The other day, Sweet Dub looked at me critically and with some mild concern and said:
"Those pants make your ass look flat. [pause] I didn't think that was even possible."
His comments were directed at the evil sweatpants. I'm back in regular clothes. My ass is now swathed in denim and looking pretty good (read: not flat), if I do say so myself. I think we should burn the sweatpants in our backyard.
Except we have once again been issued a high-wind advisory. I'd hate to contribute to the wildfire epidemic.
Damn Santa Anas.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Weird And/Or Random
Okay, Janie tagged me and I'm meme-ing, if somewhat belatedly. My mission is to reveal 7 weird/random things about myself and tag 7 other bloggers.
(1) In high school, I was in an advanced art class through which I was selected to help create a float for a Disney-themed parade (why on earth?!?) through downtown Boston. My team was chosen to design the Fantasia float. I spent a ridiculous amount of time helping recreate the Dance of the Hours sequence with an oversized dancing hippo in a tutu and an alligator in a cape. Chicken wire, papier mache, tissue paper, and paint, for weeks after school, with all the usual high school bitchery. When we finally got to ride on the float, waving at the crowds, I laughed hysterically through the whole thing. The absurdity of it was just overwhelming.
(2) I have seven moles on my body (three on my neck alone). When Viva was younger, she thought they were extra nipples. This was, thankfully, once she was past the age of breastfeeding.
(3) If I could eat ice cream every day, I would.
(4) When I was in elementary school in Boston back in the day (1970s!), one year near the end of the year they had each kid self-identify racially on one of the standardized forms we were filling out. This was back in the day when you could only check one box. I think there were maybe four options, which even at the time was baffling. Because we are "mixed," I checked black, and my sister checked white. The next year, my sister was assigned to 6th grade at a middle school a mile or so from our predominantly white working-class neighborhood. I was bussed (!!) to 5th grade in a more diverse school (great mix of black, white, Asian and Hispanic, to my great relief), about 5 miles away. So few of us came from that neighborhood that we were bussed in on the short bus! To this day, with all the fuss over bussing in Boston, I do not understand why, as the "black" kid, I was bussed OUT of my white neighborhood. Wasn't the idea that the schools were suppoed to be more integrated?
(5) The following year, I was bussed even further away, to a predominantly black middle school. I got in more fights that year than I can count - none provoked by me, and all involving a group of mean girls, in my grade but not in my class, who insisted that I "thought I was cute." Since at 11 I was already wearing glasses and never knew what to do with the unruly mass of frizz on my head, nothing could have been further from the truth. It was completely bewildering.
(6) The first movie I ever saw was Benji, when I was 6. I was a complete freak about dogs and yet to this day, except for a two-week stint with a puppy that my parents later gave away (!! child abuse!!), I have never owned one.
(7) Speaking of dogs, when I was 25, I was mauled by my dad's Akita. Today, if I shaved my head, you would see the scars from four bite marks on my skull. I did not have a great relationship with my dad before this happened, and strangely, this did not improve things. Perhaps this is because he kept the dog despite its penchant for biting people smaller than it (the dog outweighed me by at least 20 pounds). Whenever I would call him, even years later, I would ask, "Is your dog dead yet?"
I think he resented that.
So those are my seven things. I rarely comment on other people's blogs - I know, this is really bad blog etiquette. So I feel a bit awkward and shy about tagging anyone to do this meme! Instead, if you would like to post seven random/weird things either here, in the comments, or on your own blog, please do. No, really, please, because I do find you fascinating. I have really enjoyed other people's lists. These are the things that make you, you.
Won't you share?
(1) In high school, I was in an advanced art class through which I was selected to help create a float for a Disney-themed parade (why on earth?!?) through downtown Boston. My team was chosen to design the Fantasia float. I spent a ridiculous amount of time helping recreate the Dance of the Hours sequence with an oversized dancing hippo in a tutu and an alligator in a cape. Chicken wire, papier mache, tissue paper, and paint, for weeks after school, with all the usual high school bitchery. When we finally got to ride on the float, waving at the crowds, I laughed hysterically through the whole thing. The absurdity of it was just overwhelming.
(2) I have seven moles on my body (three on my neck alone). When Viva was younger, she thought they were extra nipples. This was, thankfully, once she was past the age of breastfeeding.
(3) If I could eat ice cream every day, I would.
(4) When I was in elementary school in Boston back in the day (1970s!), one year near the end of the year they had each kid self-identify racially on one of the standardized forms we were filling out. This was back in the day when you could only check one box. I think there were maybe four options, which even at the time was baffling. Because we are "mixed," I checked black, and my sister checked white. The next year, my sister was assigned to 6th grade at a middle school a mile or so from our predominantly white working-class neighborhood. I was bussed (!!) to 5th grade in a more diverse school (great mix of black, white, Asian and Hispanic, to my great relief), about 5 miles away. So few of us came from that neighborhood that we were bussed in on the short bus! To this day, with all the fuss over bussing in Boston, I do not understand why, as the "black" kid, I was bussed OUT of my white neighborhood. Wasn't the idea that the schools were suppoed to be more integrated?
(5) The following year, I was bussed even further away, to a predominantly black middle school. I got in more fights that year than I can count - none provoked by me, and all involving a group of mean girls, in my grade but not in my class, who insisted that I "thought I was cute." Since at 11 I was already wearing glasses and never knew what to do with the unruly mass of frizz on my head, nothing could have been further from the truth. It was completely bewildering.
(6) The first movie I ever saw was Benji, when I was 6. I was a complete freak about dogs and yet to this day, except for a two-week stint with a puppy that my parents later gave away (!! child abuse!!), I have never owned one.
(7) Speaking of dogs, when I was 25, I was mauled by my dad's Akita. Today, if I shaved my head, you would see the scars from four bite marks on my skull. I did not have a great relationship with my dad before this happened, and strangely, this did not improve things. Perhaps this is because he kept the dog despite its penchant for biting people smaller than it (the dog outweighed me by at least 20 pounds). Whenever I would call him, even years later, I would ask, "Is your dog dead yet?"
I think he resented that.
So those are my seven things. I rarely comment on other people's blogs - I know, this is really bad blog etiquette. So I feel a bit awkward and shy about tagging anyone to do this meme! Instead, if you would like to post seven random/weird things either here, in the comments, or on your own blog, please do. No, really, please, because I do find you fascinating. I have really enjoyed other people's lists. These are the things that make you, you.
Won't you share?
Monday, November 26, 2007
Distracted!
I have been online for much of today and have not bought one damn thing. So much for Cyber Monday or whatever they're calling it.
A week from today I will be back at work. Gah.
Janie tagged me for a meme (Hi Janie! I'm not being anti-social, really), and I don't think I'll get to it until tomorrow because I have errands to run before picking up Viva from school and there are still dirty dishes in the sink from this morning.
In an ideal world, the idea that I only have one "free" week left would make me focus, but evidently it's having the opposite effect. Bear with me.
A week from today I will be back at work. Gah.
Janie tagged me for a meme (Hi Janie! I'm not being anti-social, really), and I don't think I'll get to it until tomorrow because I have errands to run before picking up Viva from school and there are still dirty dishes in the sink from this morning.
In an ideal world, the idea that I only have one "free" week left would make me focus, but evidently it's having the opposite effect. Bear with me.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Her Skin is Not the Same
Yesterday, Viva and I were out and about. She was in a great mood because we had spent pretty much the entire weekend together and I am about 85% back to normal health. This means I’m not running around in the backyard playing tag with her, but I am able to spend several hours at a time with her before needing a break. We have been cooking together, drawing together, reading, playing games, doing puzzles, and the like. Despite her being in a very contrary phase wherein if you say one thing, she will say the exact opposite for no apparent reason, I have really been enjoying our time together.
