for some reason to boost my friend numbers (my ego), and have been actually clicking some of the "people you might know" suggestions. I still have a hard time sending a friend request to someone I was never close to in the first place, it makes me uncomfortable.

My half-hearted endeavor has grown the list to 190 friends so far. Two hundred is within reach!

I am pathetic.

My desk

2010-11-13T11:51:00.000-08:00

I am a neat-freak. Dirt and germs do not really bother me, but clutter and disorder cause me a great deal of stress. I love lists, charts, filing systems and containers. I literally run my life out of a day planner ("Blog" is now on my daily task list for November--which is why it gets done). I like my stapler to be parallel to my tape dispenser. In other words, I like my environment and my mind to be organized and free from chaos.

That is why, even though I have been buried under my workload this week, I have spent several hours in the last two days scrubbing bathrooms and putting away the nomadic clutter that tends to collect on various surfaces around the house. The effect on my psyche was almost instantaneous, but I knew one more project would have me working more contentedly and efficiently than anything else: organizing my desk.

Being the anal-retentive type that I am, my desk was not really in an unmanageable state of disorder. But there were some piles that needed a fresh going-through and I decided it was high time I dusted under all my shelves and knick-knacks. Plus I separated ball-point pens from markers in my two pencil cups. You know, the usual stuff I'm sure everyone does to organize their desk...?

Here is the result. I feel lighter just looking at it. That sensation is diminished by looking at the six-inch stack of paperwork removed from the desk which constitutes a significant portion of my "to-do" list. But still.

I spend a substantial amount of time here. What personalizes my workspace? Here are some items of sentimental value you'll find on my desk, from right to left:

Pocket-sized book containing The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States of America
Commemorative 50th anniversary milk jar from the BYU Creamery, two-thirds full of loose change
Bouquet of silk flowers found in my car after work one day along with an assortment of random plastic gifts and a card from Gary and Madelyn saying "Enjoy your prizes for winning the 'Best Mommy Ever' award" (this card is also hanging on my wall, and is one of the two there which feature a fart joke punchline)
The Seven Decisions from The Traveler's Gift by Andy Andrews
Six ribbons I have earned for placing in my age group at various races, including the famous first place debacle at my first half marathon
Framed photo from Madelyn's first birthday
Figurine of two wolf pups I thought resembled our huskies enough to give Gary as a gift once upon a time--clearly I liked it more than him
Turtle carved out of stone brought home from one of my parents' many exotic trips
Sparkly bean bag frog souvenir from trip to Moab, UT in 2003; I gave similar ones to all my Curves employees at the time
Matryoshka nesting dolls with illegitimate Simpsons artwork, sent by Bridget from Russia (also featured here)

Flashback Friday: Home birth letter

2010-11-12T12:45:00.000-08:00

As Gary and I prepared for the arrival of our daughter in the latter part of 2006, our decision to plan a home birth was met with some resistance. I wrote the following letter to ask my family members for support and understanding. More than anything, I am sure the process was valuable for me to organize and fortify my beliefs about our decision. I know it is kind of long, but you birth-story junkies out there may find it interesting.

Dear Family,

As I’m sure you recall preparing joyfully for the arrival of each of your children, this is a very important and exciting time in our lives. You have probably heard by now that Gary and I have chosen to plan to give birth in our home. In our culture today, the home birth option is not widely esteemed or even understood. We believe that our labor experience and the outcome of our baby’s birth depend on being surrounded by a positive support structure. That is why I am writing a letter to our loved ones. I want to shed some light on the reasons we have chosen to plan for a home birth, share some information regarding the safety and normality of an attended birth at home, and ask for your help in creating the positive environment that we feel is important to our birth process.

First I want to emphasize that there is nothing wrong with giving birth in the hospital, and we do not have any disrespect for or animosity toward families who feel more comfortable with that option. We hope that we would receive the same respect for our choice, which is a very personal one.

I hope to clarify when people inquire, “You’re going to give birth at home?” that the answer is “Maybe.” Deciding to plan to birth at home is just that, a plan, or a desire to give birth at home. But the goal is not a home birth at any cost. Midwives are thoroughly trained and experienced in monitoring for indications that a transfer to the hospital would be best for mother and/or baby, usually long before an emergency would occur. Planning for home birth includes being open to all possibilities, including one in which the baby is born in the hospital, even by cesarean birth if necessary. The ultimate goal is a healthy mom and newborn, and if the benefits we associate with a home birth can be enjoyed in reaching that goal, then that is the plan.

The Philosophical Assumptions of Home Birth Parents and Attendants

Because pregnancy and birth are natural physiological events, normal birth does not belong in hospitals (and wasn’t placed there until the last century, and still isn’t in many cultures).
The natural course of labor is already perfect, and should be interfered with as little as possible.
Pain is part of an essential and healthy feedback mechanism in labor, which women can learn to cope with, with proper encouragement and support.
Medical management of pregnancy and birth should be limited to those which are medically complicated.
Unnecessary medical interventions complicate normal labor, creating additional risk and the need for more intervention.

Adapted from Birthing from Within by England/Horowitz

In addition to these underlying assumptions about birth, here are a few of the advantages we feel are gained by laboring and giving birth at home:

A quiet, peaceful environment which we can control to a certain extent
A sense of comfort in our familiar surroundings means being “at home” psychologically, to encourage relaxation and release
The innate, miraculous process of giving birth is allowed to unfold on its own
There is no schedule or rush to force labor to progress
Constant availability of our personal birth attendant, no shift changes or sharing of nurses
No pressure to accept unwanted pain medication or drugs (which might be easy to give in to in the middle of labor!)
If a problem should arise that requires medical support, we will not wonder if it was caused by routine, unnecessary, or ill-timed hospital interventions
The midwives philosophy is not centered around such interventions, so if she advocates them, it will be easy to trust her endorsement
Ready availability of family and friends during labor and birth, if desired
Access to our hot tub, our own food, a walk around the neighborhood for fresh air, and other comforts available at home
The freedom to labor and birth in the locations and positions that I choose, and confidence to do whatever my body tells me is necessary at the time
Studies indicate a tendency toward shorter labor at home
The joy and empowerment of bringing our baby into the world naturally, and in her own home
Immediate, close contact with our newborn baby girl

Home birth is not the option for every family, and we completely understand that. In addition to the important aspect of personal preference, it is also essential that a couple seeking a home birth meet certain general criteria in order to be considered. It is a long list, but examples include having good physical and mental health, adequate social supports and a positive emotional environment, a pregnancy with no complications, and the baby positioned properly for vaginal birth. Couples choosing this option also must be willing to take an active role in giving birth, cope with the pain and hard work of labor without drugs, and take responsibility for the outcome of their choices.

In many cases, midwives may be trained more thoroughly in “normal” birth than obstetricians, whose education focuses considerably on managing complications and emergencies. We feel comfortable with the benefit of having access to the best of both worlds: safe home birth with modern midwives trained to identify and manage minor problems, and the availability of appropriate hospital technology if necessary. As mentioned before, our ultimate goal, as well as that of our birth attendants, is a safe birth, not a home birth no matter what.

It may come as a relief to learn that transfers to a hospital rarely involve a labor emergency. Most of the time problems in labor develop slowly, with early signals alerting the midwives of their approach. Usually transfers to the hospital are made for non-emergency reasons, such as a prolonged, exhausting labor, or failure to progress in dilation. Another little-known fact is that home birth attendants are skilled in handling most common birth “crises,” and carry much of the same equipment to handle them at home as what is available in the hospital. For example, the midwives carry sterile instruments for birth and suturing any tears, basic resuscitation equipment for mother and baby, ultrasound stethoscope for fetal monitoring, drugs for postpartum maternal hemorrhage or bleeding, IV equipment, oxygen, antibiotics to treat infection, and more. Midwives are not only trained in medical procedures, but also in ways to comfort and assist the laboring mother, such as natural pain coping techniques, methods to encourage progression of labor naturally, and in practices to help avoid tearing.

Many studies have been conducted to compare the safety of birth at home vs. in the hospital for comparable low-risk pregnancies. One recent study involving over 5400 planned home births, published in the British Medical Journal in 2005, concludes the following: “Planned home birth for low risk women in North America using certified professional midwives was associated with lower rates of medical intervention but similar intrapartum and neonatal mortality to that of low risk hospital births in the United States.” One of our midwives has been attending births at home and in the hospital for over 30 years and has never lost a baby or mother at home.

In summary, our birth attendants are trained to recognize any warning signs of problems early on, and then take appropriate action to deal with those problems. If an emergency does arise, they have the knowledge and skills to institute basic emergency care to either resolve the problem, or stabilize the mother and/or baby until we reach the hospital.

As very important people in our life, I am asking for you to help our family in three specific ways:

Please try to understand a little bit about home birth and open your mind to it as a normal, viable birth choice. Showing an interest lets us know that you care. If you have questions or concerns, let’s discuss them together!
Please recognize that planning to give birth at home should not imply that we don’t understand and appreciate reasons to choose to give birth in a different setting. We do not feel that a home birth is better or worse than a hospital birth. It depends on so many individual factors, and in the end is a very personal choice. Our baby may be born in a hospital as well, and we find nothing wrong with that.
Please try to maintain a positive attitude toward our decision, both when we are and are not around. If you are involved in or overhear conversations we are having about the impending birth of our baby and the circumstances surrounding it, you can show support by getting involved in the conversation in a positive way. Even subtle negativity or apathy may not only hurt my feelings, but also may have an effect on my mental state in preparing for labor and birth. Also, I hope that your support will be genuine, because insincerity can be just as hurtful.

These requests may seem silly, but I feel that having the support of our loved ones throughout the upcoming weeks is essential. For many of our own personal reasons, we are electing to plan to give birth at home. Whether you would choose this path for yourself or not, we hope that you will be able to support us in our choice, as we believe we will always do for you. We believe that it will take concentration and positive mental energy to accomplish this miracle of childbirth in the empowering manner we are planning. It is important to me that I am surrounded by the same attitudes as I approach this life-changing event. I believe that it could be detrimental to our birth experience and outcome if I am self-conscious about our decision, feel unsupported, or harbor fear that if things do not turn out as we hope that I will have to face “I told you so” from those to whom I would wish to go for support and sympathy. I hope you will understand that I am requesting your help because you are among the most important people in our lives, and soon in Madelyn’s life. A foundation of understanding, love and encouragement is what we need most right now.

Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts.

All our love,

Miniature rooms

2010-11-11T21:30:00.000-08:00

One of the highlights of my recent trip to Chicago was our morning spent at the Art Institute. We could not have timed the activity more perfectly, either, because the rain poured outside while we admired original masterpieces by O'Keefe, Van Gogh, Monet, and Renoir, ancient sculptures and royal artifacts. It was the kind of rain that soaked your pants even while you stood under an umbrella, and the only rain we saw all week.

The exhibit that intrigued me most was the Thorne Miniature Room Gallery, undoubtedly because I had never seen anything like it before. Plus I have always held a juvenile fascination with all things miniature. I love any big thing scaled down to a tiny replica when the details and embellishments remain intact, whether it be a pair of tiny infant Nike's or a geographical model of Mount St. Helens complete with little cars and buildings and people walking their dogs.

From a placard in the museum: "The Thorne Miniature Room Gallery contains 68 rooms that depict the historical development of interior design in Europe and the United States from the late 13th century until the 1930's. All of the rooms were researched and designed by Mrs. James Ward Thorne and and built under her supervision."

Apparently the first rooms were conceived in order to showcase her collection of miniature furnishings and decorative art pieces. Then, it would seem, her hobby grew into a full-time operation where she employed assistants to research precise details such as from which wood species a particular table would have been carved, and to recreate specific needlework florals at 1:12 scale. I have never been interested in the history of interior design, and viewing this gallery did not instill any such interest for me personally, I have to admit. But I don't think that detracts from my appreciation of the intricate study and artistic creation that so thoroughly captured my attention.

