March 23, 2007 - Friday
When I die, I better not have chin hairs. Category: Life
Yes, it is 4am. I have been up since 3am. Kid woke me up and now I cannot go back to sleep. I am sure I will be dead later about 3pm when I am supposed to be lively at a party. Anyways, I cannot take credit for the following blog. A lady at work brought it up and I was very moved by it. I wanted to talk about it, elaborate on it, and welcome your comments.We were commenting about seeing little old lady patients that had long, grey chin hairs. We agreed that many of these ladies were either in nursing homes with no family, could not see the hairs, or had no one who cared enough about them to pluck the hairs (we called this neglect). My friend stated that in her will she has already stipulated that if she has a beard or stray facial hairs when she dies- her children will not receive any of her riches. She said that they had to take care of her and assure that she did not have the old lady chin hairs, or they would be written off. When she said this, I thought it was so profound. Now, I know most of my friends are old enough to understand the chin hair dilemma, but for those of you who do not- here is the deal. When you are a teenager, your skin is perfect (except for a few zits). You have no wrinkles, your skin tone is even, and the only thing you pluck is your eyebrows. Here is a quick aside: ladies, do not overdo the eyebrow plucking/waxing. Yes, those superthin eyebrows may be in, but just know that they will not always be. I believe that the cosmetic tatooing and model industries work together on eyebrow fashion. When the tatoo industry starts to feel a drop in customers, they pay the model industry (magazines, runway, etc) to begin flaunting the superthin brow. After about 2 years of this, the tatoo industry pays the model industry to being showing a more thick brow. Now, it will not be a dramatic change all at once. Over the course of a couple of years, the models will begin sporting increasingly thicker brows. Soon, the women of the world will begin flocking to the cosmetic tatoo artists to have their pencil thin brows filled in. I know this is how it happens. Anyways, back to my original story. In your mid twenties, you start to see some uneven skin tones. By the end of your twenties, you have the brown spots- which can generally be managed with makeup. But then. Oh, but then. You start finding------- the old lady chin hairs. It starts out as one that you need to pluck every few months. Then that one turns grey and hard. Then, you find another one, that needs to be plucked every month or so. And one day, you will find 3-5 long, black and grey hairs dangling from your chin. You wonder why no one told you. How could your closest friends not have told you? So, you pluck these hairs and feel relieved that you do not need to worry about this embarrassment for another month. Then, 2 weeks later, some have come back. Then, 2 weeks later, more have come back. Soon, you are having to check everyday since the hairs all grow at different rates. Damn those hair follicles with their different growth cycles!!! What I used to call my weekly chin hairs, are now my daily chin hairs. Since my friends do not have the cajones to tell me when I have a dangler, as we will now call them, my children and husband have inherited that duty. When I die, I WILL not have chin hairs, a beard, or a mustache (don't even get me started on that). I will make sure my lawyer, Howard K. Stern, will contact the appropriate authorities to visually inspect my hair situation upon my death. If anything is awry, my entire estate will be willed to the Aesthetician, Electrolysis, Laser Hair Removal Association of America. I will direct them to conduct weekly educational programs around the country discussing the options for hair removal. Please comment on your personal wants/desires when you die.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
From 03/23/07: When I die, I better not have chin hairs.