So we were in the Cost Plus World Market, chumming around together, picking out a few Christmas ornaments (which, really, is ridiculous since it’s mid-November, but don’t even let me commence) and getting some curtains, and then we went to pay for our purchases. As we were being rung up, the cashier looked at Viva and back at me and said, “She is your daughter?”
“Yeah, yeah she is,” I said, picking up one of the bags and putting it in the cart.
“She looks so different from you,” she said.
“Do you think so?” I said. “I think she looks a lot like me.”
“My daughter is sort of like that,” she said, staring at Viva. Viva started to wrap her arms around my leg and hide her face. “Her skin is not the same.”
“Hmm,” I said, because at that point I just wanted to get out of the store. I don’t think this woman (who had white skin and spoke with an unidentified accent) was trying to be rude, but if in fact she did have a child who looks different from her, she might be expected to understand that it’s not polite to point that out. I had no desire to bond with her over whatever she felt we had in common, it was clearly making Viva uncomfortable, and added to that, there was a line of people behind us – none of whom was (visibly, at least) a person of color. I realize to most people we look different because they are not looking closely. I look white, and Viva looks black. The fact that we are both a mixture of both is not readily apparent. It is not easy. It is not comfortable. It’s also not anybody’s business but ours.
Anyway, we paid for our things and we left the store, and we ate ginger cookies in the car on the way home, me and my little daughter whose skin is not the same. And by God, we were happy to be together.
All the same, it’s been nibbling away at the back of my brain. I’m irritated. And Viva, home today with a nasty cough, is evidently not napping, so this post ends here.
So we were in the Cost Plus World Market, chumming around together, picking out a few Christmas ornaments (which, really, is ridiculous since it’s mid-November, but don’t even let me commence) and getting some curtains, and then we went to pay for our purchases. As we were being rung up, the cashier looked at Viva and back at me and said, “She is your daughter?”
“Yeah, yeah she is,” I said, picking up one of the bags and putting it in the cart.
“She looks so different from you,” she said.
“Do you think so?” I said. “I think she looks a lot like me.”
“My daughter is sort of like that,” she said, staring at Viva. Viva started to wrap her arms around my leg and hide her face. “Her skin is not the same.”
“Hmm,” I said, because at that point I just wanted to get out of the store. I don’t think this woman (who had white skin and spoke with an unidentified accent) was trying to be rude, but if in fact she did have a child who looks different from her, she might be expected to understand that it’s not polite to point that out. I had no desire to bond with her over whatever she felt we had in common, it was clearly making Viva uncomfortable, and added to that, there was a line of people behind us – none of whom was (visibly, at least) a person of color. I realize to most people we look different because they are not looking closely. I look white, and Viva looks black. The fact that we are both a mixture of both is not readily apparent. It is not easy. It is not comfortable. It’s also not anybody’s business but ours.
Anyway, we paid for our things and we left the store, and we ate ginger cookies in the car on the way home, me and my little daughter whose skin is not the same. And by God, we were happy to be together.
All the same, it’s been nibbling away at the back of my brain. I’m irritated. And Viva, home today with a nasty cough, is evidently not napping, so this post ends here.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Oh, no she di'n't!
Yesterday, during the minor miracle that was Viva's nap*, I sat down in my reading chair and rather than power up the laptop, I read a book. More specifically, I read this book, which is easily one of the top ten books I read this year. In fact, I would rank it among my top two for the year. Now, your tastes and mine may differ, but I really enjoyed this book. So much so that I finished it and realized I had let Viva oversleep, so I lurched out of the chair without a second thouhgt. And I didn't realize until this morning as I was waking up that I forgot to blog yesterday, so I am once again not fulfilling the pledge of NaBloPoMo. Oops.
Well, it's a damn good book, is all.
*Yes! She has begun taking naps again on the weekend! And there was much rejoicing!
Well, it's a damn good book, is all.
*Yes! She has begun taking naps again on the weekend! And there was much rejoicing!
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Public Service Announcement
Have you, like me, ever come across a laundry care label with only symbols and you have no clue how you are supposed to interpret them? How, for example, did a triangle become the symbol for bleach??
You know me, I live to serve. Find your cheat sheet here. Back to your regularly scheduled programming...
You know me, I live to serve. Find your cheat sheet here. Back to your regularly scheduled programming...
Now and Then
It is Saturday morning. Sweet Dub has taken Viva out to breakfast and then they are going to see Bee Movie.* They left after repeated, stern instructions from him for me not to overdo it while they were gone.
There are so many things I want to do right now and I can't:
(1) Exercise.
(2) Clean the house.
(3) Take my car to the gas station, get gas and put air in the tires. (I can drive with a towel over my abdomen between me and the seatbelt, but the squatting to inflate the tires would still hurt and I might strain something.)
(4) Gardening/working in the yard.
(5) Pretty much anything active.
The good news is that my abdomen has shrunk enough that I can fit into my comfy jeans, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I am heading back to the world of normal clothes! Oh, how I've missed you!
The weather today is perfect for a nice fall hike in Griffith Park. On one of my first real dates with Sweet Dub, he took me for a hike in Griffith Park. I didn't realize it was a test! (Ooh, sneaky Dub.) We drove up and parked across from the Greek Theatre and headed up a steep trail. It was all uphill for a good 5 minutes, then leveled out, then uphill again, etc. We walked and talked for a good hour or so, and I didn't poop out. I guess he was trying to see if I was actually in shape or whether I was thin because I didn't eat much.** Because he is a very active person, this was an important compatibility issue for him.
I am not as active as he is, but I do miss yoga and hiking and dancing. Those are my three favorite "active" activities. (Well, the three that I can tell you about. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.)
I am now going to fling open the windows and let the crisp air into the house and maybe "couch dance"*** to my (and Viva's) new favorite song by Flight of the Conchords. You know I like funny. I am slightly ever so in love with them:
"You like boom, I like boom, enough small boom, let's boom de boom!" Viva likes to dance to the abbreviated version we show her via TiVo (so she doesn't actually hear the f-word or the b-word. Give us at least a little credit.). Enjoy!
* Please note that if you click on the link for Bee Movie, you will be taken to a review by Common Sense Media. My adding this link should not be interpreted as my having read the review before sending my kid to the movie. Because I didn't. Because I am just that lazy. Thank you and good night.
** Which, in itself, is kind of ridiculous, since during the blind date at which we met, I ordered French toast, swimming in butter and syrup, and bacon. What can I say - it didn't occur to me to order an egg-white omelet. That is just not how I roll.
*** By which I mean sit on the couch and dance only with my shoulders and arms. Gently.
There are so many things I want to do right now and I can't:
(1) Exercise.
(2) Clean the house.
(3) Take my car to the gas station, get gas and put air in the tires. (I can drive with a towel over my abdomen between me and the seatbelt, but the squatting to inflate the tires would still hurt and I might strain something.)
(4) Gardening/working in the yard.
(5) Pretty much anything active.
The good news is that my abdomen has shrunk enough that I can fit into my comfy jeans, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I am heading back to the world of normal clothes! Oh, how I've missed you!
The weather today is perfect for a nice fall hike in Griffith Park. On one of my first real dates with Sweet Dub, he took me for a hike in Griffith Park. I didn't realize it was a test! (Ooh, sneaky Dub.) We drove up and parked across from the Greek Theatre and headed up a steep trail. It was all uphill for a good 5 minutes, then leveled out, then uphill again, etc. We walked and talked for a good hour or so, and I didn't poop out. I guess he was trying to see if I was actually in shape or whether I was thin because I didn't eat much.** Because he is a very active person, this was an important compatibility issue for him.
I am not as active as he is, but I do miss yoga and hiking and dancing. Those are my three favorite "active" activities. (Well, the three that I can tell you about. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.)