The rooms were challenging to photograph through the glass, but I had fun trying to create images that would trick the mind into believing the architecture was full-size. This is the best I was able to do. Doesn't it seem like the photo was just taken from a high corner of a large foyer? Or would it have seemed that way if I hadn't already explained the entire concept to you?

Here is the same room from a few steps back.

Another close-up, with too much glass reflection.

And the far-away perspective of the same room.

Here you can see how the dioramas are arranged around several corridors like this, where you can view them chronologically. Also, "What's a diorama?"

My love's birthday

2010-11-10T09:51:00.000-08:00

Gary turns 33 years old today. I've planned a whole day of birthday fun, but it's a surprise, so I can't let you in on it yet. Two years ago I shared 31 Random Things I Like About My Husband. I read those over this morning and it made me feel very happy to be reminded of what a wonderful man I married.

Several months ago I found myself seeking this kind of reminder, and I turned to our engagement photography session. The pictures evoked the familiar, yet oft neglected emotions of joyous love. For your birthday, Sweetheart, I hope you enjoy these pictures and the memories you find accompanying them.

I love you, Gary. Happy birthday.

Warrior Dash

2010-11-09T10:16:00.000-08:00

Running is good exercise, and I enjoy the challenge of working toward goals for distance and pace. But running does not come easily to my body, and I can't honestly say that I just love running for the pure thrill of it. What I have discovered that I do love enthusiastically is the Adventure Race. I happened upon the concept last summer when I ran the Tillamook Burn with my friend Sarah. It was love at first knee-deep river crossing. I vowed to register for as many X-Dog Events (the organizer) as I could manage the following summer. Unfortunately, the timing didn't work out for any of the other events this year except the Tillamook Burn, so I only got to reprise that one awesome course (and the pre-race festivities and camp out the night before!).

I was disappointed not to have done more of these adventure runs in the summer, so when I saw an ad for the Warrior Dash, I clicked over to their website and could hardly believe my eyes. I was stoked about this race because it was heavy with obstacles, which is my favorite part of any non-street race. This event was in September, and I wasn't blogging back then, but it isn't really distant enough history to be considered a "flashback." It's just a late submission.

My very good friend Barb came all the way out to the Warrior Dash wilderness to cheer me on and take some pictures. I thought the gesture was especially generous when she still decided to come even after I informed her that it cost $10 to park (Seriously, ten bucks! And that is in addition to paying over $50 for the race itself. Sheesh.)

I had a bit of an adventure just getting to the place. First of all, my brain messed up directionally, and I took a wrong turn which forced me to double-back on the freeway, wasting precious time. Then, as I entered North Plains, I remembered about the parking fee, and realized that I did not have any cash. So I pulled into McDonald's, but they did not have an ATM (how is that possible?). I drove across the street to a gas station. Their ATM was out of service. You've got to be kidding me. I was already short on time. One more gas station over and I found the cash machine. To top it off, the traffic entering the event was very thick (and could only have gotten worse as the day went on, as this event was organized into waves of runners starting every 30 minutes). So I arrived later than I wanted to, had to rush across the field of cars, get my race bib and timing chip, and check my backpack. I jogged over to the starting line just as my wave was beginning. I was the last one to start, in fact.

I happen to love this pre-race photo because not only do I look all clean and happy before starting, but there is also a mega-line of Honey Buckets behind me. It's a perfect scene.

Being the last to start was a huge bummer, because the trails were very narrow at the beginning, so we were forced to walk. Very quickly I decided not to accept the congestion as a blockade, but to treat it as the first obstacle. I proceeded to excuse myself as I weaved around the mostly stationary lines of people in running shorts and costumes. This wasn't a checkout line, fairness did not have to be observed.

Sorry the picture is so tiny, I pilfered it from the event photographer's website.

The "Deadweight Drifter" was one of my favorite obstacles. As you can see, it was very crowded when I reached it, but I took the outside track and was able to make some headway. Floating in the waist- to chest-deep water was a series of large logs over which we had to clamber. My approach was a dive/slither over the top, which proved much faster than the leg-over style I saw others attempting.

Another obstacle called "Blackout" doesn't look like much from the outside (I am exiting it above) but it was a long, pitch-black tunnel requiring hands-and-knees tactics. At least the tunnel felt very long--once again, packed in there nose-to-ass with at least a dozen other people made for slow going. But it was inside the tunnel where I felt a sense of camaraderie with the other racers. Not only because my face touched a strangers butt more than once (it was impossible to see, remember), but because people cracked (no pun intended) jokes about the situation and we all laughed together.

Most of the obstacles back in the woods had no photographer to capture their essence. Some of the more interesting ones include the "Junkyard Jump" in which we scramble over rusted car wreckage (it appeared that they had removed all shards of glass and sharp, twisted metal), two different cargo rope climbs--one at a vertical angle and one horizontal, and "Knee-high Hell," a web of tires on the ground that I mostly walked through because it was just before the end. Also, the muddy hills themselves were so steep that they were among the toughest obstacles.

The "Warrior Roast" fire hurdles are possibly the most famous part of the dash, or possibly the final mud crawl.

The mud was so thick, it definitely impeded forward momentum near the finish line.

I just had to include this picture of my friend Bridget trying to daintily navigate under the barbed wire for the least amount of mud coverage she could manage, while her husband in front of her dove completely under. So great!

Here is my little posse of friends after everyone finished: Blair, Bridget, Jeremy, and my (Blair's wife also came and took pictures, hooray!)

All done, and all muddy. The course was about 3.3 miles. I can normally race that distance on the road in under 30 minutes. Because I was forced to walk part of the first mile, could not physically manage more than a walk on some of the lung-busting climbs, had to slow for execution of about a dozen obstacles, and genuinely did feel exhausted for the last half mile or so, I estimated that I was probably on the course for over 45 minutes. So imagine my surprise when Barb told me that the next wave (which my friends were running) had only started a few minutes before I crossed the finish line. I could not really fathom this to be accurate.

But it was true. My official time was 32:17.45, or an average of 9:52 per mile. That isn't really very fast, but considering all the stops and walking, I was quite surprised. This pace earned me a spot in the top 100 females in my age group that day: 97th out of 602. It's a respectable place, for me.

There was a pond of brown water down the hill where we were allowed to "bathe" off the mud. It was kind of a social experience as well, with everyone laughing and splashing and swimming, grateful that the hard part was finished, but not yet ready to say it was over.

Some cute guys parked next to me asked if I wanted my picture taken, which I thought was really nice of them! Of course I made a joke that I'd assumed they wanted to take one on their camera, har har. I think I resemble a frog in this picture, however.

Warrior Dash was an incredibly fun experience, and I am especially glad that I got to share it with some cool friends.

Mini Movie Reviews: Four dramas

2010-11-08T09:35:00.000-08:00

I've watched at least 17 movies from Netflix since the last time I posted reviews. Here's a group of dramatic films that I enjoyed in the spring.

I actually had no idea this was based on a novel. I enjoyed the moving story of the conflicted father a great deal.

I did know this one was based on a book. It was also very tender, with an expectedly slow pace.

Okay, I didn't know this one was based on a story, either. A short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald it turns out. The overarching concept of the story (a man aging in reverse) was certainly unique. The rest of the plot was not quite as interesting, but the special effects behind Brad Pitt's physical transformation deserve recognition. If you're curious (ha ha) you can check out this little video about the CGI.

Here is a movie--like so many others--that I watched somewhat begrudgingly, properly convinced that it wasn't going to be my cup of tea, only to be thoroughly captivated instead. This happens regularly, so I wonder why I don't have a better grasp of my theatrical preferences. This film does have some graphic scenes, but oh the story is so touching. I do love a movie that keeps you thinking about it long afterward. And I don't believe this one was based on a book...

Empty Egg

2010-11-07T09:59:00.000-08:00

It was the first egg I picked up out of the carton, so I did not at first realize how light it was in absence of immediate comparison. I cracked it on the edge of my glass bowl and bits of shell shattered onto the counter. This was unusual, and confusing. The inner seal had not yet been penetrated, so I curiously shook the egg. It wasn't empty, that I was sure of. But there didn't seem to be the usual movement inside which would indicate aqueous matter. Upon closer inspection, the egg's shell was entirely intact besides the damage I had done moments before.

Inside, the membrane which usually holds the outer shell mostly together (protecting your scrambled eggs and muffins from stray bits of shell most of the time) had hardened into what seemed like a second layer of shell: an egg within an egg. The top half of the shell was completely dry inside. The bottom half contained a solid yolk, hardened as if it had been boiled, as you can see below.

We get our eggs from my dad's chickens. I have no idea what was wrong with this one. Surely it never would have passed inspection coming out of a giant egg factory. And then we would have enjoyed Gary's delicious skillet potato breakfast scramble just as much--but without this mildly interesting incident which serves as my excuse for a blog post today.

Just CARD me.

2010-11-06T21:11:00.000-07:00

Since two days ago I alluded to having personal experience with a hangover, and am about to write about going to a bar, I feel the need to reassure you that I am not some kind of alcoholic party animal. Last night I took my good friend Sarah out to celebrate her 30th birthday, and we happened to sit belly up to the bar for dessert because the restaurant was full. And we had a really fun time. Happy Birthday Sarah!

I recently turned 29 years old. I see the same face in the mirror today that I did ten years ago. Is it because the changes are so very gradual that I don't feel that I have aged? Will I feel the same when when I turn 39 or 49? When do you look in the mirror and not feel 19 years old anymore?

The Oregon Liquor Control Commission mandates that servers check ID for any individual who looks under 26 years of age. And it's not uncommon to see signs posted in establishments announcing that they card anyone under 35. So how do you think it makes me feel when you don't card me, huh?!?

It's not so much that I am offended by not getting carded. After all, I occasionally got away with hanging out with my older friends in bars when I was 18. If some bartenders thought I was old enough to be there back then, perhaps it's only logical that I have a naturally "mature" appearance. But I am genuinely curious about how old I look to a stranger and why. Last night I came home and scrutinized my face in the mirror: pushing and stretching and trying to figure out what has changed in the last decade. I don't see crow's feet or bags. My smile lines don't seem overly defined. So what gives, Stupid Bartender?

It's all but impossible to find two photos with exactly the same expression/angle/lighting/haircut for a truly accurate comparison, but here's the closest I came up with after a quick hunt through the archives. I went with my hair back in the recent photo to more closely match the short 'do from my younger days.

2 days after my 21st birthday

2 weeks before my 29th birthday

Have I really aged enough to be un-cardable? There are definitely darker creases under my eyes...or is that a matter of different lighting? Does anyone else experience the same odd sensation of being blind to your own degeneration? I don't like getting old. Especially when I don't even realize it's happening.

Flashback Friday: Hyphen? No thanks.

2010-11-05T18:16:00.000-07:00

It has been nearly a year since my last "Flashback Friday." It was the honeymoon episode in the romantic series which began with Gary proposing on a Las Vegas stage. So although it is belated, I'll continue this trajectory by telling of the derivation of our family surname.

As happy couples often do, Gary and I would occasionally muse about the possibility of marriage long before we were engaged. Even then, we discussed our mutual preference for choosing a new name for the newly-formed family of our future. Many people are surprised to learn that it was my future husband who originated the concept; I did not persuade him to stray from masculine tradition simply to suit my wishes.

Gary never felt a strong connection to his last name. He was not close to his father, who left when he was a child and is now presumed deceased (this is something I'll always wonder about). Gary's mother remarried while we were dating and took a new last name herself. The last name Gary grew up with is nearly meaningless to him, and the notion of carrying on that family "legacy" simply doesn't matter.

In addition, Gary opposed the accepted convention where the wife assumes her husband's name because the implication is that she becomes his property, or the way I viewed it: leaves her own personal identity to become part of his. Of course, we both understand that this is not the way marriage and the name change is generally viewed today, and we don't criticize anybody's choice to follow the established norm.