March 23, 2007 - Friday
When I die, I better not have chin hairs. Category: Life
Yes, it is 4am. I have been up since 3am. Kid woke me up and now I cannot go back to sleep. I am sure I will be dead later about 3pm when I am supposed to be lively at a party. Anyways, I cannot take credit for the following blog. A lady at work brought it up and I was very moved by it. I wanted to talk about it, elaborate on it, and welcome your comments.We were commenting about seeing little old lady patients that had long, grey chin hairs. We agreed that many of these ladies were either in nursing homes with no family, could not see the hairs, or had no one who cared enough about them to pluck the hairs (we called this neglect). My friend stated that in her will she has already stipulated that if she has a beard or stray facial hairs when she dies- her children will not receive any of her riches. She said that they had to take care of her and assure that she did not have the old lady chin hairs, or they would be written off. When she said this, I thought it was so profound. Now, I know most of my friends are old enough to understand the chin hair dilemma, but for those of you who do not- here is the deal. When you are a teenager, your skin is perfect (except for a few zits). You have no wrinkles, your skin tone is even, and the only thing you pluck is your eyebrows. Here is a quick aside: ladies, do not overdo the eyebrow plucking/waxing. Yes, those superthin eyebrows may be in, but just know that they will not always be. I believe that the cosmetic tatooing and model industries work together on eyebrow fashion. When the tatoo industry starts to feel a drop in customers, they pay the model industry (magazines, runway, etc) to begin flaunting the superthin brow. After about 2 years of this, the tatoo industry pays the model industry to being showing a more thick brow. Now, it will not be a dramatic change all at once. Over the course of a couple of years, the models will begin sporting increasingly thicker brows. Soon, the women of the world will begin flocking to the cosmetic tatoo artists to have their pencil thin brows filled in. I know this is how it happens. Anyways, back to my original story. In your mid twenties, you start to see some uneven skin tones. By the end of your twenties, you have the brown spots- which can generally be managed with makeup. But then. Oh, but then. You start finding------- the old lady chin hairs. It starts out as one that you need to pluck every few months. Then that one turns grey and hard. Then, you find another one, that needs to be plucked every month or so. And one day, you will find 3-5 long, black and grey hairs dangling from your chin. You wonder why no one told you. How could your closest friends not have told you? So, you pluck these hairs and feel relieved that you do not need to worry about this embarrassment for another month. Then, 2 weeks later, some have come back. Then, 2 weeks later, more have come back. Soon, you are having to check everyday since the hairs all grow at different rates. Damn those hair follicles with their different growth cycles!!! What I used to call my weekly chin hairs, are now my daily chin hairs. Since my friends do not have the cajones to tell me when I have a dangler, as we will now call them, my children and husband have inherited that duty. When I die, I WILL not have chin hairs, a beard, or a mustache (don't even get me started on that). I will make sure my lawyer, Howard K. Stern, will contact the appropriate authorities to visually inspect my hair situation upon my death. If anything is awry, my entire estate will be willed to the Aesthetician, Electrolysis, Laser Hair Removal Association of America. I will direct them to conduct weekly educational programs around the country discussing the options for hair removal. Please comment on your personal wants/desires when you die.
When I die, I better not have chin hairs. Category: Life
Yes, it is 4am. I have been up since 3am. Kid woke me up and now I cannot go back to sleep. I am sure I will be dead later about 3pm when I am supposed to be lively at a party. Anyways, I cannot take credit for the following blog. A lady at work brought it up and I was very moved by it. I wanted to talk about it, elaborate on it, and welcome your comments.We were commenting about seeing little old lady patients that had long, grey chin hairs. We agreed that many of these ladies were either in nursing homes with no family, could not see the hairs, or had no one who cared enough about them to pluck the hairs (we called this neglect). My friend stated that in her will she has already stipulated that if she has a beard or stray facial hairs when she dies- her children will not receive any of her riches. She said that they had to take care of her and assure that she did not have the old lady chin hairs, or they would be written off. When she said this, I thought it was so profound. Now, I know most of my friends are old enough to understand the chin hair dilemma, but for those of you who do not- here is the deal. When you are a teenager, your skin is perfect (except for a few zits). You have no wrinkles, your skin tone is even, and the only thing you pluck is your eyebrows. Here is a quick aside: ladies, do not overdo the eyebrow plucking/waxing. Yes, those superthin eyebrows may be in, but just know that they will not always be. I believe that the cosmetic tatooing and model industries work together on eyebrow fashion. When the tatoo industry starts to feel a drop in customers, they pay the model industry (magazines, runway, etc) to begin flaunting the superthin brow. After about 2 years of this, the tatoo industry pays the model industry to being showing a more thick brow. Now, it will not be a dramatic change all at once. Over the course of a couple of years, the models will begin sporting increasingly thicker brows. Soon, the women of the world will begin flocking to the cosmetic tatoo artists to have their pencil thin brows filled in. I know this is how it happens. Anyways, back to my original story. In your mid twenties, you start to see some uneven skin tones. By the end of your twenties, you have the brown spots- which can generally be managed with makeup. But then. Oh, but then. You start finding------- the old lady chin hairs. It starts out as one that you need to pluck every few months. Then that one turns grey and hard. Then, you find another one, that needs to be plucked every month or so. And one day, you will find 3-5 long, black and grey hairs dangling from your chin. You wonder why no one told you. How could your closest friends not have told you? So, you pluck these hairs and feel relieved that you do not need to worry about this embarrassment for another month. Then, 2 weeks later, some have come back. Then, 2 weeks later, more have come back. Soon, you are having to check everyday since the hairs all grow at different rates. Damn those hair follicles with their different growth cycles!!! What I used to call my weekly chin hairs, are now my daily chin hairs. Since my friends do not have the cajones to tell me when I have a dangler, as we will now call them, my children and husband have inherited that duty. When I die, I WILL not have chin hairs, a beard, or a mustache (don't even get me started on that). I will make sure my lawyer, Howard K. Stern, will contact the appropriate authorities to visually inspect my hair situation upon my death. If anything is awry, my entire estate will be willed to the Aesthetician, Electrolysis, Laser Hair Removal Association of America. I will direct them to conduct weekly educational programs around the country discussing the options for hair removal. Please comment on your personal wants/desires when you die.