I am now going to fling open the windows and let the crisp air into the house and maybe "couch dance"*** to my (and Viva's) new favorite song by Flight of the Conchords. You know I like funny. I am slightly ever so in love with them:
"You like boom, I like boom, enough small boom, let's boom de boom!" Viva likes to dance to the abbreviated version we show her via TiVo (so she doesn't actually hear the f-word or the b-word. Give us at least a little credit.). Enjoy!
* Please note that if you click on the link for Bee Movie, you will be taken to a review by Common Sense Media. My adding this link should not be interpreted as my having read the review before sending my kid to the movie. Because I didn't. Because I am just that lazy. Thank you and good night.
** Which, in itself, is kind of ridiculous, since during the blind date at which we met, I ordered French toast, swimming in butter and syrup, and bacon. What can I say - it didn't occur to me to order an egg-white omelet. That is just not how I roll.
*** By which I mean sit on the couch and dance only with my shoulders and arms. Gently.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Let It Go
Eeps! Despite having forgotten about NaBloPoMo until a few days after it started, I am trying to participate in my own charmingly forgetful, ass-backwards way. I've been posting every day since I realized that was what we were supposed to be doing. Yeah, whatever.
At any rate, I just started reading the blog Flawed But Authentic, and one of the recent posts by Jessica was about forgiveness (sorry but I can't figure out where the permalink is, or I'd link to it...it's the Nov. 7th, 2007 post). When I was lunching with my dear friend MG yesterday, she mentioned that an old mutual friend had called her several years ago to announce that when they were roommates, she was struggling with bulimia and anorexia and that part of her program was to contact people she had wronged somehow with behavior related to that. So she rattled off a list of ten things she wanted to apologize for. Evidently MG was quite gracious and empathetic, but, as she confided to me, "I honestly didn't remember most of the things she was apologizing for! But then I didn't want to say that, because she has clearly been carrying around all this guilt about it, which I felt guilty for, and then I thought she might feel worse if she realized she'd been so worried about it -- I mean, she must have really had to buck herself up to call me in the first place if she felt this bad about it. And really? I probably was drunk for most of these incidents anyway!"
So I guess our old friend was asking for forgiveness for these actions which she perceived as wrong. And yet, MG certainly was harboring no ill will toward her at all. It made me ponder about how many things we all internalize and carry grudges and worries over -- things which may not really be all that important in the grand scheme of things.
In my own family, recently, more drama has arisen over things that took place in the past. My sister Lola and I had a conversation this week in which she referenced the way I had behaved in the past toward my mother, which is evidently impacting my relationship with her now. Since my mother never ever directly explains what is bothering her to the person she has a problem with, I have never fully understood what I have done. However, my mother has given Lola an earful. My sister won't share with me what my mother has said because she thinks it is between my mom and me.
Pause.
Yes, how I am not completely mental from these passive-aggressive twists and turns is truly beyond me. I feel we are at an impasse. It always seems to me, when dealing with my mom, that there has to be a better way, yet no matter how I try, it always devolves into something completely unproductive.
I know I can only do what I can do. I accept that I am a flawed but well-meaning human being. So for the moment, I am concentrating on being good to myself, protecting myself from the bad vibes, and hoping that understanding may ultimately flow from that. And trying not to wonder what I did that I have clearly glossed over (evidently, it is not just one thing) and fervently swearing not to continue this same pattern with my own lovely and amazing child.
Happy Friday, and if you can't make amends, make brownies or something.
At any rate, I just started reading the blog Flawed But Authentic, and one of the recent posts by Jessica was about forgiveness (sorry but I can't figure out where the permalink is, or I'd link to it...it's the Nov. 7th, 2007 post). When I was lunching with my dear friend MG yesterday, she mentioned that an old mutual friend had called her several years ago to announce that when they were roommates, she was struggling with bulimia and anorexia and that part of her program was to contact people she had wronged somehow with behavior related to that. So she rattled off a list of ten things she wanted to apologize for. Evidently MG was quite gracious and empathetic, but, as she confided to me, "I honestly didn't remember most of the things she was apologizing for! But then I didn't want to say that, because she has clearly been carrying around all this guilt about it, which I felt guilty for, and then I thought she might feel worse if she realized she'd been so worried about it -- I mean, she must have really had to buck herself up to call me in the first place if she felt this bad about it. And really? I probably was drunk for most of these incidents anyway!"
So I guess our old friend was asking for forgiveness for these actions which she perceived as wrong. And yet, MG certainly was harboring no ill will toward her at all. It made me ponder about how many things we all internalize and carry grudges and worries over -- things which may not really be all that important in the grand scheme of things.
In my own family, recently, more drama has arisen over things that took place in the past. My sister Lola and I had a conversation this week in which she referenced the way I had behaved in the past toward my mother, which is evidently impacting my relationship with her now. Since my mother never ever directly explains what is bothering her to the person she has a problem with, I have never fully understood what I have done. However, my mother has given Lola an earful. My sister won't share with me what my mother has said because she thinks it is between my mom and me.
Pause.
Yes, how I am not completely mental from these passive-aggressive twists and turns is truly beyond me. I feel we are at an impasse. It always seems to me, when dealing with my mom, that there has to be a better way, yet no matter how I try, it always devolves into something completely unproductive.
I know I can only do what I can do. I accept that I am a flawed but well-meaning human being. So for the moment, I am concentrating on being good to myself, protecting myself from the bad vibes, and hoping that understanding may ultimately flow from that. And trying not to wonder what I did that I have clearly glossed over (evidently, it is not just one thing) and fervently swearing not to continue this same pattern with my own lovely and amazing child.
Happy Friday, and if you can't make amends, make brownies or something.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
You Look FABulous!
Today was "get pretty" day for no other reason than that I had a hair appointment already scheduled. I gave myself a facial and a partial manicure (didn't have time for polish) and then tootled over to the salon. They spent two hours coloring my hair, first with the base color, then the highlights. I went directly from there to a nearly three-hour lunch with an old college friend -- we had a great time getting caught up and talking about how much beer and vodka we drank and how little sleep we survived on back then. Then we laughed about our shitty GPAs. Ah, college.
It was a wonderful, very self-indulgent day. I highly recommend!
It was a wonderful, very self-indulgent day. I highly recommend!
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
My Only Consolation
Oh my GAH.
Recently, I received a bill for $420 from a doctor I saw back in February for a consultation on my fibroid issues. The doctor did not have a very good bedside manner and he did a really hard sell on a procedure which is still fairly new, for which not a lot of data on effectiveness is available. At the time that I made the appointment, the scheduler told me, "Yes, we accept Blue Shield [my insurance company at the time]."
Now, some ten months and change later, I get a bill from them. Apparently, they've been billing Blue Shield and Blue Shield will not pay them because they are "not a participating provider." When I spoke to a Blue Shield representative this morning, she explained to me that even though the doctor's office told me that they accept Blue Shield, all that really means is that they will try and bill Blue Shield for the office visit. Here is a transcript of our conversation:
I am a big fan of shoes, in theory. I love, love, love them. In practice, my feet are extremely difficult. A shoe which looks great and fits well in the store quite often tortures my feet when truly put to the test of a full 8 to 9 hour day. This means that I tend to have to buy rather expensive (to me) shoes so I won't further ruin my feet. This also means that I don't buy a lot of shoes, much though I love them. I'm thinking however, that I may not be able to resist these:
I mean, come on. Throw these on with jeans and a bright top with a cool jacket and that is pretty dang cute. They also come in orange!
Henceforth I think I will adopt this as my motto: New shoes beat the blues! I'm also enjoying NaBloShoeMo tremendously. It's making my heart go thumpa-thump.
Oh, shoes. I do love you so.