One common rebellion against taking the husband's name is to hyphenate with both names. Personally, I was adamantly against that option, and I don't think Gary liked it either. We both preferred the idea of creating a new name for our family. The early inspiration involved perusing foreign languages of influence in our lives to select a pleasant-sounding, easy-to-spell word with a meaningful translation. But as the far-off possibility of getting married transformed into a real plan with a date on the calendar, we began to consider the concept of combining our last names to create a new one.

WINkel + FosTER = WINTER

We are lucky that our two names happened to form a real English word, and even luckier that we like the word and it even held personal significance for us. We embarked on our relationship in the winter. I taught Gary how to snow ski, a hobby which we frequently enjoyed together. Both of us to an extent, but Gary especially, prefer the rainy, cold seasons to the sunny, hot ones. When we brought puppies home to join our family a few years prior, we chose Siberian Huskies--traditional sled dogs. We chose to get married under the snow-capped peak of Mt. Hood. Our honeymoon cruise was booked--to Alaska. Once the official decision had been made, we had some fun with the concept and created a "Winter in July" wedding theme.

In addition to these kind of silly connotations, I do love the symbolism that the combination of names evokes. Neither of us rescinded our own identity in forming a marital union. We retained our own individuality, while also creating a new identity together. The family created when we married was something entirely new, entirely our own. Yet instead of using a word picked out of a book, our new last name was formed using elements of our previous names, allowing the figurative histories within them to endure.

Gary signs his new last name for the first time

(He had a much harder time with all of the name-change paperwork than I did--a lot more questions and requests for legal proof)

These days, the intrigue of our new name is old news to those who know about it, and no news to those who don't. The assumption is that I took my husband's last name, and the truth isn't unveiled unless there is a reason. Much like weddings themselves, and birth stories, every detail of which seem (and many are) of utmost importance at present, become relegated to the memories of the primary players and rarely discussed as time passes. Our adorable wedding theme plays no role in the day-to-day interactions of our marriage, and neither does the highly debated venue. Few people know that I gave birth to my daughter at home, and she is certainly not noticeably different from other children because of that experience.

But on occasion, the intrigue of our family genealogy has proved to be a delightful dinner-table topic. And if anybody hears my last name and begins to wonder aloud if I am related to So-and-so Winter, I can immediately interject my "no" without even listening to the name. Which is amusing.

The perfect diet

2010-11-04T22:02:00.000-07:00

Recently I was forced to witness an exchange of emails between a couple of ladies sharing ideas about gluten intolerance in their children. I say forced because it was sent out as a Yahoo Group message, so reading their e-mails felt like unintended eavesdropping. And this is where I restrain myself against launching a rant about the gluten-free fad.

I do have to mention, however, that several months ago a friend was confiding in me about her weight loss struggle, and said that she was going to try going gluten-free. Because this is not a very close friend, all I felt comfortable doing was nodding and smiling. What I wish I could have said is this: "Gluten is wheat protein. Protein is good for you. Unless you are have a diagnosable condition in which your body cannot tolerate the substance, then gluten is good for you." That is only part of what I wish I could have said, actually. But it's the most innocuous portion, safe for public consumption among friends.

Back to the email exchange mentioned previously. I didn't really want to read those messages, but it's hard for me to ignore words that are in front of my face. In the final response, the mother who asked for advice thanked the other woman for sharing her advice, and then wrote (read carefully):

I am going to start looking into a glutton free diet.

I read that and immediately thought, "Now that's the diet for ME!"

Forgive me for being insensitive to her child's health challenges, but I found this typo to be laugh-out-loud funny. And seriously, purging my diet of gluttony would do just the trick for improved health and body composition. I have actually saved the conversation in my email box since it was received over 3 months ago, supposedly to remind myself to write a blog post about it, but perhaps also to serve as a frequent reminder of the perfect diet.

Cause: unknown

2010-11-03T16:33:00.000-07:00

The computer screen in front of me has finally stopped tilting slowly on its side. I can now walk down the hall in nearly a straight line without bumping into any walls, which means that the floor also appears to have returned to a state of being level with the earth's surface. A slight pulsation in my frontal lobe remains, but the nausea has excused itself from all but the most extreme fringes of my consciousness.

At my first attempt to get out of bed this morning, I felt like I had been sleeping on a Merry-Go-Round in motion. I made my way toward my daughter's voice by holding the edge of my bed and stumbling into walls--it reminded me of precisely the way my husband and I found our cruise ship cabin the night we traveled in open ocean. In addition to the dizzyness I felt generally ill, but thankfully was able to circumvent the wretched experience of vomiting.

After my brother-in-law picked up Madelyn for school, I promptly zig-zagged my way back down the hall and under my covers and slept almost the entire time she was gone. This is the kind of frivolous luxury I normally dream of indulging in--however under different circumstances. And even though it would not have been an option to forgo today's return to bed, I am still irritated at the loss of precious time to be productive.

I have never experienced malfunctioning equilibrium with a "sick" germ. It was not until I was swaying around the kitchen trying to throw together some leftovers for lunch that I made the eerie realization that I was suffering from a terrible hangover. The mystery emerges, then, in the fact that I didn't go near a drop of alcohol last night.

There is one possible culprit that I thought of almost immediately after my 6:45am forage into the dark, spinning carnival ride that is my house. I almost knocked the evidence off of my nightstand on my tipsy way out of the bedroom. An empty glass. It had been resting on that nightstand for several days. Many days. Perhaps even more than a week. Only it was not empty until last night, when I decided on a whim to gulp those two last swallows of water. The water that had been mocking me for days, having so long escaped my usual fixation with tidiness and order in my living quarters.

I drank it quickly, and regret filled my body before the glass parted with my lips. Such a vile, stale taste: pennies, cardboard, mushrooms, lysol. Yuck. And then, evidently, I didn't even give myself the satisfaction of putting the empty glass in the kitchen.

Do you think stagnant filtered water--or something flourishing inside it--could have made me sick?

Nablopomo 2010 is underway

2010-11-02T10:49:00.000-07:00

Alright, alright. It's National Blog Posting Month. What better motivation to resurrect this decaying, lifeless pile of html that was once known as Beyond Mommy?

I don't know if I can do it this time. But I'll be damned if I'm not going to try. Amber likens part of the challenge for us inconsistent bloggers to the mixed emotions surrounding the desire to connect with an old friend. For me, there is also an oppressive weight of breathing life into something dead. The law of inertia requires that great force be applied to resume this blog's former momentum, and it feels overwhelming. My confidence that I will be unable to maintain that momentum for long also undermines my motivation. It is simply a matter of logistics. Only so many hours in a day, priorities, yada yada.

But enough with the pity party over here. How about a little life update, since it's been about five months since we've talked.

I am not pregnant.
I don't work at Plato's Closet any more.
I am quite pleased with the state of affairs at Curves.
I have been reading quite a bit (instead of blogging--something has to give!) and hope you'll check out my goodreads shelf.
I celebrated my first of many 29th birthdays in August.
My family is healthy and happy.

Okay. Time to get back to work. I hope I can come up with something more delightfully interesting for tomorrow!

They give Visas to 3-year-olds now?

2010-11-01T21:14:00.000-07:00

Lately my 3.5-year old daughter asks many, many questions during bedtime stories. She wants to know all the why's and how's surrounding the illustrations and between the lines of the narrative. Sometimes the odd nature of her questions leaves me simultaneously baffled and impressed.

Tonight we read "More Bugs in Boxes." It is a pop-up book, and admittedly not one of my personal favorites. On page 3:

What kind of bug is in the shiny BLACK bandbox?

A SCARLET strawberry bug with a bunch of baby berry bugs.

I tried to suppress the rolling of my eyes when Madelyn caught my hand to prevent the page from turning. She asked why the baby bugs are under the mommy's wings. Before I could respond, she attempted to answer this query herself: "Is it because they are hiding from creditors?"

?? Cr--? Oh...

"Do you mean predators?" (Her favorite TV show is Dinosaur Train, so it's not a far leap to assume...)

"No, Mom. Creditors."

Riiiight. What else don't I know about you, Miss Madelyn?

Falling Down

2010-05-12T21:31:00.000-07:00

I would rank falling down among the most humiliating of experiences.

Little ones seem to spend about as much time on the ground as they do upright--stumbling and tumbling regularly as they run and play. Skinned knees and scraped palms are simply the marks of a joyful childhood. When you think about it, the average adult human is approximately four times taller than wide, so the occasional misalignment of one's center of gravity should be anticipated and accepted. But falling down seems to be universally and undeniably awkward, no matter the circumstances.

After receiving a big, concrete-flavored taste of humble pie yesterday morning, I realized that I can't even recall the last time I actually fell down. All the way to the ground. I felt childish and ashamed, and I don't even think anybody saw what happened. Although there's no way to be sure. Perhaps a YouTube search of "hilarious girl eating pavement" is in order.

I was running with Loki and Kezia, my two Siberian Huskies. My dogs are both pretty good running partners, by which I mean that once we are moving they tend to stay focused on forward momentum, usually obey voice commands to slow down or make turns, can run by another dog or human without much distraction, and refrain from pulling, criss-crossing, or other typical canine nonsense. I hold only one leash, which is connected at the far end to a coupler, which then connects to one dog's collar at each end. See figure A.

Fig. A (finishing a run at the beach November 2008)

Yesterday the male dog, Loki, decided that one particular tree could not exist any longer without his personal scent sprinkled upon it. Occasionally he is unable to control this impulse, and my response is to continue running. Most of the time his business is so efficient that he has returned to his place in front of me before the leash ever pulls taut. Other times I am forced to slow down for a few moments and issue a stern command to keep moving. But on this particular occasion the circumstances were intricately coordinated so that when he strayed left and I kept running, I basically ran straight through the horizontal coupler while Loki held his position (on three legs, I'm sure) when he felt the tug, and before I realized that a correction of balance was necessary, Kezia was under my ribcage and my elbow was skidding across the asphalt. See figure B.

Fig. B (my scraped and bruised elbow)

Okay, so it's not really that bad. But the inherent humiliation of falling to which I pointed earlier caused a surprising sequence of emotions. After overcoming the initial shock of being suddenly horizontal, I shouted at Loki, brushed the gravel out of my wounds, and continued to run. I was soon overcome with anger at my poor pet, and actually gave him a little kick in the butt. As if Loki premeditated the event and tripped me on purpose. It was a very childish emotional outburst--attempted retaliation for having caused me harm, both physical and emotional. A few moments later, of course, the remorse settled in and I tried to pet Loki while we ran as penitence for my foolish behavior.

There were no cars driving by, no people around, but who knows if someone happened to glance out their kitchen window right as my stride became a skid. The other thing about falling down is that in the eyes of still-upright witnesses, it can be absolutely hysterical. Common decency suggests that we bite our lips and suppress the guffaws, but come on: haven't you ever seen a falling-down sequence that made you burst into side-splitting laughter (or at least want to)? For me, the falls that make sustaining common decency a real challenge are those ones that just. keep. going. The person continues to trip over himself or other objects until you wonder if it's all a carefully orchestrated gag. But then it's not. And you feel horrible for laughing. You should be ashamed of yourself. Ahem.

So anyway, I fell down. It hurt. But it could have been a lot worse. I wasn't hit by a car, for example, and thankfully the street did not gauge my nicest Nike performance pants. Possibly because the heroic Kezia helped break my fall. Hopefully experiences like these will continue to be rare for me. I guess I was due for a good fall--to keep my pride in check. And now I'll always carry the memory of my intimate encounter with the corner of 13th and Maple.

When was the last time you had--or witnessed--a good fall? (Sarah, your list of recent falls is limited to 350 words or less. Just kidding!)

Mini Movie Reviews: Hot firefighter, Strange puff ball

2010-05-03T22:01:00.000-07:00

Much like that book I read last year, I had no idea going in that the central theme of Fireproof was built on a religious message. I'd overheard a lot of positive buzz about the film, and hadn't considered that those buzzing were probably so enamored with the idea of an "inspirational" movie being on the big screen that they could easily forgive the cheesy dialogue and poor acting from every single actor besides Kirk Cameron, who really held the entire piece together. The "love dare" concept is interesting in itself, however, and I find I'm able to interpret a story like this in a way that is relevant to my frame of reference.

Surprisingly very funny. We actually laughed out loud a few times, especially pretty much every instance in which Katie appears:

Delightfully odd, if a little creepy.

The best things about my new job

2010-04-29T22:37:00.000-07:00

In case you didn't hear, I decided on a whim to get a job at a teen/young adult clothing resale store called Plato's Closet because I wanted to spy on and copy the business model and then open my own similar store, then decided that simply opening one of their franchises would be the better way to go, however upon researching the start-up investment required I've determined that certain areas of our financial portfolio need strengthening before we can make that dream a reality, yet in the meantime I have been thoroughly enjoying this silly little minimum wage, part-time job.

Here's what I like about it:

1. I finally feel fashionable again. Originally I planned to write, "There was a time when I cared about what I wore..." but emphasizing the past tense would not be accurate. I have always cared about my clothing choices and embraced a desire to be fashionable. It was only recently that I really grasped the idea that fashion continued moving forward without me, while I thought I was hip enough (for a mom, I guess) wearing the same things that were cool five--or yes, even ten--years ago. Multiply this phenomenon by the following facts: A. For seven and a half years I have worked in a fitness center where I don naught but yoga pants and T-shirts each day. B. Along with the "Mom" title came a continually morphing, foreign body shape and a stipulation that comfort and durability trump style. C. When the branches of our money tree aren't heavy with fruit, emulating a page of Marie Claire's "Summer Style Secrets" falls pretty low on the list of financial priorities. Working at Plato's Closet has provided me with precisely the three elements I needed to catch up to today's current trends: opportunity, education, and economy.

Opportunity~Logically, Plato's Closet associates are expected to reflect the styles we want to buy for the store. I get excited each day I have the opportunity to concoct a cute outfit to wear.

Education~One of my primary roles at Plato's Closet is sorting and inspecting clothing and accessories that our customers bring in and ultimately select the few items we'll buy. This part of the job is by far the most fascinating to me, and I have gained remarkable insight on what's hot and what's not, and learn more about current trends every day. I'm asked to make an instantaneous style judgment even on crumpled up garments, and I now know subtle differences in brand qualities as well as names of designers I'd never heard of. I find this education very interesting.

Economy~The clothing at Plato's Closet is priced at about 30% of the original retail value, and we strive to purchase only items in excellent condition. It's the perfect place for a budget-minded consumer such as myself to update her wardrobe.

2. I get a discount and time to shop three days a week. I just mentioned that the merchandise is priced cheap. But I get to pay even less! I must intentionally exercise restraint in the store, but it is thrilling to see new items every day I work and find those gems that can be mine for a small fraction of what they cost new.

3. I am not in charge. Don't get me wrong. There are benefits of being the boss. But I get to do that enough to know there are at least as many challenges that come with that territory. I must admit it is very freeing to blithely punch my clock (so to speak), do as I'm told to the best of my ability, and go home with little more than a whisper of care for what occurs in that building when I am not inside it. The satisfaction of a job well done without strings attached is divine.

4. Learning new skills is fun. Not much more to say about that. I just love the opportunity to learn something new and apply it. I have never worked in retail, and the Plato's concept is absolutely unique even in that category.

5. It's easier to eat healthfully at work. This one might sound like an odd thing to love about my job, but it's true. While I sip my protein shake in the morning, I conscientiously put together a healthy lunch for work. It's easy to make better choices in advance, rather than when I feel starved at lunchtime. I record the meal in MyPlate before I leave so I'm confident that I've left sufficient calories to be enjoyed for snacks and dinner. Since I can't eat lunch until my break, there's no inadvertent snacking when I feel hungry. At lunchtime I thoroughly enjoy my carefully planned and packed lunch, and can't be tempted by everything else in the various nooks and crannies of my well-stocked kitchen.

Sounds pretty sweet, eh? Okay, it's not all rainbows and butterflies. Soon I'll fill you in on the aspects of my silly little job that aren't so rosy. Can you relate to any of this? What's the best part about your job?

Confused by the brown thing in the toilet

2010-04-22T12:43:00.000-07:00

Pulling up behind this van at a stoplight, I couldn't help but fixate on the image. I couldn't imagine what kind of business would promote itself with a photograph of a toilet full of poo. Even a plumber would have more decency than that, right?

Which means it couldn't possibly be a picture of poo. And since I was stopped directly behind this van and had to squint to decipher the image means it isn't very effective at conveying their message. Although my confusion led me to actually read about the business, but I still find it odd that a company specializing in leak detection would opt for a picture of a lumpy brown mouse climbing out of a toilet. It just looks like poo.

I like to say poo.

Mini Movie Reviews take center stage

2010-04-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

Providing insight and quick quips about the movies I watch is one of my favorite aspects of this blog. But it's really tedious to maintain them on the sidebar, especially because I eventually copy each one to an archived post. In addition, I realized that all that work and occasional cleverness goes unnoticed by anyone who views Beyond Mommy through Google Reader. I figure that placing my Mini Movie Reviews front and center creates a default opportunity for a real post, allows me to write a tiny bit more when two or three sentences just aren't enough, and may even incite discussion about the films from readers, which is much more fun than just putting my own opinion out there unchallenged.

I'll divide the 13 movie reviews I have to write into multiple posts as time permits. By the way, each image is linked to the movie's profile on IMDb. Please share your comments!

I found the protagonist old man distractingly unattractive. The concept of the flying house obviously requires willing suspension of disbelief, but even within the realm of the fantasy, glaring inconsistencies were hard to ignore. However, the execution of the canine language translator concept was hilarious, and the wordless montage depicting the lifelong romance between the man and his late wife was possibly the sweetest of its kind.

Knowing that this tragic tale actually occurred makes it that much more fascinating. The gripping story was rounded out by Angelina Jolie's perfectly understated performance (and I'm not usually too keen on her).

Awww, this was a nice little romantic comedy. No complaints really, but nothing to rave about either.

Oh boy. We almost turned it off more than once. But sometimes you just need to see a conflict resolved, no matter how my beloved Napoleon Dynamite's acting skills suffer outside his legendary breakout role.

We actually DID turn this movie off, as no conflict ever emerged which was worth seeing through to resolution. Perhaps if I don't finish a movie I'm not entitled to write a review, but I figure that maybe I can caution others from wasting that half hour of their lives that I'll never get back. The rather pathetic central character grows so livid about car alarms going off in New York City that he starts bashing in windows and leaving a card identifying him as "The Rectifier." I bet New York has problems that need rectifying far more than errant car alarms. I'm disappointed in you, Tim Robbins. Very disappointed indeed. Even the tagline on that poster is dismal: "The story of a guy who had it up to HEAR." Really? Ugh.

This one will probably make my "best of" list for this year. Tender, funny, clever, and hooo boy can that Irish accent melt my heart.

I welcome recommendations for good movies to add to my Netflix queue--and ones to steer clear of too!

Where I've been

2010-04-11T10:12:00.000-07:00

I despise this post. The one where I list all the excuses about why I haven't written anything on my blog for--ugh--over two months. So I'm not going to do that.

I imagine that those individuals who have (or find or make) time to blog consistently are irritated by posts like this in the same way that I detest hearing people explain why they don't exercise regularly. Exercise is a non-negotiable part of my (almost) daily life--and sometimes I have to sacrifice to make that so. Waking up before the sun rises. Lacing up my runners to the sounds of rain berating my windowpanes. Squeezing in a few miles after dark. Postponing important work projects. I bet some people make sacrifices like those in order to keep their blog entertaining and up to date.

The fact is, we all have the same number of hours in a day. While I don't think it can be argued that each person's workload and time commitments vary significantly, in the end, everyone has an opportunity to choose how we spend at least a portion of the minutes in our day. I could easily list benefits of both regular blogging and regular exercise, but the exercise list would be far longer, so it is a higher priority, along with work and family time.

The hardest part of an extended blog absence for me is getting started again. Just like when someone stops exercising: the motivation and familiarity has diminished. Also, when I'm not writing, I'm also not reading--even my favorite blogs (don't take it personally). But I'm kind of compulsive about not missing anything, so be prepared for a slew of comments from me on your older posts one of these days.

So while I don't intend to list all of my excuses for not blogging, I did want to share with you one reason that my already limited spare time has recently decreased further: I got a job.

But I already have a job, right? Yes, I run a business, which is definitely a lot of work. But what I'm talking about now is a real live jay oh bee JOB. I have to show up at a specific time to punch a clock, do what I'm told, and earn a meager hourly wage. Now why on earth would I go and do such a thing? Primarily, for research purposes. Basically, I'm spying on a business concept that interests me for the future. But please don't tell my boss.

That's where I've been working for the last three months. And I actually really love it. After 7+ years of being the boss, it takes a little getting used to not being "in charge." But truly, that is part of the joy of this fun little venture. If they'd let me, I would be happy to be paid in store credit, actually.

So now I have a part-time job, run a high-functioning business and a team of 8 employees, take care of a household, and be Mommy to a 3-year-old. Oh, and exercise almost every day. Thankfully my husband is very helpful and supportive. Between all that and family time and reading an awesome new book, I'll try to get back on here and form all the ideas I have for blog posts into something coherent.

Thanks for checking in!

What more do you want from me?

2010-02-06T20:52:00.000-08:00

Here's what happened at the grocery store last week. I loaded up a cart FULL of items I needed for a party we were throwing at Curves where over 100 guests were expected. Mainly my list consisted of large, heavy ingredients such as about 10 jugs each of cranberry juice, ginger ale, and lemon-lime soda. It was one of those annoying shopping trips where I didn't manage to find everything the first time through the aisles and so ended up zigging and zagging back through the store a couple of times pushing an overburdened and unwieldy cart before ultimately completing my mission. For the sake of convenience, I threw a handful of items needed for my own kitchen into the cart as well. Three-year-old Madelyn was being relatively tolerant and well-behaved considering the circumstances.

When I had finally collected everything on the list, I surveyed the checkout lines. They were all similar--about 3 people in each with relatively equal conveyor belt loads. So I just picked the closest one, and when space became available, began hoisting my goods onto the black rubber belt. Madelyn loves to help with that part.

My cart was more than halfway unloaded when the old lady behind me piped up.

"Isn't this the EXPRESS LANE?"

My heart dropped into my stomach as I looked up to see that little lighted square sign indicating that her words echoing in my head were indeed accurate.

I was mortified. And remorseful. Which should have been made apparent by my subsequent actions, in which I first apologized genuinely and profusely. Old lady's response to this was, "they may as well just take down the sign." I then explained my blunder to the cashier (who was still ringing up the groceries of the customer in front of me) and asked if I should move. When she assured me it was fine and she would take care of me, I still hesitated to finish unloading my cart, and offered--no, implored--the cranky lady to go ahead and check out before me, since she only had a handful of items and my transaction was going to be lengthy. For some inexplicable reason she refused and repeated her indignant opinion that they should remove the Express Lane sign, as it was clearly doing her no good AT ALL.

By this time there were a couple of other people behind her in the un-express lane, so it was with nearly tangible penitence that I laid down the black plastic order separator and added my "personal" groceries to the conveyor belt to be purchased separately from the business-related groceries. Now not only had I committed a cardinal sin of grocery check-out etiquette, but added insult to injury by having to make two distinct transactions. Hey, I had warned Ms. Cranky and tried to insist she go first. And by the way, my second purchase totally fit the criteria of the Express Lane, so there.