Recently, I received a bill for $420 from a doctor I saw back in February for a consultation on my fibroid issues. The doctor did not have a very good bedside manner and he did a really hard sell on a procedure which is still fairly new, for which not a lot of data on effectiveness is available. At the time that I made the appointment, the scheduler told me, "Yes, we accept Blue Shield [my insurance company at the time]."
Now, some ten months and change later, I get a bill from them. Apparently, they've been billing Blue Shield and Blue Shield will not pay them because they are "not a participating provider." When I spoke to a Blue Shield representative this morning, she explained to me that even though the doctor's office told me that they accept Blue Shield, all that really means is that they will try and bill Blue Shield for the office visit. Here is a transcript of our conversation:
Blue Shield Rep: They are not contracted with us. So in the future, what you need to do when contacting a doctor is find out not just if they accept Blue Shield, but if they contract with Blue Shield.And three phone calls later, with still no resolution of the matter, I find myself leaving a message with one of the medical billing specialists. Frustrated, I hightail it to the Internette, where I drown my sorrows by reading one of my new faves; I speak, dear friends, of Shoe Blog.
Mama Blah Blah: Wow. Okay, so but you can see why I feel a little bit like I've been scammed? I mean, they acted like all would be well and my insurance would cover it. I'm not saying that's your fault, I'm just saying --
BSR: [Nervous yet empathetic laughter] Yeah, it seems --
MBB: I mean, what recourse do I have now?
BSR: Well, you need to speak with the doctor's office and explain the situation.
MBB: I have a feeling that's going to go over well.
BSR: [Again with the laughter]
MBB: Well, this is a very expensive lesson.
BSR: I'm so sorry. Is there anything else I can help you with?
MBB: [To self: Yes, you can help me find my can opener because I am about to open up a 64-ounce can of Whup Ass on the doctor's office. To her:] Um, no thanks. Thank you for your help and have a great day.
I am a big fan of shoes, in theory. I love, love, love them. In practice, my feet are extremely difficult. A shoe which looks great and fits well in the store quite often tortures my feet when truly put to the test of a full 8 to 9 hour day. This means that I tend to have to buy rather expensive (to me) shoes so I won't further ruin my feet. This also means that I don't buy a lot of shoes, much though I love them. I'm thinking however, that I may not be able to resist these:
I mean, come on. Throw these on with jeans and a bright top with a cool jacket and that is pretty dang cute. They also come in orange!
Henceforth I think I will adopt this as my motto: New shoes beat the blues! I'm also enjoying NaBloShoeMo tremendously. It's making my heart go thumpa-thump.
Oh, shoes. I do love you so.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Six Days Late, 'Cuz That's How I Roll
Oh, right, Halloween! Didn't I threaten promise you, my faithful readership, that I would post pictures of Viva's modified costume? I know you are past all point of caring, but since it is almost but not quite a week since Halloween, I feel it is still worth a shot.
Here is an action shot:
Bat Cat takes off to save the city!
And here is a head-to-toe, so you can get the full effect:
The problem with the head-to-toe shot is that you can't really see the bad-ass hand-sewn and hand-drawn logos I came up with, across the chest and on the utility belt. From far away, she still looks like Bat Man.
Damn it. I'm going back to bed.
Edited to add: Oh, it appears that if you double-click on the pictures, a new window will open and you can see a larger version (and can thus see the logos). Ah, the wonders of technology.
Here is an action shot:
Bat Cat takes off to save the city!
And here is a head-to-toe, so you can get the full effect:
The problem with the head-to-toe shot is that you can't really see the bad-ass hand-sewn and hand-drawn logos I came up with, across the chest and on the utility belt. From far away, she still looks like Bat Man.
Damn it. I'm going back to bed.
Edited to add: Oh, it appears that if you double-click on the pictures, a new window will open and you can see a larger version (and can thus see the logos). Ah, the wonders of technology.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Tangents
I fully and finally admit to having succumbed to a bit of a funk over the past week or so. Tired of not being able to do much of anything, blah blah blah, so full of malaise that I couldn’t bring myself to write about it. It makes me tired even to type that, so moving on…
I just got caught up on my blog reading, and hey! Have you noticed that people out there are participating in NaBloPoMo? They’re blogging every day for the month of November! Hey, maybe I could do that! …Oops.
Anyway, after getting caught up on my reading and other things, I picked up the remote to watch a little TV during lunch. The remote wouldn’t work. I contemplated calling Sweet Dub at work and shrieking, “The TV’s broken!” because you know what, I don’t think he has enough to worry about. But the very idea of calling him and screaming that led me into a reverie…
When I was 6 years old and my mother was newly remarried, we moved from our low-income housing project to the home of S and R, two of my mom’s childhood friends. In hindsight, I think this was probably because once my mom and stepdad made it legal, we no longer qualified as low-income-enough to remain in the projects, although we were still pretty broke. At any rate, we moved into their large old house in the neighborhood where my mom had grown up. S and R had two little boys who were younger than my sister and I – the older one was maybe 3 or 4 and the younger one was a toddler, still in a crib. Early one Saturday morning, we were all awakened by the sound of the 4-year-old screaming, “Daddy! The TV’s broken!”
As I said, it was early. It was so early, in fact, that there was no TV on. The television was showing what we called, back in the day, “snow.” Yes, youngsters, in olden times, if you turned on the TV at, say, 4:30 AM, NOTHING WOULD BE ON. The airwaves were actually silent. And, as yet, there were no VCRs. There were no DVD players. There was no TiVo. Your TV was basically useless for a couple hours each day.
I know what you’re saying. You’re saying, “That sounds like hell on earth!”
Having been pretty much housebound now for nearly four weeks, I can tell you this: at some point, you do get fairly sick of television. Every person has a different tipping point. Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time on the phone talking to actual human beings rather than staring at the screen. Today, I got caught up with a very dear friend who I’ve known since we were 12. I spent a lot of time during my most awkward years hanging out amidst her very loud, very large, very loving extended family. There have been times when years have gone by and we haven’t talked person-to-person, but when we do, there is no weird small talk, no bullshit. We dive right into whatever is going on with each of us.
Too often, we make excuses for not having enough time to keep in touch with all the people who are important to us. I am grateful to have this recuperation time to reconnect with people. I want to make sure that I continue to do so after I get back on the hamster wheel of work-family balance post-recuperation. More to come…
I just got caught up on my blog reading, and hey! Have you noticed that people out there are participating in NaBloPoMo? They’re blogging every day for the month of November! Hey, maybe I could do that! …Oops.
Anyway, after getting caught up on my reading and other things, I picked up the remote to watch a little TV during lunch. The remote wouldn’t work. I contemplated calling Sweet Dub at work and shrieking, “The TV’s broken!” because you know what, I don’t think he has enough to worry about. But the very idea of calling him and screaming that led me into a reverie…
When I was 6 years old and my mother was newly remarried, we moved from our low-income housing project to the home of S and R, two of my mom’s childhood friends. In hindsight, I think this was probably because once my mom and stepdad made it legal, we no longer qualified as low-income-enough to remain in the projects, although we were still pretty broke. At any rate, we moved into their large old house in the neighborhood where my mom had grown up. S and R had two little boys who were younger than my sister and I – the older one was maybe 3 or 4 and the younger one was a toddler, still in a crib. Early one Saturday morning, we were all awakened by the sound of the 4-year-old screaming, “Daddy! The TV’s broken!”
As I said, it was early. It was so early, in fact, that there was no TV on. The television was showing what we called, back in the day, “snow.” Yes, youngsters, in olden times, if you turned on the TV at, say, 4:30 AM, NOTHING WOULD BE ON. The airwaves were actually silent. And, as yet, there were no VCRs. There were no DVD players. There was no TiVo. Your TV was basically useless for a couple hours each day.
I know what you’re saying. You’re saying, “That sounds like hell on earth!”