In spite of that fact, I completed my two misguided purchases feeling as though eyes were boring into the back of my head. Even the cashier, who had told me it wouldn't be a big deal, didn't offer any consolation. And my lovely daughter, who continued to be patient throughout this process, seemed to give everyone more of a reason to despise me--that mom who brings her annoying little brat to the store and gets in everyone's way making a mess and being too loud--rather than eliciting the usual pleasant, entertained responses.

I apologized in words. I apologized with my facial expressions. I all but pleaded with the old lady to check out ahead of me. What else could I or should I have done?

Bumper wisdom

2010-01-30T16:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I saw this bumper sticker on the back of a big truck:

THIS IS AMERICA.

SPEEK ENGLISH.

At first I chuckled, thinking that the misspelling was intentional. A bit of ironic humor. But then I determined that it was not a comedic bumper sticker.

And that is a sad, sad mark against English-speekers everywhere.

My daughter, the magician

2010-01-12T20:31:00.000-08:00

I would have thought this feat impossible, as a simple knowledge of solid matter, time, and space would suggest. But Madelyn either found a way to defy them all, or has mastered the fine art of performance illusion.

We had just returned from picking Madelyn up at preschool. I set her new Mickey Mouse plate on the kitchen table, and Madelyn climbed up into the stool to survey the various options portioned out between Mickey's big head and two little round ears.

Madelyn was fully dressed from her morning at school, including the Hello Kitty underwear she likes in spite of the fact that they really are too big. As she climbed up on her stool, I was reminded of the way they constantly stick out above her pants and look a little silly. But looking a little silly is low on my list of concerns while trying to navigate the treacherous parental waters with an opinionated 3-year-old.

While Madelyn began picking at her lunch, I turned around toward the counter to put the finishing touches on my own sandwich before joining her. My back was turned for approximately eight seconds before I heard Madelyn dismount her stool and shout, "My underwear came off!"

Incredulous, I turned around to see her running gleefully toward me, holding above her head the very underwear that I had noticed on her body, under her jeans, only moments before. I was speechless. What could I say? I would have laughed except I was busy trying to figure out how it could have possibly been accomplished! And then, how could I possibly not play THIS scene in my head?:

See the expression on Bart's face while Grampa reads his underwear? I can relate.

My assumption is that when she used the restroom by herself at school, her pants and underwear fell off her dangling feet. When she put them back on, she got her feet into the pants holes, but didn't line them up with the underwear holes, so her underwear was simply riding along behind her, tucked neatly inside her jeans. The error wasn't noticeable since this particular pair always looks that sloppy.

A baker's dozen books

2010-01-05T21:36:00.000-08:00

A year has now passed since the end of my literary hiatus. After the embarrassing realization that I could count on one hand the number of books I'd read in the previous five years (or more?), I grew determined to improve that figure in 2009. Not for bragging rights, I assure you, but because I began to recall the positive influence literature could have in my life if I allowed it. The rediscovered desire to read only solved part of the problem, however, as my careful research revealed that a genuine deficiency of spare time would place a burden on the ambition.

The year started off with great momentum, where I finished the four books in the Twilight series in about as many weeks. After that I averaged less than one book per month until July when I read three. The difference? I returned to fiction in July, beginning with my standout favorite novel of the year: The Host by Stephenie Meyer (yep, the author of Twilight, meaning the first five novels I've read in ages were all written by the same person). It is one of few books that I have to avoid thinking about because that mere mental imagery makes me want to read it again. I wanted to start over from the beginning the moment I read the final sentence. And I kind of did, because after finishing it I read the first few chapters aloud to my husband on our road trip.

I joined some girlfriends in a book club at the beginning of last year, but it was several months before the group's choice appealed to me enough to read it (actually it wasn't until my turn to suggest books). I can't afford not to be selective considering my spare moments are short and the list of titles I'd like to catch up on is long. My choice was Desperate Passage by Ethan Rarick, a chilling account of the Donner Party's tragic journey.

I finished a total of 13 books in 2009, an accomplishment I feel sheepishly proud of, if that is even possible. I started an additional three books, one of which I chose to set aside; the other two are still in progress. My list consists of nine works of fiction and four non-fiction. While I probably had more fun reading the novels, my more consequential reading experiences were certainly gleaned from some of the others.

My fiction list for 2009:

1. The Host by Stephenie Meyer. I just told you how I feel about this one.

2. Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer. It really was a funseries, and a great re-introduction to the wonderful world of being engrossed in a story to the point of distraction from more important tasks. You can read my musings about that here. I think my favorite in the saga is the first book--I'm such a sucker for crushes and exciting new love. Actually, if I can count Midnight Sun, Stephenie Meyer's partial draft of Twilight written from Edward's perspective, then that is my favorite.

3. Chasing Harry Winston by Lauren Wieseberger (author of The Devil Wears Prada). No grand, life-altering message to learn here. Just pure girly entertainment. And a bit of vicarious thrill.

4. The Familiar Stranger by Christina Berry. In spite of my lighthearted mockery of its religious theme, the story was quite interesting. Plus I got to meet the author, so that's a bonus.

5. Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay. The first half of this book was compelling and emotionally charged. After that it really lost momentum for me.

6. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. I was disappointed in the execution of what sounded to me like a very interesting concept: a young victim narrates from her Heaven the effects she witnesses on her friends, family, and community after her death. This book was more about characters than plot, but even in such an instance there must be a storyline to drive the reader forward. Shortly after I finished this book I saw a trailer for a movie based on it! I am anxious to see the film, because I imagine (and hope) it will do a better job of relating the very good elements of story that did exist here and there in the novel.

My non-fiction list for 2009:

1. Left to Tell by Immaculee Ilibagiza. Why was I unaware that an appallingly brutal massacre was taking place on the other side of the world about the time I was entering high school? It is difficult for me to even comprehend modern humans slaughtering their own friends and neighbors; I find it inexcusable. And yet this Immaculee, who survived the Rwandan holocaust for 3 months in a bathroom the size of a tiny closet with nine other women while her parents and brothers were viciously murdered, finds a way to look into the eyes of one of their guilt-tormented killers. And forgive him. You will not forget this story.

2. Desperate Passage by Ethan Rarick. I also knew literally nothing about the Donner Party--although at least their tribulations occurred before my lifetime. I was enormously intrigued by this story and felt that the author did a tremendous job of piecing the facts together in such a way that made his historical account read as smoothly as fiction, and be just as captivating. I even shed a tear or two. Perhaps this story should have accompanied our hours spent in the school computer lab playing "Oregon Trail."

3. Why We Buy by Paco Underhill. I like the description of this one that I wrote while only partway done reading it: "...a very entertaining bit of scientific analysis of our shopping culture. My dad randomly passed this book along to me, and since I was in need of a new book to take on a short trip, I accepted it despite the fact I wouldn't have ever chosen it off a shelf. Probably because I would have assumed the same as my friend who, upon seeing the title, thought it was a book about (and condemning, I presume she meant) our societal "consumerism." Such a finger-wagging at capitalism would never interest me, but Why We Buy could be considered the antithesis to such a book: written by a man who runs a company which covertly observes and analyzes minuscule movements and reactions of shopping humans, with the goal of aiding merchants in the quest to provide a more shopper-friendly (and therefore more profitable) store environment."

4. Unconditional Parenting by Alfie Kohn. Okay, I bought this book for my husband as a Father's Day gift during my pregnancy. The theories described on the book jacket sounded a lot like the way Gary and I intended to parent. I finally got around to actually reading the book when our daughter was two. A few concepts resonated with me. For example, preserving the relationship between the parent and child should always take priority--even in matters of discipline. But as an entire parenting methodology, I disagreed on many more points. I actually know a few people who disciples of this practice, and I don't admire the results.

So there you have it! Please let me know if you've read any of these books. Or if you decide to check one out, I'd love to hear your feedback afterward! We'll see if my 2010 list is also short enough to include all in a single post...

Six favorite movies of 2009

2010-01-04T17:41:00.000-08:00

Just like on last year's list, some of these movies were not released in 2009, but I mostly watch movies through Netflix, so I get them when I get them. It's like Christmas in the mailbox every few days, I love it! In compiling my list of favorites, I discovered that in 2009 I only watched around 40 movies, compared with around 60 movies in 2008. Interesting.

My top six movies watched in 2009:

1. SEVEN POUNDS: This tale of personal redemption starring Will Smith will leave you wiping tears of disbelief.

2. TAKING CHANCE: Based on true events, Kevin Bacon portrays a USMC Lt. Col. who unwittingly ends up accompanying the body of 19-year-old Chance Phelps, a soldier whom he did not know, back to his family. The movie follows his journey and subtly conveys a message of hope and patriotism that still exists across the country. I was especially humbled by the representation (said to be accurate by real-life Marines) of solemn ritual surrounding each step of the young man's return home. It was a beautiful movie; unfortunately not released in theaters.

3. BURN AFTER READING: Unpredictable. Hilarious. Thought-provoking. It's one of my favorite experiences to start a movie without a clue about the story, and then love every minute of it. Brad Pitt's character was perfect.

4. 500 DAYS OF SUMMER: The story elements were so real and vivid, but captured very creatively. I love me a uniquely portrayed story, and this one had the jumping forward and back in the relationship (tracked by number of days), the random, totally relateable musical outbreak, and the duality of expectations vs. actual events displayed simultaneously in one scene.

5. RUN, FATBOY, RUN: Quirky and hilarious tale of triumph. These independent type films are a crap-shoot, but this one goes on the 'worth it' list. Also on that list from this year are Lars and the Real Girl and Henry Poole Is Here, although they were not as outwardly funny as this one.
6. FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL: The romantic comedy usually follows a certain predictable pattern, but I found this particular movie to be fresh and distinctive. I guess male frontal nudity will do that, but the context allows it to remain goofy rather than obscene. It's just Jason Segel anyway. Ew. I'd put The Proposal and He's Just NOT That Into You next on my list for excellent rom-coms of the year.
I hope you'll watch some and let me know what you think!

A very Diznee Christmas

2009-12-22T15:31:00.000-08:00

I must preface the forthcoming disparagement of a quaint, local holiday tradition with this disclaimer: My family enjoyed meandering along the wooded paths of Storybook Lane viewing hundreds of painted cutouts of (mostly) beloved storybook characters. It is clear that this family-friendly exhibition on a resident's personal property is the result of years of hard work and passion, and the fact that it is offered to the community for free is greatly appreciated. I happened to find the occasional bit of unintended humor along the way, and would like to share it with like-minded friends. But I mean no disrespect.

It was our first visit to "Storybook Lane," which is presented bi-annually by three generations of a local family at their estate. I'd heard about it. I'd read an archived newspaper article about it. But I did not know entirely what to expect. My imagination conjured up something like a very amateur Enchanted Forest (please tell me you know what I'm talking about), and that is a fairly apt description of what we found.

The very first display made me worrying about what we'd find by venturing further. That's really not a bad rendition of Ms. DeVille. But look closely at her name on the sign.

I worried that we'd also find "Mickeney Mouse" and "Ronald Ruck" as attempted legal protection, but since the rest of the characters were clearly labeled with their Disney-given names, it became apparent that somebody simply misspelled "Cruella."

The army of mechanical snowmen was just a little too creepy for my taste.

Whoa, slow down! Carousel on fast-forward.

Here's Robin Hood hunting down his Thanksgiving turkey. Or Bambi and friends. Or some of the 101 Dalmations. Look out, cute little animals!

I am so confused. The one character without a name tag looks suspiciously like Harry Potter ("or," as Gary dared to say, "his lesbian sister"). The glasses, the broom, he's the famous wizard, right? But "Harry" is navigating some sort of Christmas bubble helicopter, which was labeled as the Santa Express or something. Now, I didn't actually read all those books, so maybe I'm missing something when I say, "Huh?"

This video gives a nice representation of one of the more elaborate displays. You can see that this has been a labor of love, and I admire and appreciate that. A little WD-40 might make the experience slightly more magical, though.

Slow (comma) children present

2009-12-18T16:56:00.000-08:00

I have some issues with School Zones.

First of all, why are the circumstances under which the Speed limit is reduced to 20 MPH different for each school? When children are present. School days 7am to 5pm. When flashing. When the third moon of Jupiter is in its second phase.

I like the flashing yellow light because it does not require me to back up and re-read the sign and there is no way to misinterpret that boldly blinking orb.

On the other hand, does "when children are present" encompass only the times when you can physically see children, or is that supposed to mean "during times of the day when children could possibly be in the vicinity of this school"?

And the sign specifying hours on school days doesn't give me the break from a snail's pace on any teacher work day I'm not aware of.

Secondly, I find that being forced to drive 20 miles per hour only gives a false sense of security. At that dreadfully slow speed, I become easily entranced with a bird flitting about in the soccer field or a leaf caught mercilessly under my windshield wiper. The world becomes distracting when I'm not moving fast enough to require focus on the road.

But here's the biggest concern I have by far. It's similar to the first one, regarding a lack of consistency. But rather than circumstances, this is about existence. In my town, there is a giant upper-elementary school (it looks big enough to be a high school but has only 4th and 5th graders enrolled) that boasts a half-mile school zone, coordinated by lovely flashing lights at both ends. I miss this one as long as I'm on time getting Madelyn to school, but have to drive through it on my way home. I might see one or two children along that half-mile route on a good day, and the actual school building is at least 50 yards away from the road. In addition, the entire campus is enclosed by a chain link fence, meaning that once on the property, students are only in danger of being struck by a vehicle in the parking lot.

Several blocks away is the relatively new "Community School." This is a "free public charter school" in our district, which means it's paid for by taxes but runs more like a hippie-ish private school (and I mean that in a good way). The school is housed in a quaint commercial building along one of the "downtown" streets of our small city. Every morning on my way home from dropping Madelyn off, I drive along the two-lane, major one-way street in front of the Community School. And every morning I see at least a dozen children on the sidewalks around the building, parking their bikes in front, or being escorted across the street by a parent. I don't think this school even has a parking lot to speak of, and I highly doubt there is bus service, so parents pull into street parking spaces and shuffle their kids across to school if the children don't just walk there.

There is no school zone for the Community School. Not one sign indicating to reduce speed for these particular students. The front door of the school is literally a stone's throw from the cars passing by. So why doesn't the Community School get a School Zone when the safety of those children is clearly much more compromised due to its proximity to the street?

I really don't think that School Zones magically create a safe environment. I even admitted that I think in some ways only a false sense of protection is achieved. But it seems like if these zones are going to exist, it should be consistent, or if anything, they should only be enforced where danger from nearby traffic truly does exist!

At least Oregon repealed that crazy law we briefly had to endure which mandated School Zones be in effect "at all times." Twenty miles per hour, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Just in case there are some kids having a cram session on the playground at 2am on Sunday night, you know. I'll be happy with my flashing yellow lights, thank you.

Latest 'oh crap' moment

2009-12-15T14:37:00.000-08:00

You know those moments where life is going along pleasant as pie and then you see something, remember something, or reach for something and everything suddenly changes? Do you ever have those "oh crap!" moments?

My most recent occurred Sunday night when I was gathering my family's things and preparing to leave my brother's house toward the end of a birthday party for my daughter and two nieces. It had been a busy day and a very fun party, and I was looking forward to getting home, with a 30-minute drive home still ahead. We piled Madelyn's newly unwrapped presents in a box and leftover cake in another. Coats had been donned and Madelyn was graciously saying goodbye to the family members that still remained.

The moment hit me specifically as I braced myself against the impending chill to take an armful of stuff out to the car before laying down the final "it's time to go" ultimatum. I went for my keys, and instantaneously recalled where I had put them: inside the blue bag I brought for my husband containing a change of clothes since he had to join us there directly from work. After a long day of said work, he left the party about an hour earlier than we, and--you guessed it--took the bag home with him.

OH CRAP.

A quick glance around the room allowed that distinct probability to fuse its way into reality. I made the dreadful call to my exhausted husband, who had already made the 30-minute drive home: "remember when I told you I was putting the keys in that blue bag?" The question was at first met with aggravated silence, understandably.

Now, my sister lives near me, so perhaps Madelyn and I could have ridden home with her family and returned to get my truck the next day. I had even left it unlocked, so having a carseat for Madelyn would not be a problem. One minor detail prevented this reasonable solution, however. I had chosen to park in my brother's narrow driveway directly behind his carpet cleaning van--and he had jobs scheduled early the next morning.

We also considered a convoluted plan of riding with my parents to the extra car they had left at their church, then having my mom take me to meet Gary partway and get the keys from him. But when we realized that either my mom or Gary would have to drive me all the way back to my brother's house anyway, it became obvious that having Gary just bring me the keys was the simplest, least burdensome solution under the circumstances.

Such a bummer. Mostly for Gary, unfortunately, since he had to leave home and spend an extra hour driving, whereas I (despite my eagerness to get home) was able to enjoy a few more minutes visiting with my brother, and Madelyn got to play with her cousin's new Tinkerbell dress-up dolls.

What are your memorable "oh crap" moments?

Flashback Friday: Alaska

2009-12-11T22:44:00.000-08:00

We've done the proposal, the bachelorette party, some wedding photos and reflections, so now on to the honeymoon!

I haven't mentioned much about our wedding theme: Winter in July. You may have noticed some elements of it in the pictures, but it actually holds quite a bit of significance. To add another layer, we chose to take the Alaska Inside Passage cruise for our honeymoon. Gary is not a lover of tropical destinations, but we're both wild about outdoor adventures, so this was a great choice. Here are some random memories and experiences from our trip.

1-Dinner guests
On this Holland America cruise, we were assigned a dinner time, and a dinner table in the main restaurant. On the first night, when we were guided to our table set for six, I was slightly disappointed. Why would they seat the honeymooning couple (yes, they were aware) with a group of strangers?

As it turned out, our dinners with these two Texas Ranch couples were a highlight of the whole vacation. They were a lot of fun, and let's face it: no matter how much you love your spouse, when you have 7 days straight to spend together, occasionally enjoying the added company of others is welcome.

2-Seasick
I used to scoff at people who feared getting seasick on a cruise--I mean those ships are so huge compared to waves, right? Our first day of sailing was spent in the open Pacific Ocean along the western coast of Canada, before reaching the calm Inside Passage. I could not believe the tempestuous rocking and rolling we experienced that day and the first night. I went to one of the sundry shops and purchased some Bonine tablets for motion sickness. They cost $6.99, which I know because I just looked at the box that is still hanging out in my medicine cabinet since I only needed them that one day. Later that same day I told someone--probably one of our new rancher friends at the dinner table--about picking those up. I was then swiftly informed that those tablets are available at the concierge desk for free. FREE. This brings up two pertinent questions: 1) Why do they even stock them in the store then? 2) Why didn't the cashier tell me that I could get them for free by stumbling a few more feet down the hall? I remember distinctly waking up in the middle of the night feeling as though I were riding inside a front loading washing machine.

3-Once in a lifetime opportunity, missed
We saw many beautiful glaciers on our cruise and learned a great deal about them too. Some lucky people get to witness glacial calving, where huge pieces of the ice break off into the water. Gary was one of those people, but due to a poorly-timed restroom break, I was not. Thankfully, he knows how to use a camera.

Can you see the big chunk breaking off?

Kersplash!

4-Deceiving distance

I found it fascinating to comprehend that Johns Hopkins Glacier is about 8 miles from our cruise ship as pictured below. Perspective is strange.

5-Soaring

I couldn't be more pleased with each of our choices of excursions in port. In Juneau, after riding the Mt. Roberts Tramway up a mountain and taking a short hike, we boarded a float plane for a bird's eye view of some amazing scenery, including glacial formations.

I had no idea glaciers were so dirty. The ice at the forefront originated from snow that fell in the mountains 75 to 200 years ago.

This looks like meringue.

You must believe me on this one: all three of the colors around the trees in the above photograph are water. So close to one another, and yet all so different.

By the way, did you know that Juneau can only be accessed by plane or boat? I didn't know that before we went there. Although debate surrounds the current project to build a highway connecting Juneau to the Alaskan road system.

6-Bear pee delight

The float plane delivered us to historic Taku Lodge for an amazing Alaskan salmon feast. After dinner we had the distinct pleasure of witnessing a black bear climb atop the grill which had prepared our feast, lick it clean, and pee all over it.

Yum.

7-Bike, hike, kayak

A great way to get off the beaten path and experience some natural parts of Sitka that the less adventurous tourists won't see.

Kayaking from Ketchikan, we were lucky to spot a few bald eagles catching prey on the rocky shore.

This trip truly was incredible. Gary and I agreed, however, that one day we must tour Alaska in our own vehicle so that we can see more and take everything in at our own pace--as opposed to that of the sailing schedule. I would certainly recommend an Alaskan cruise as well, though. It's a great way to see a lot in a short amount of time.

You're getting warmer...

2009-12-09T22:07:00.000-08:00

While leaders of the global warming pack arrive in Copenhagen by way of 140 private jets and 1200 limousines, some of us are freezing our butts off.

In Portland this morning, a 37-year-old low temperature record was broken when the mercury dropped to a chilly twelve degrees. I can't go outside without a hat and gloves. It warmed up to 25 degrees during my run yesterday, and I have to say the feeling of my legs being warm on the inside and numb on the outside was uncomfortably eerie.

In a city where snowfall is rare, flurries on Friday set a new record for early snowfall in Houston. The previous record for early snow on December 10 was set in 1944 and matched last year.

Baby, it's cold outside. So as long as Climategate's carbon footprint doesn't tip the scales, I think the (thriving) polar bears are going to be okay.

You can't argue with a bargain

2009-12-06T21:41:00.000-08:00

This place is going to give Dollar Tree a run for their money. Or is it?

A couple of months ago I noticed a new store open up on Main Street in my quaint little town. Big yellow signs proclaim in red lettering that it is called Mia's Dollar Plus Store. Sounds to me like the kind of place that would be fun to check out, but not a shopping destination I'd find myself ever requiring. So it took me until last night, after sitting on the curb across from Mia's Dollar Plus watching our town's Holiday Light Parade, that I had the opportunity to venture inside.

The interior of the store was rather dim and smelled musty. I quickly realized that this operation was more like the Viet-Thai Food Market that used to be next door to our Curves than a traditional chain discount store. Just for fun, I wandered the aisles, chuckling inconspicuously a number of times as I went.

Two displays in particular, however, had me struggling to maintain a composed facade. Thankfully I was prepared with my camera and the only worker in the store was hidden behind stacks of knick-knacks for sale at the checkout counter and couldn't see me snapping photographic mockery down the narrow aisle.

There were two very odd sealed packages of diapers on the top rack--certainly not a local brand, but just because they aren't Huggies or Pampers doesn't mean there's anything wrong with them, right? But below that...bundles of diapers wrapped in rubber bands. On the front of each is a post-it note on which is written either a 7 or an L--they went both directions. These are for sale. You may pay money at a store for a handful of diapers wrapped in a rubber band.

A little further down the same aisle were pantyliners, and just above those, logically, were the VHS tapes. Actually the shelf of videocassettes stretched down the entire row above other such necessities found near diapers as flashlights, shoe polish, and keychains. But these aren't just any videos. They are used, and the cardboard jackets (on those lucky enough to still have one) are in poor repair. I mean, it's not like you can buy new VHS tapes anywhere these days, but the concept of part store/part garage sale is foreign to me.

In summary, if you are in need of just a few diapers or an instructional video on Intermediate Golf for your VCR, give me a call and I'll totally hook you up.

Flashback Friday: Perfectly imperfect wedding

2009-12-04T19:03:00.000-08:00

It's a good thing that throughout my wedding day I was in a state of bliss. I believed the entire experience was a bride's dream come true: the perfect wedding.