Having been pretty much housebound now for nearly four weeks, I can tell you this: at some point, you do get fairly sick of television. Every person has a different tipping point. Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time on the phone talking to actual human beings rather than staring at the screen. Today, I got caught up with a very dear friend who I’ve known since we were 12. I spent a lot of time during my most awkward years hanging out amidst her very loud, very large, very loving extended family. There have been times when years have gone by and we haven’t talked person-to-person, but when we do, there is no weird small talk, no bullshit. We dive right into whatever is going on with each of us.
Too often, we make excuses for not having enough time to keep in touch with all the people who are important to us. I am grateful to have this recuperation time to reconnect with people. I want to make sure that I continue to do so after I get back on the hamster wheel of work-family balance post-recuperation. More to come…
Friday, November 02, 2007
Shortest Post Ever
It's been almost 4 weeks since my surgery, and I am thoroughly thick of sweatpants/yoga pants.
That is all.
That is all.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Kooky, Not Spooky
Generally, around this time of year, the Blah Blah family is occupied with Halloween – in particular, with Viva’s costume. Ever since Viva became old enough to have an opinion about Halloween, she has favored the selection of a costume that not everyone else will have. Thus, last year, amidst a swarm of princesses and pirates in her class, she stood out as the very memorable elephant clown:
Speaking of which, Sweet Dub also purchased a costume. I am not sure what compelled him to do this because I have known him for 7 years and he never has. But you know, that Sweet Dub, he is unpredictable. On Saturday, while Viva was out of the house, he tried it on:
Have I mentioned that it is painful for me to laugh? You know, because of the recent abdominal surgery?
Why is he trying to kill me?
This year, Viva decided quite early on that she wanted to be Bat Cat.
If you are not familiar with the television program (programme? It’s British) Charlie and Lola (or if you’ve only seen one or two episodes), you may not be aware of this particular superhero. Bat Cat is a television character in Charlie and Lola’s world, and their favorite superhero. Lola has a Bat Cat lunchbox and there is an episode where Charlie and Lola make up a Bat Cat story where Bat Cat saves Squabbles the dog’s hairbrush from a burning building. Bat Cat is a cat who dresses up like a bat. He can fly (he has a cape), but other than that, I’m not aware of any other superpowers. Viva is quite taken by Bat Cat, and Sweet Dub has encouraged this fascination by creating his own stories about Bat Cat, complete with alter ego whose name I can’t possibly reveal here.
Do you see where this is going?
If you are not familiar with the television program (programme? It’s British) Charlie and Lola (or if you’ve only seen one or two episodes), you may not be aware of this particular superhero. Bat Cat is a television character in Charlie and Lola’s world, and their favorite superhero. Lola has a Bat Cat lunchbox and there is an episode where Charlie and Lola make up a Bat Cat story where Bat Cat saves Squabbles the dog’s hairbrush from a burning building. Bat Cat is a cat who dresses up like a bat. He can fly (he has a cape), but other than that, I’m not aware of any other superpowers. Viva is quite taken by Bat Cat, and Sweet Dub has encouraged this fascination by creating his own stories about Bat Cat, complete with alter ego whose name I can’t possibly reveal here.
Do you see where this is going?
Of course, there is no such thing as a pre-made Bat Cat costume. Fortunately, both Bat Cat and Batman seem to have an affinity for black, grey, and yellow. Hence, we bought a Batman suit, which I split down the back, added a cat’s tail* to from the inside, and sewed back up. I also cut off the mask from the cap, and I need to shorten the cape so you can see her tail. Right now I am working on modifying the utility belt and I have created a Bat Cat logo to go across her chest and cover up the Batman symbol. Sweet Dub actually deigned to cross the threshold of the craft store and brought me back several squares of felt, so yesterday I made patterns and cut and pinned most of the logo together. I am pleased that (a) it’s actually coming together and looking good and (b) I had the time to do this because I’m on medical leave.
I will post pictures when it’s complete so you can all enjoy the cuteness. Or at least have a laugh.
I will post pictures when it’s complete so you can all enjoy the cuteness. Or at least have a laugh.
Speaking of which, Sweet Dub also purchased a costume. I am not sure what compelled him to do this because I have known him for 7 years and he never has. But you know, that Sweet Dub, he is unpredictable. On Saturday, while Viva was out of the house, he tried it on:
He also ran wildly about the yard in a deranged performance that completely validated my decision to merge my life with his, 'til death do us part, etc. I have video, but it is very jumpy:
Have I mentioned that it is painful for me to laugh? You know, because of the recent abdominal surgery?
Why is he trying to kill me?
* Not from a real cat. No animals were harmed in the assemblage of Viva's costume.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Now With More Sulfites!
Viva update: Sweet Dub left work early yesterday and took her to the pediatrician. Diagnosis: no urinary tract infection. Not sure what to think. The doctor told Sweet Dub no bubble baths (which we don’t do anyway, because I’d read somewhere that can irritate the genital area), and no wearing underwear to bed. Viva seemed mildly disturbed by this, which is interesting, because she likes to frolic about in her altogether whenever possible. At any rate, she seems fine today. *
Lisa update: I feel like I have turned a corner. Basically I stopped taking my pain medication because it was clogging up my digestive tract (one of the stated side effects), and I started drinking wine instead. I know this sounds ridiculous. I am not a medical professional, and I doubt that any physician would recommend this course of action to you. But I was a bit desperate. Since I feel best in the morning, I wasn’t taking my Vicodin until the afternoon anyway. Yesterday, I had a half a glass of wine at 4 pm and another half a glass at 8 pm. Slept like a baby and my digestion is back to normal. Today, I feel great. I mean, relatively great. I still feel like I have paper cuts on the inside of my abdomen, and a general bloating and not being able to lift things, but in the overall scheme of things, SO much better.
Moving on: today, I’ve been working on photo albums. Ever since we got a digital camera, we’ve been lax about putting photos into any kind of order or even printing them out. Somehow in there, we stopped putting any photos in albums somewhere around the end of 2005. Oops. It’s kind of a big job, no? So I am organizing my photos, uploading them from various sources onto Flickr and I will then order some ungodly number of prints. Sweet Dub lost almost all of his baby/childhood photos in a fire – I mean seriously I think we have three pictures of him under the age of 10 – so he is rabid about documenting our life. This means that we have a very large number of photos. But for the moment, I have nothing but time. I’m not going anywhere, so I’m enjoying looking back over our photos. Here are a couple of cute ones from August 2006:
Lisa update: I feel like I have turned a corner. Basically I stopped taking my pain medication because it was clogging up my digestive tract (one of the stated side effects), and I started drinking wine instead. I know this sounds ridiculous. I am not a medical professional, and I doubt that any physician would recommend this course of action to you. But I was a bit desperate. Since I feel best in the morning, I wasn’t taking my Vicodin until the afternoon anyway. Yesterday, I had a half a glass of wine at 4 pm and another half a glass at 8 pm. Slept like a baby and my digestion is back to normal. Today, I feel great. I mean, relatively great. I still feel like I have paper cuts on the inside of my abdomen, and a general bloating and not being able to lift things, but in the overall scheme of things, SO much better.
Moving on: today, I’ve been working on photo albums. Ever since we got a digital camera, we’ve been lax about putting photos into any kind of order or even printing them out. Somehow in there, we stopped putting any photos in albums somewhere around the end of 2005. Oops. It’s kind of a big job, no? So I am organizing my photos, uploading them from various sources onto Flickr and I will then order some ungodly number of prints. Sweet Dub lost almost all of his baby/childhood photos in a fire – I mean seriously I think we have three pictures of him under the age of 10 – so he is rabid about documenting our life. This means that we have a very large number of photos. But for the moment, I have nothing but time. I’m not going anywhere, so I’m enjoying looking back over our photos. Here are a couple of cute ones from August 2006:
Will post more as I go along. Maybe.