In the days and weeks and years that have passed since Gary and I were married on July 15, 2005, I have periodically contemplated an array of minor regrets. I wonder if this is a common post-bridal-bliss phenomenon. It's probably a natural thought process following any once-in-a-lifetime type of event (even couples who eventually divorce presumably view their wedding day in those terms, right?). Most brides get only one dress. One cake. One ring. One suite of bridesmaid dresses. One chance to make the perfect choices and to execute each one perfectly.

So when that one day you've laboriously planned for over many exciting months is suddenly over, is it common for the analysis to begin, and little disappointments that weren't there on the Big Day to settle? Especially if a gal were to keep her nose in bridal magazines or be forced to attend wedding after wedding for friends and family members--finding new and better options, seeing fresh ideas and styles as your own choices are left in an era behind, and being reminded of how things could have been done--could potentially exacerbate all this nuptial mourning nonsense.

What I've described does not reflect my own experience to any disturbing degree. But I have spoken to married women who make me wonder about the universality of longing to re-do at least certain aspects of such a treasured, momentous occasion as our own wedding. If nothing else, the photos I've seen from early nineties' weddings might be enough to confirm the suspicion.

My nearly-perfect wedding began for me the night before. After Gary and I hosted our immediate family members at a dinner celebration at the restaurant where we met when both employed there, I drove with my mother and my only sister to the bed and breakfast in the foothills of Mt. Hood where I would be married. This girls' night together chatting and giggling and squeezing together into a huge king bed was the perfect conclusion for my un-married life. The next morning we were elegantly served the most delicious German Pancakes (a first for me) topped with raspberries picked fresh from the garden outside our log cabin. YUM.

We woke up to this day:

Yeah, that's where I got married. NO regrets there! Which was a close call, because we overcame distinct opposition to the idea of requesting that guests travel over an hour from Portland to attend. I am so glad we held strong to our conviction on this decision, because this venue is one of the most memorable and special aspects of our wedding, and the people who made the effort to attend are the ones who matter most.

Also perfect: my wedding dress.

I had no intentions of selecting a strapless gown; it isn't the most flattering style on my broad shoulders. This dress really didn't fit the vague idea I was concocting of the perfect dress, but when I tried it on, it literally became the embodiment of my perfect dress. I love the lace-up back. I love the intricate beading and silver-threaded leaf design. I love the organza overlay. It made me feel so beautiful.

We were very pleased with our photographer--actually we got two for the price of one because they were instructing a new guy on the team. So there were two cameras shooting most of the time, which is why we also got a few precious shots of our actual photographer:

Brian took our engagement photos in NE Portland too, and he was super easy to work with, really fun, and took excellent photos.

The last piece of my wedding puzzle that I've remained especially happy about is serenading my new husband.

My very talented mother accompanied me singing "The Nearness of You" by Norah Jones. I'll never forget that my older brother Bryan told me he had a hard time determining whether I was actually singing or lip-syncing to a professional recording, and also that it isn't right for his sister to sing "like that." It's a fairly sultry song.

Even these points of near-perfection hit their snags. The weather was beautiful, but in Columbia River Gorge style, turned windy. My dress didn't fit quite as well after 8 hours, so the evening photos feature a hefty portion of armpit fat spilling over the top. That might be the absolute worst part, but just in case I'll go ahead and describe a few more things I've secretly wished could have been different. I hope it is clear that these are minor blemishes to an otherwise joyful celebration of love.

It's a fact that disappointment always results from unmet expectations. I loved every bit of my wedding while I was experiencing it, but revisiting pictures and memories offers the unfortunate perspective to unwittingly compare reality to the fantasy I thought I was living.

My hair ended up far too perfectly curled, when what I wanted was the loose, messy look from this magazine ad:

I actually love our unique cake, and knew we wouldn't get exactly the same look we fell in love with in a magazine. It was just an inspiration photo, after all. Hopefully not tragic enough to be worthy of submission to the glorious cakewrecks.com, but kind of fun to see the departure.

We planned a butterfly release for the grand finale of our ceremony, only it was more comical than grand, since the butterflies struggled to fly away. It was more of a butterfly "drop." You can see a few insects fluttering about, plenty on the ground, and Gary trying to shake the rest out of the box.

We visited Mt. Hood Bed and Breakfast on our 2nd anniversary, and the owners told us that the Monarchs and Painted Ladies enjoying their flowers were the spawn of our wedding release. They claimed to enjoy the beautiful mark we left behind.

So far I've listed the petty little shortfalls of expectation, unimportant in the grand scheme of a beautiful wedding. But not all of my regrets are so trivial. For example, like probably any number of newlyweds, I wish we had visited more with our guests throughout the evening. But that just comes with the territory I think, and considering we didn't have a reception line, I guess it's pretty good that I at least greeted just about everybody there.

We ended up having to arrange for an alternate officiant with very little notice. Originally a dear friend of mine was to officiate the ceremony, but with less than two weeks to spare, she abandoned us. While each detail of our wedding and reception were carefully orchestrated, the all-important individual who would do the honors of solemnizing our union suddenly became a matter subject to availability rather than preference. The woman we found (with the unfailing assistance of our amazing wedding coordinator) was fine, but didn't necessarily exemplify our ultimate match. Also, she lost her place in her cue cards once, resulting in an awkward few moments when she repeated herself and then struggled to regain composure and continue from the right spot. We did have two beautiful readings offered by Angie, Gary's best friend from high school, and my sister, Diana. We both got a little choked up reading our wedding vows, and our huskies presented the wedding rings, led up the aisle by their breeder, with whom we had become good friends.

It might sound a little silly, but if I was offered a chance to change only one thing about my wedding day, after seriously considering having someone tell me my armpit fat was spilling, I would probably ultimately decide to go back and make sure my mother watched our first dance. I don't know where she was, but somehow my mom missed that whole performance. And I say 'performance' because Gary and I took lessons and had an entire dance choreographed to Michael Buble's "Moondance." Yes, I know that's really cheesy, but we had a lot of fun at our lessons. Here is the victory pose after we pulled it off:

So maybe my wedding wasn't perfect. But the entire day I thought that it was. That's what being in love feels like.

The stranger side of Vegas

2009-12-01T22:55:00.000-08:00

Alright, alright. Las Vegas is kind of a strange place any way you look at it.

At least I'm not aware of any other city where you can order a drink in one building and carry the glass with you outside and into the mall across the street and no one cares about the missing glass or the public drunkenness. And come to think of it, where else are you better off keeping your eyes off the sidewalk, which is littered with frighteningly large, star-nippled boobs (pictures of them, that is).

Despite all that, I will now showcase a few of the strangest things we encountered in this interesting city when we visited during Thanksgiving week--things you won't see on any tourist website.

The first is easily my favorite, and I am deeply grateful that Wiyaka had her camera along on our exciting trip to Albertson's, because there is no way I could possibly describe this contraption to you:

Imagine with me, if you will. You pull out a cart from the row outside the building. You push the cart through the sliding-door entrance and come face to face with this chrome barricade. No helpful explanatory signage can be found, but it is clear that the only way to enter the store is to send your cart through the squarish opening with protective top bars and swinging metal gates while you enter through the separate turnstiles to retrieve it from the other side.

What the what?

Go back. At first glance it would seem that this is an elaborate contrivance designed to foil would-be cart-stealers. But remember, you got that cart from outside in the parking lot, and there is no similar apparatus keeping you from leaving the store after paying.

And this, my friends, is the moment in which I suddenly comprehend its purpose. "After paying." The cart can come in that gate but not out of it, and there is a horizontal bar at diaphragm height over what would be the turnstile exit. Shoplifting prevention, of course. The only way out is through the checkout lines and back to that same door, on the other side of the gate. Ah. Still weird though, don't you think?

What might make it more strange is that when we asked the grocery bagging lady about it, she said, "In all the years I've worked here, I've never figured out what that's for." Shouldn't somebody explain it to her? Of course, once I put my mind to it, I figured it out, so maybe they just assume it's obvious.

Now that I understand the purpose of that peculiar device, it might not be my favorite anymore. On to the fancy-pants Japanese tourist!

I had to engage in a serious stealth operation to nonchalantly take this picture. But really, wearing pants like that is only asking to be photographed by strangers, so the guy probably would have posed if I'd asked him. And I'd wager a Jackson he'd flash the peace sign for my camera too.

I can't believe we settled for our hotel pool when we could have done this:

A healthy respect for personal property has kept me from ever conceiving of the idea that a person could jump right into the Bellagio fountain if he/she were wont to (read: drunk enough). Now that I've seen it with my own eyes, I realize it wouldn't be far-fetched to wonder if this large pool falls victim to unruly punks on a semi-regular basis. A quick search on youtube confirms that this man and his Heineken aren't the first to have braved the waters. Except I didn't find any videos of brave swimmers getting showered--they all took less-risky dips when the waters were calm.

I would think, in this situation, there would be a crowd of Crazy Guy's friends cheering him on and laughing in disbelief from the bridge. But there was no one. Who would do this but to answer a dare or impress his peers? When the song was over and Hotel Security had yet to make their appearance to escort him out, this dude floated around awkwardly for a minute, then stood up and wandered pathetically toward dry land.

This daring feat could have been the crown jewel of any man's Vegas experience. Instead, it was kind of sad.

So yes, Las Vegas is strange. But I do think it is pretty impressive that I can travel a mere 1,000 miles from home and see the Statue of Liberty, a Great Pyramid, the canals of Venice, the Eiffel Tower, and a medieval castle within walking distance of one another. Forget traveling overseas, just go to Vegas!

Las Vegas with toddlers

2009-11-29T15:42:00.000-08:00

We didn't really intend to take our little one to Las Vegas. Some stars aligned to allow us to take a quick, inexpensive getaway when my husband would miss very little work, and we decided to make this adventure a family affair.

First we looked into Disneyland, but soon realized that even with our accumulation of various points and miles (the primary reason for taking this trip in the first place), we would be forced to spend more than we were comfortable with for a seriously sub-par vacation. The alternate choices that fit our criteria were somewhat limited, thus we ended up settling on Las Vegas as the best option. We had enough points for a two-bedroom suite and were very happy to find a good friend who was able to join us with her two children as well.

There was a period of about 6 of the last 10 years during which the city of Las Vegas toiled to make its image more "family-friendly." Casinos added roller coasters and arcades, and much of the marketing imagery tended to resemble Summer Camp more than Sin City. People began to change their mindsets to view Vegas as a place with perfectly acceptable entertainment for the whole family. Whatever the reasons for forming this respectable image, it seems that the entities who "run" Las Vegas have realized the futility of such an effort.

This trip was my 8th visit to Las Vegas, but my first bringing along an actual child. I probably wouldn't have noticed the attitude shift if it weren't for the results of my pre-departure search for child-friendly activities in the vicinity. I came across a legitimate article that reluctantly provided ideas for family fun on the Strip after a not-too-subtle announcement that Vegas is not a place for children. Okay, I suppose that is generally a true statement, and has been all along.

Other than the constant construction of new and more scintillating hotel/ casinos, not much has actually changed in the city over the past decade. By this I mean that even when Vegas was allegedly campaigning for recognition as a family-oriented place, the cabs still featured scantily-clad showgirls, smoking was still allowed everywhere, and a person could still expect to be accosted by dozens of pornographic flyers walking down the sidewalk after 4pm. So perhaps it was an errantly perpetuated myth that Vegas ever wanted to cater to families (those arcades were for the grown-ups...yeah). My more likely guess is that either casinos lost a lot of money having too many people visit but not gamble, or the loyal, typical Strip-crowd advocated against the unwelcome wholesomeness.

At any rate, only once were we outwardly condemned for the presence of our children. This was by a man snapping call-girl cards at people along the sidewalk, who asked (rhetorically, I'm sure) why we would bring our family to a place we didn't like. By which I assume he referred to our polite declination of his lewd advertisement. The rest of the time we were generally left alone, save the occasional raised eyebrow.

I believe we did a mighty good job of finding the perfect ways to enjoy Las Vegas with children. Our entourage consisted of three adults, two around-3-year-olds, and one 3-month old. You probably won't be too surprised to learn that this is the ONLY picture I have of all six of us, out of around 300 pictures.

Kristen, Madelyn, Gary, Lilly, Kylah, Wiyaka

Venetian ~ Las Vegas

If anyone else is searching for activities for kids in Las Vegas, here are some ideas:

Shark Reef Aquarium at Mandalay Bay

I expected more sharks, actually. A really nice aquarium, kind of expensive, but the kids got in free.

Gondola Ride at The Venetian

A peaceful break (except for overhead aircraft, but you can also choose an indoor ride if you prefer the sounds of shopping), and perfect for my little one who loves water and boats. There is a state-regulated four-bodies-per-boat maximum regardless of age, so consider how you can divide your group.

Popvich Comedy Pet Theatre

We kind of stumbled upon information about this little show, and it turned out to be a highlight of the trip. We worried about the attention span of preschoolers, but it was highly entertaining for all ages from start to finish.

Bellagio Water Show and Botanical Gardens

The water show is obviously a must-see no matter your age. I've never missed it on any trip--except I'm not sure it existed when I first visited as a teenager (with my family).

But you should also venture inside the grand Bellagio hotel and check out the amazing Botanical Gardens.

The only thing we did that I wouldn't recommend for children is a visit to the Fremont Street Experience. I've visited Fremont Street a couple of times before and always been underwhelmed, but I did think that the overhead light show would entertain the wee ones. To my disappointment, they have replaced the 1.9 billion lightbulbs with an LED light system. This "upgrade" trades the intrigue of a coordinated light show for all the excitement of a really huge television screen. And to top that off, the "show" was basically a giant (literally) advertisement for Vegas: bikini girls, martinis, poker chips, etc. all glamorized and set to hip music. Every time I leave Fremont Street I determine that I have no reason to ever return there, but this time I mean it!

But we did get to be up on the largest TV screen in the world, so that was pretty cool.

It was challenging being in such a busy place with such small children and an equal child to adult ratio. They were all young enough not to be affected by the scandalous surroundings, and could be entertained by something as simple as an escalator. Getting around took triple the normal allotted time because we would frequently have to stop to let one child out of a stroller, then later the other one in. Pick up a dropped toy. Find a bathroom and go through that whole process. Stop and explain the importance of holding hands when crossing the street. Change a diaper. Calm a stolen-toy induced tantrum. Ride the escalator an extra time just for fun. But everybody got a night out child-free while one parent stayed in the room with the sleeping kids.We managed to have a really good time in spite of the inherent obstacles of our situation.

Flashback Friday: Winter in July, in photos

2009-11-27T22:13:00.000-08:00

Naturally, what comes next in the progression of personal history? I hope to explore some thoughts about our wedding in a subsequent Flashback Friday, but for today I bring you a photographic journey through my wedding day. I intentionally selected representations of details rather than people for this particular concept.

live butterfly release

ring bearers

thank-you gifts for guests

Mount Hood Bed & Breakfast

July 15, 2005

Seriously, it's time to fold laundry

2009-11-21T01:34:00.000-08:00

Sometimes there simply are not enough hours in the day.

Careful when you attempt find that favorite pair of sweatpants in there...you never know when it's all going to topple.

Just when I might have considered folding the clean clothes, the dirty hampers would begin to overflow so I'd decide to do another three loads first, and then be too busy to get back to folding the now multiplied pile. This happened three times, so what you see is approximately 11 loads of laundry, minus the items already desperately fished out. If it doesn't seem like it could be 11 loads, let me assure you my shirts are hopelessly wrinkled from how tightly they were packed in there, and also, the desperate digging grew increasingly frequent in the final days.

Great. Now where are we going to sleep?

Flashback Friday: Devilish bride-to-be

2009-11-20T10:21:00.000-08:00

Beginning with the previous installment, I've begun a sort of "personal history" series of Flashback Fridays. After the surprise Las Vegas proposal, naturally the next chapter in this series is my bachelorette party.

I think that my own is the only "real" bachelorette party that I've ever been privileged to attend. In my early twenties, many of my friends wouldn't exactly be drawn to such risque night-time activities, and those who would be weren't getting married at the time.

My friends Lana and Melinda planned quite the wild party to celebrate my upcoming nuptials (or mourn the end of my life as a swinging single, perhaps). I was kept in the dark about all the details in advance; the only thing I knew was that we were all to wear red dresses.

Crazy Bachelorette Party in Seven Easy Steps:

Step 1: Identify. I arrived at Lana's house to discover that--of course--the bride is the only one in red, everyone else is dressed in black. Sweet.

Step 2: Accessorize. Everyone applied bachelorette-themed temp tattoos and shimmering body lotion. The bride was donned with a shiny bachelorette sash and "horny" bridal veil which perfectly matched the solitary red dress.

Step 3: Bestow. What would a bachelorette party be without wacky, sexy gifts such as Sizzling Body Candy and glow-in-the-dark bedroom toys?

There were also "Dick Tax" mints, X-rated fortune cookies, and many more hilarious items including this penis shot glass (which has since been passed along to another now-married friend).

Step 4: Ride. All the girls piled into a stretch limo with a bottle of champagne and headed downtown. Our chauffer was very nice, if perhaps a little too excited about our general frivolity. Bordering on creepy.

Step 5: Scavenge. I received instructions to complete all the items on the following list in order to win "the hottest bachelorette party ever!"

Yes, I completed them all. No, I did not enter the men's restroom--I had the bouncer at Slaughter's help me out with that one. Yes, I saw some things on overhead televisions at that gay bar that I'd just as soon have not. No, I do not remember the erotic story and wouldn't retell it here anyway. Yes, Rico is an exotic dancer, and I totally snapped his thong.

Step 6: Wonder. Darcelle XV: World famous female impersonators. It's something you must experience to fully appreciate. And in actuality, there isn't any wondering to do. It's not a subtle transformation for "ladies" like Darcelle, pictured here in all her rotund glory.

Step 7: Get crazy. At Darcelle's, the evening starts with innocuous transgendered fun, then it gets a little racier as the evening progresses. I'll leave it at that.

Stuff.

Cuff.

All of the bachelorettes received a cassette tape (this was only 4.5 years ago, so what the--?) of our pre-show interviews with Darcelle outside the theatre. I do not know that girl that I'm half-hugging. Just a fellow bride-to-be having a crazy time out with girlfriends.

Did you have a bachelorette party? What was it like?

We're ALL winners

2009-11-18T12:20:00.000-08:00

It was brought to my attention that I left you all on the edge of your seats about this year's Curves Franchisee of the Year Award. My sincerest apologies.

First let us remember my very first Curves International Convention in November 2003. I had been a Curves franchisee for one whole year, managing our two wildly successful clubs. Business was booming so much at that time that we even naively brought 3 of our employees to Las Vegas with us and rented a nice vacation home. Don't get me wrong, we had a tremendously fun time together dressing in rented saloon girl costumes for the Costume Party and getting piercings. But we learned that Convention is really designed for owners and managers, not employees who may only work for you a few months longer.

Kristen, Josie, Wiyaka, Barbara Nov. 2003

But it was at this first Convention Awards Banquet that I witnessed the bestowal of Franchisee of the Year awards and silently vowed to earn one someday. The following year, at the urging of some enthusiastic employees, I went ahead and submitted an application to be considered for a Franchisee of the Year.

Barbara, Kristen, Diana Nov. 2004

Back in Las Vegas in 2004, our company (which now owned 3 Curves clubs) received the Silver Franchisee of the Year Award for the Western United States Region. I believe there were 5 regions in the United States at the time, and around 8,000 Curves locations in total. This same year my sweetheart surprised me by secretly flying to Las Vegas and proposing to me on stage in front of the whole weepy crowd. That entire experience is a highlight of my entire Curves career, as you might easily assume. I never expected to receive another Franchisee of the Year Award, partly because I figured they don't repeat winners in the interest of fairness, but mainly because since that time, our business has faced a number of challenges.

But I decided to fill out the extensive award application, partly as an exercise for me to focus on the positive things we are doing right and to consider what we have done to overcome our business challenges. Curves has suffered as a whole due to various far-reaching influences, not the least of which is the economic recession, so I knew that the company would be looking for owners who found ways to "weather the storm." When my nomination was completed, I realized that no matter what, we had reason to be proud of our accomplishments.

I was notified by phone a couple of weeks prior to Convention that we had been selected as one of the top 3 franchisees in our region and would be receiving either a Gold, Silver, or Bronze award. Intermittently during Convention, the Projection Screens featured franchisees telling their stories of conquering business challenges such as acquiring a failing club with a bad reputation, and stories of altruistic humanitarianism such as opening their doors to all members of a nearby club destroyed by Hurricane Ike. Listening to these triumphant accounts made me see that we have a long way to go to be the very best. I did not expect to win a gold trophy if being compared to women like those.

This year we were invited to attend a VIP cocktail gathering only for award-winners and corporate big-wigs prior to the banquet. I expected to feel lost in the crowd there, but I was surprised to find the intimate gathering in a small room far away from the rest of the crowds, where we had opportunity to visit with our company leaders and fellow recognized franchisees. This was an addition to the ceremony of it all that I found rather special. My Area Director made a comment that made me wonder if this VIP gathering was actually only for the Gold winners. After all, there were only 15-20 people there and half of them worked for Corporate. I tried not to get my hopes up though. Only the first-place winners go on stage to accept their award, and the idea of doing so was giving me butterflies in my stomach for some reason. Unusual.

After finding our reserved seats near the stage for the banquet, we met the others at our table. In addition to some Area Directors, including our own, the only other franchisees at our table was a couple nominated for the same award in our same region. Even though receiving ANY Franchisee of the Year Award is exceptional, I found it slightly awkward to be sitting together. Actually the woman made it more awkward for me by going over the top with what was intended to be humility and flattery.

She actually said, "I feel so incredibly honored to be in your presence," among other too-gushy comments. I mean, we were both there for the same reason. It reminded me of a pageant contestant leaning over to her rival and whispering with a gleaming smile, "I hope you win, sweetie!" just before her own name is announced and her face looks all shocked but it almost seems like she already knew it would be her. Have you ever seen something like that? Well, it's basically what happened at our Awards Ceremony. Ironically, the more this lady (truly, she was very nice) propagated our achievement, the more I believed that she already knew they were winning the gold.

We received the Silver Award again for the Western United States Region. This year there were only three regions in the US, and there are over 10,000 clubs in total.

An excerpt rom the Press Release:

Award winners were chosen for their adherence to the Curves methods, their success in providing quality service to members, their level of community involvement, and personal recommendations. While there were numerous candidates in each region, winners typically exhibited an extra quality; something special that set them head and shoulders above the rest.

“Those honored here tonight are doing everything the Curves way, and it shows in the success of their franchises and in the results of their members. We recognize them for daily helping women move away from disease in an environment of support and encouragement,” said Curves CEO Gary Heavin.

I do fully appreciate having been selected for any award, although, is it inappropriate to admit I'm glad we at least maintained our 2nd-place status? In spite of the nerves I was feeling, I think it would be fun to walk across the stage one day. Maybe in five more years I'll have done something Gold-worthy.

We intentionally withheld the news about our award nomination from our staff, saving it for a fun surprise when we got home (except one of them reads my blog, so after my Flashback Friday posted in Nashville, she may understandably have spilled the exciting beans). But winning an award like this is definitely a team effort, and our excellent "family" of Circuit Coaches deserves it. We all work hard to make our Curves one of the best locally, so it feels wonderful for those efforts to be recognized by the Higher Powers at Curves. Go team!

Kristen and Barbara (aka Mom) Nov. 2009