*Better than my mother-in-law, who is old school and a bit freaked out by Viva telling her that her vag!na hurt. She couldn’t imagine where Viva had learned that word.
*Better than my mother-in-law, who is old school and a bit freaked out by Viva telling her that her vag!na hurt. She couldn’t imagine where Viva had learned that word.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Bear With Me
Warning: Rant, with a little bit of rave (in the original sense of the word - i.e. minus the glowsticks, techno music, and Ecstasy), to follow.
Aaaagh. I am undone. It appears that Viva has a urinary tract infection, for which her pediatrician can not prescribe antibiotics unless we bring her into the office or bring a urine sample. I can't drive yet, and Sweet Dub just went back to work yesterday after over a week off to take care of me. Added to that, his boss was called out of town unexpectedly for a week, so he needs to do both his work and hers. We are already on a rather ridiculous schedule wherein we wake Viva up at the crack of dawn, feed and clothe her and do her hair, and then Sweet Dub drops her off at my in-laws', where she dozes on the couch for an hour and a half and then her grandpa takes her to school. I am hoping I will be able to drive by next week, but we'll have to see.
Realistically, given our current limitations, we won't get a prescription called in until tomorrow, since Viva is in school and Sweet Dub is crazy busy at work so he can't leave, pick her up and drive over to the pediatrician. I hate this. Even when they call in the prescription, I can't go get it. I really hate this. Any time I try to do anything except lie down, I end up feeling crummy. It is extremely frustrating, especially when there are urgent matters like my child's health that I can't do anything about.
End of rant. I just needed to get it out.
Deep breath. This will pass.
Aaaagh. I am undone. It appears that Viva has a urinary tract infection, for which her pediatrician can not prescribe antibiotics unless we bring her into the office or bring a urine sample. I can't drive yet, and Sweet Dub just went back to work yesterday after over a week off to take care of me. Added to that, his boss was called out of town unexpectedly for a week, so he needs to do both his work and hers. We are already on a rather ridiculous schedule wherein we wake Viva up at the crack of dawn, feed and clothe her and do her hair, and then Sweet Dub drops her off at my in-laws', where she dozes on the couch for an hour and a half and then her grandpa takes her to school. I am hoping I will be able to drive by next week, but we'll have to see.
Realistically, given our current limitations, we won't get a prescription called in until tomorrow, since Viva is in school and Sweet Dub is crazy busy at work so he can't leave, pick her up and drive over to the pediatrician. I hate this. Even when they call in the prescription, I can't go get it. I really hate this. Any time I try to do anything except lie down, I end up feeling crummy. It is extremely frustrating, especially when there are urgent matters like my child's health that I can't do anything about.
End of rant. I just needed to get it out.
Deep breath. This will pass.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Think Green! Blog Action Day
Thanks to Liz's example over at Los Angelista's Guide to the Pursuit of Happiness, I am patricipating in Blog Action Day. I'm supposed to write something about the environment.
Indeed! Quite timely, as I have set myself a number of chores to do while I am on medical leave, and two of those are to (a) change our diet and (b) research cars.
As far as Item the First: change our diet? How will that help the environment(you say with rapt attention)?
Since we began gardening this past spring and I read (slowly, slowly, while reading other books at the same time) Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I have decided to move gradually to a more local-foods diet. What this means, ideally, is eating fruits and vegetables that come from local growers via the Farmer's Market, and if we eat meat/eggs, getting such things raised by people within a 100-mile radius. Sounds vaguely insane and intriguing, no? Aside from providing us with fresher food that tastes better since it was picked at peak maturity, this also reduces transport distances. The shorter the distance my tomatoes have to travel, the less fossil fuel consumed/CO2 emissions released. It's a small thing, and I'm not saying I'm never going to eat processed food again (see recent post re: Trader Joe's). I'm just saying it makes sense to support the farmers where I live* and Stick It To The Man by not buying food from Big Agribusiness. It also makes sense to me to transition to this new diet gradually. Oh, and to help the environment and my fellow Earthlings by not polluting the air, for the love of all that is decent.
Well, what else, you say? What are you talking about with the car (a.k.a. Item the Second)?
I have been researching "green" cars for quite some time now. The lease on my current sedan (which is fuel efficient but not a hybrid) will expire next summer, and since I am no longer freelancing, I no longer get the tax advantage of leasing the car, so I will be turning it in and purchasing a different vehicle. It takes me forever to decide which car I want (last time I researched for several months). There are so many factors -- safety, crash ratings, cargo space, wagon vs. crossover, fuel economy, passenger capacity, etc. I will probably bore you with them as the months roll on. But where I had been swayed a few months ago into believing that the environmental impact of a hybrid car was negligible compared to that of a standard car, now I'm swaying back in the other direction. I read a variety of articles on Edmunds (you can take a look at their green car guide here) and now I'm just trying to figure out what I can afford and why nobody makes a hybrid car with decent crash test ratings that has some style** and can carry 4-5 people***, a dog or two, and some cargo.
But that's a big decision, and not one I'm going to make today. Here are a couple of small things you can do, if you haven't looked into them already, to make an environmental difference:
- Bring your own bags when shopping. Once you get into the habit, it's automatic. You also end up having interesting conversations with cashiers and other shoppers when they ask, "Where'd you get those bags?" (One elderly woman was quite pissed to find that the bags I was using were not an option for her at that moment -- she thought the store had changed over to these much sturdier bags. ) For the record, I've gotten my lunch bags and shopping bags via reusablebags.com.
- If you are in the habit of drinking Starbucks or what-have-you, bring your own mug.
- And, as Liz/Los Angelista reminds us, one of the greatest wastes (and biggest scams, in my book) is the whole bottled water phenomenon. Switch from disposable to reusable water bottles, and refill from your tap, if you can. (Time to invest in a water filter.)
- Also, check out Slow Food USA for more info on eating local foods.
And be careful out there.
* I don't actually think there are farmers where I live, not right in the heart of Atwater Village. But yeah, they do farm things within 100 miles of here. Fifty, even.
** I mean, really. Is the hybrid car the Birkenstock of this decade? I want a hybrid because I feel it's the right thing to do, but it's kind of like eating brussels sprouts. You know that saying, "Don't have anything in your home that you do not either know to be useful or find to be beautiful?" (I'm paraphrasing.) If I'm plunking down money on a car, I want both.
*** Viva, parents, and cousins or friends. Not another little Blah Blah. I did just have surgery. Let's be serious.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Better, Stronger -- Ouch.
Well, howdy-do!
When I imagined having surgery, I thought I might go about it journalistically. I thought maybe I could actually write an article about it. It seems to me that would involve some pretty anal note-taking along the lines of, "7:15 AM. Dr. Klein arrives and explains to me what a spinal anesthetic is, and how a dosage of x-10 ccs is the most beneficial. This is because the thingy-do delivers a more potent dose than the who-zee-what. After talking it over, Sweet Dub and I decide on X." But let's face it, that is not my way. And that, my friends, is why I would never make it as an investigative journalist. All the better for you, and for the rest of humanity, I'd say.
So I had surgery on Monday morning at 7:30. We'd dropped Viva off with her grandparents the night before, and that went well (i.e. no tears on either part). We arrived at the hospital at 5:10 AM, although we weren't supposed to get there until 5:30. It is amazing how quickly you can get around in LA when there is no traffic. As we got out of the car and began walking toward the hospital, I burst into tears.
Let me backtrack here a minute, since I haven't been able to blog about everything that's led up to this. When I told Viva I was going into the hospital (a week ahead of time), she burst into tears and cried hysterically for ten minutes. I mean, the full-on, face-screwed-up, veins-sticking-out-of-neck, can't-draw-breath-to-speak kind of crying. As her mother, there is some kind of switch that flips in me when I see her that hurt. It is physically painful to watch and it makes me gasp for breath and start crying too. I finally got her to explain to me that she thought I meant that very day I was going to the hospital, which was not the case. She was still not happy about it, but not as devastated as previously.
[One more aside, and I could write a whole post about this, but Sweet Dub and I debated when it would be best to tell Viva about the surgery and hospitalization. We didn't want to tell her weeks in advance, because her sense of time is not that concrete and we didn't want it looming over her for what would seem to her like months. We also didn't want to spring it on her just a few days ahead of time. Then she got a cold and had to stay home from school on the very day that I had to go to the surgeon for my pre-op prep visit, so I had to tell her. This actually worked out okay, because my surgeon has a five-year-old and was able to help me explain to Viva what exactly would be happening and what her job would be when I came home from the hospital. Said job involves kissing my tummy a lot.]
At any rate, Viva became obsessed with death in the week leading up to my surgery. She called me into her room at night and, cupping my face in her warm little hands, she said, "You know, Mama, I love you very much. And if you die, I will never forget you."
"Sweetie," I said, already dying a little inside just from that, "you know that I love you very much too. And I have no intention of dying anytime soon. I am just going to the hospital for a couple of days."
"But if you die, I will never forget you. I will always hold you in my heart, like this," she demonstrated, holding her hands over her heart and looking at me soulfully.
"Honey," I said, "I know. And that is nice to know. But you know that I am going to the hospital and then I am coming back home and you and Daddy are going to take care of me. I am not going to die."
"And if you die," she said, completely ignoring me, "I won't let Daddy forget you either."
"Okay, baby, that's nice," I said. "But I just want you to know that I am not dying. You have nothing to worry about. I love you and I will be back soon."
"Okay, Mommy," she said. "You are such a sweet little mommy." And then we would kiss and hug and she would go to bed and we would have the same conversation three more times the next day (again, you see why I didn't want to tell her more than a week in advance). My poor little pumpkin.
But you can see why I would be a little unnerved by my baby talking about death before I went into the hospital. And why I might cry a little bit in the parking lot.
Sweet Dub was comforting and said all the right things and I pulled myself together and we went inside and registered. And then after a while they took three of us from the waiting room up to the prep area. And while I was waiting in line for the bathroom to give a urine sample, I saw Sweet Dub's face light up in a smile, and he went over to hug someone, and I realized my sister Lola had arrived. And considering Lola lives 50 miles away and has 2 kids of her own and it was only 6:45 AM, it was a big deal. So I burst into tears again. And then she cried and it was all like some kind of frickin' Lifetime movie or something.
But I was glad she was there to distract Sweet Dub and keep him company, because then I had to go into serious pre-op mode. I undressed and got into my very fashionable hospital gown with my plastic hair cap. A nurse came in and did unspeakable things to me while trying to find a vein to stick my IV in (thank God I never got into heroin, I don't think it would go well). Elsewhere in pre-op, we could hear the sounds of an electric razor, and they went on and on and on. We started making whispered jokes about Sasquatch because we are all completely insensitive. Then the anesthesiologist came and explained what kind of drugs they'd be giving me. Then they wheeled me away into the OR, where they gave me the spinal, I talked to the surgeon briefly, and then I woke up in recovery.
In recovery, I discovered that I'd had 10 fibroids, and they actually showed me a Polaroid of everything they took out. It looked like a bowl of uncooked meatballs.
I now have nine staples in my bikini area. I got out of the hospital Wednesday at around lunchtime, which was none too soon if you ask me. And I feel okay. I'm not going to go out and run a marathon, but I feel way better than I expected.
Tips to anyone going through this or something similar (ahoy, Bridget!):
Bring an iPod or some other kind of music-type player with headphones. That and the Demerol will help you sleep for at least 3 hours at a stretch.
Bring a couple of pictures of your loved ones.
Bring a portable DVD player with your favorite movies (not ones that will make you laugh, because that hurts). Daytime TV is dreadful. How many episodes of Divorce Court can you watch? Honestly.
Do not, under any circumstances, be like me and forget your cell phone at the office on your last day at work. You will want to call people.
Bring your own bathrobe, your own soap and deodorant, and if you have longer hair, something to put your hair up.
There is nothing wrong with brushing your teeth in bed and spitting into a plastic cup. Desperate times and all that.
Do not expect your house to be clean when you get home.
Do not apologize to visitors for the state of your house.
Two words: stool softener. Let it be your friend.
When I imagined having surgery, I thought I might go about it journalistically. I thought maybe I could actually write an article about it. It seems to me that would involve some pretty anal note-taking along the lines of, "7:15 AM. Dr. Klein arrives and explains to me what a spinal anesthetic is, and how a dosage of x-10 ccs is the most beneficial. This is because the thingy-do delivers a more potent dose than the who-zee-what. After talking it over, Sweet Dub and I decide on X." But let's face it, that is not my way. And that, my friends, is why I would never make it as an investigative journalist. All the better for you, and for the rest of humanity, I'd say.
So I had surgery on Monday morning at 7:30. We'd dropped Viva off with her grandparents the night before, and that went well (i.e. no tears on either part). We arrived at the hospital at 5:10 AM, although we weren't supposed to get there until 5:30. It is amazing how quickly you can get around in LA when there is no traffic. As we got out of the car and began walking toward the hospital, I burst into tears.
Let me backtrack here a minute, since I haven't been able to blog about everything that's led up to this. When I told Viva I was going into the hospital (a week ahead of time), she burst into tears and cried hysterically for ten minutes. I mean, the full-on, face-screwed-up, veins-sticking-out-of-neck, can't-draw-breath-to-speak kind of crying. As her mother, there is some kind of switch that flips in me when I see her that hurt. It is physically painful to watch and it makes me gasp for breath and start crying too. I finally got her to explain to me that she thought I meant that very day I was going to the hospital, which was not the case. She was still not happy about it, but not as devastated as previously.
[One more aside, and I could write a whole post about this, but Sweet Dub and I debated when it would be best to tell Viva about the surgery and hospitalization. We didn't want to tell her weeks in advance, because her sense of time is not that concrete and we didn't want it looming over her for what would seem to her like months. We also didn't want to spring it on her just a few days ahead of time. Then she got a cold and had to stay home from school on the very day that I had to go to the surgeon for my pre-op prep visit, so I had to tell her. This actually worked out okay, because my surgeon has a five-year-old and was able to help me explain to Viva what exactly would be happening and what her job would be when I came home from the hospital. Said job involves kissing my tummy a lot.]
At any rate, Viva became obsessed with death in the week leading up to my surgery. She called me into her room at night and, cupping my face in her warm little hands, she said, "You know, Mama, I love you very much. And if you die, I will never forget you."
"Sweetie," I said, already dying a little inside just from that, "you know that I love you very much too. And I have no intention of dying anytime soon. I am just going to the hospital for a couple of days."
"But if you die, I will never forget you. I will always hold you in my heart, like this," she demonstrated, holding her hands over her heart and looking at me soulfully.
"Honey," I said, "I know. And that is nice to know. But you know that I am going to the hospital and then I am coming back home and you and Daddy are going to take care of me. I am not going to die."
"And if you die," she said, completely ignoring me, "I won't let Daddy forget you either."
"Okay, baby, that's nice," I said. "But I just want you to know that I am not dying. You have nothing to worry about. I love you and I will be back soon."
"Okay, Mommy," she said. "You are such a sweet little mommy." And then we would kiss and hug and she would go to bed and we would have the same conversation three more times the next day (again, you see why I didn't want to tell her more than a week in advance). My poor little pumpkin.
But you can see why I would be a little unnerved by my baby talking about death before I went into the hospital. And why I might cry a little bit in the parking lot.
Sweet Dub was comforting and said all the right things and I pulled myself together and we went inside and registered. And then after a while they took three of us from the waiting room up to the prep area. And while I was waiting in line for the bathroom to give a urine sample, I saw Sweet Dub's face light up in a smile, and he went over to hug someone, and I realized my sister Lola had arrived. And considering Lola lives 50 miles away and has 2 kids of her own and it was only 6:45 AM, it was a big deal. So I burst into tears again. And then she cried and it was all like some kind of frickin' Lifetime movie or something.
But I was glad she was there to distract Sweet Dub and keep him company, because then I had to go into serious pre-op mode. I undressed and got into my very fashionable hospital gown with my plastic hair cap. A nurse came in and did unspeakable things to me while trying to find a vein to stick my IV in (thank God I never got into heroin, I don't think it would go well). Elsewhere in pre-op, we could hear the sounds of an electric razor, and they went on and on and on. We started making whispered jokes about Sasquatch because we are all completely insensitive. Then the anesthesiologist came and explained what kind of drugs they'd be giving me. Then they wheeled me away into the OR, where they gave me the spinal, I talked to the surgeon briefly, and then I woke up in recovery.
In recovery, I discovered that I'd had 10 fibroids, and they actually showed me a Polaroid of everything they took out. It looked like a bowl of uncooked meatballs.
I now have nine staples in my bikini area. I got out of the hospital Wednesday at around lunchtime, which was none too soon if you ask me. And I feel okay. I'm not going to go out and run a marathon, but I feel way better than I expected.
Tips to anyone going through this or something similar (ahoy, Bridget!):
Bring an iPod or some other kind of music-type player with headphones. That and the Demerol will help you sleep for at least 3 hours at a stretch.
Bring a couple of pictures of your loved ones.
Bring a portable DVD player with your favorite movies (not ones that will make you laugh, because that hurts). Daytime TV is dreadful. How many episodes of Divorce Court can you watch? Honestly.
Do not, under any circumstances, be like me and forget your cell phone at the office on your last day at work. You will want to call people.
Bring your own bathrobe, your own soap and deodorant, and if you have longer hair, something to put your hair up.
There is nothing wrong with brushing your teeth in bed and spitting into a plastic cup. Desperate times and all that.
Do not expect your house to be clean when you get home.
Do not apologize to visitors for the state of your house.
Two words: stool softener. Let it be your friend.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Just Heat and Serve!
I am less than two weeks away from going under the knife. On Monday, October 8, I’ll be having a myomectomy to remove the 7 or so fibroids that are making my life less than stellar. I will spend two to four days in the hospital and then recuperate at home for anywhere from six to eight weeks. We have spent the past couple of weeks periodically making arrangements for this time – mapping out medical leave (Sweet Dub will take one week off), arranging for my in-laws to take Viva the night before, etc.
One of the reasons I am having the surgery is to eliminate the back pain I’ve been having, which is fairly constant at a dull roar but likes to flare up with screaming meemies every now and then. The past couple of nights I have not been able to get comfortable enough to go to sleep. So last night I was channel-surfing and came across this show, about a family with 8 kids – first a set of twins, and then sextuplets. I missed the first part of the show, but was intrigued because the mom was preparing to have surgery with a long recuperation and I was wondering if she was having something similar. Er, nope – she was having a tummy tuck. But she went shopping with her 5-year-old twins to buy enough food to prepare two weeks’ worth of meals. Sweet fanciful Moses! It took her 24 hours to cook all the food, and then she was on to packing clothes and diapers and the kitchen sink for all her kids as they were preparing to drop them all off with various friends and relatives.
Let’s stop right there for a second, because I’m still floored by the food (and let’s face it, laundry? For 8 kids? Yes, that gives me nightmares). The mom, Kate, explained that she wanted to cook all the food for her kids ahead of time because they had never yet tasted junk food and she wanted them to have organic food as much as possible, which is admirable, and I can see where she’s coming from. And her husband, like mine (love you, babe!) is not all that skillful in the kitchen. But let me tell you, the second I found out I’d be in bed for at least a week, two words came to mind: Trader Joe’s.
Trader Joe’s, sweetie. It won’t kill you. I intend to stock up on as much frozen food as possible and try some new things I’ve never had before. It’ll be an adventure!
One of the reasons I am having the surgery is to eliminate the back pain I’ve been having, which is fairly constant at a dull roar but likes to flare up with screaming meemies every now and then. The past couple of nights I have not been able to get comfortable enough to go to sleep. So last night I was channel-surfing and came across this show, about a family with 8 kids – first a set of twins, and then sextuplets. I missed the first part of the show, but was intrigued because the mom was preparing to have surgery with a long recuperation and I was wondering if she was having something similar. Er, nope – she was having a tummy tuck. But she went shopping with her 5-year-old twins to buy enough food to prepare two weeks’ worth of meals. Sweet fanciful Moses! It took her 24 hours to cook all the food, and then she was on to packing clothes and diapers and the kitchen sink for all her kids as they were preparing to drop them all off with various friends and relatives.
Let’s stop right there for a second, because I’m still floored by the food (and let’s face it, laundry? For 8 kids? Yes, that gives me nightmares). The mom, Kate, explained that she wanted to cook all the food for her kids ahead of time because they had never yet tasted junk food and she wanted them to have organic food as much as possible, which is admirable, and I can see where she’s coming from. And her husband, like mine (love you, babe!) is not all that skillful in the kitchen. But let me tell you, the second I found out I’d be in bed for at least a week, two words came to mind: Trader Joe’s.
Trader Joe’s, sweetie. It won’t kill you. I intend to stock up on as much frozen food as possible and try some new things I’ve never had before. It’ll be an adventure!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Don’t Get Caught with Your Pants Down
As the school year has recently kicked off, and with the 6th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks fresh in our minds, I think there is no time like the present to take stock. More specifically: it’s time to get prepared. Are you ready in case of an emergency?
(By the way: Two posts in 24 hours? WHAT?!)
(Ahem.)
Sweet Dub and I have always had earthquake bags and first aid kits in our cars and in the house. But it’s hard to keep up-to-date on the emergency bags when you have a little one. At a birthday party this summer, Viva soaked through her shirt with a melting Sno-Cone not once but twice. I always carry one change of clothes with us, but wasn’t prepared for her to have another wardrobe change during a 3-hour party. I rummaged through the emergency bag in my trunk and came up with a size 2T T-shirt. It was a stretchy material, and it actually sorta fit, which I think is why it was in there in the first place, but still. She currently wears a 5T, people.
So I think the Blah Blahs will be staging Emergency Preparedness Weekend to go through our house and cars, restock on water, pack emergency kits for at work (jerky and granola bars, anyone?), and update our family phone tree.
If you haven’t done this recently, I hope you’ll consider doing the same. Because an ounce of prevention is worth – oh, you know the rest.
(By the way: Two posts in 24 hours? WHAT?!)
(Ahem.)
Sweet Dub and I have always had earthquake bags and first aid kits in our cars and in the house. But it’s hard to keep up-to-date on the emergency bags when you have a little one. At a birthday party this summer, Viva soaked through her shirt with a melting Sno-Cone not once but twice. I always carry one change of clothes with us, but wasn’t prepared for her to have another wardrobe change during a 3-hour party. I rummaged through the emergency bag in my trunk and came up with a size 2T T-shirt. It was a stretchy material, and it actually sorta fit, which I think is why it was in there in the first place, but still. She currently wears a 5T, people.
So I think the Blah Blahs will be staging Emergency Preparedness Weekend to go through our house and cars, restock on water, pack emergency kits for at work (jerky and granola bars, anyone?), and update our family phone tree.
If you haven’t done this recently, I hope you’ll consider doing the same. Because an ounce of prevention is worth – oh, you know the rest.
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