From May 27/2007: Down the Slippery Slope
May 27, 2007 - Sunday
Down a slippery slope Category: Life
Wherever my husband and I go, we always seem to be slowed down by his need to take care of his bodily functions. Me, I can hold a pee for hours and be fine. Only after about 3 hours of holding it and drinking a lot of fluids in the meantime does my need to pee ever become an emergency. With him, everytime is an emergency. No, it is not his prostate, this is how it has always been. So, after 14 years I should be used to it. But I am not. To top it all off, we have a toddler we are trying to potty train. So, the concern over peeing and pooping is at an even greater level than normal. Today we went on our normal Sunday outing to the library, only to find it was closed. We decided to go to the UT Tower because there is a fabulous pond behind it that is filled with turtles. I could not remember where to park to get there, so we parked by the stadium. I had forgotten that the stadium was about a half a mile from the Tower. No biggy, our son needed to burn off some energy. We parked and immediately my husband decided that he really needed to pee. My son and I walked around the Alumni Center courtyard looking at statues of Bevo, some horses, and a cowboy while my husband went to the souvaneir (?) shop to use the restroom. He came out and said they had no public restroom. I noticed that there was a memorial service going on in the Alumni Center, so I told him to go in. Heck, he was wearing a grey shirt, he could have easily been a mourner. My son and I discussed the makeup of the statues while he went inside. He came out again without finding a restroom. I knew what was coming next, my husband would have to pee outside. He rushed ahead of us and down a trail leading to a creek. Soon, he came back- a victor. I could see the relief on his face. He asked me if I saw him fall. I immediately started laughing and said no. As an aside, my husband has a really big problem with falling. He seems to fall all the time. Usually it is in the privacy of our own home as he goes up the stairs. In fact, tonight he almost ripped the end of his big toe off. How you lacerate your toe on stairs, I will never know. The last big fall was at my niece's birthday party when he tripped over a stake holding down a moonwalk. I missed the actual fall, but I heard that he bounced back up from the ground like he was on a trampoline. The family still talks about this. So, anyways, we are all on a bridge over the creek. My husband points out some old timey, rock stairs leading down to the creek. They were wet rain and mossy. He said he was going down the stairs and turned to see if anyone was around before he peed. He said as he turned, both of his feet slipped out from under him and he went airborne. He landed on his left butt cheek. He said it was like a cartoon fall. He showed me the back of his pants and they had nasty green moss stains on them. His hands were also covered in a green funk, like he was turning into the swamp thing. We walked up to one of the big water fountains on the UT campus so he could wash off a bit. So that was his story. Now for mine. My husband gets so irritated with me because whenever something happens to him, I embellish the story. Maybe I do, maybe I don't. So, I asked him if I could write my version as long as I told his version first. Here is how I see it: he walks down the mossy slippery stairs. He unzips his pants and starts to pee, when he decides he better look around to make sure no one is watching. As he turns, he falls like he described it above. He hands slips off of his, you know, and he can't stop the peeing as he falls. The pee is spraying everywhere and it like a fountain- getting his pants all wet and as he continues to fall the pee begins to spray onto his head. He finally lands and the pee has stopped. He is laying on his right side and slides down the slippery moss rocks a few feet. He is finally able to zip his pants and make his way back to his family. You can decide which version you think is true.
Down a slippery slope Category: Life
Wherever my husband and I go, we always seem to be slowed down by his need to take care of his bodily functions. Me, I can hold a pee for hours and be fine. Only after about 3 hours of holding it and drinking a lot of fluids in the meantime does my need to pee ever become an emergency. With him, everytime is an emergency. No, it is not his prostate, this is how it has always been. So, after 14 years I should be used to it. But I am not. To top it all off, we have a toddler we are trying to potty train. So, the concern over peeing and pooping is at an even greater level than normal. Today we went on our normal Sunday outing to the library, only to find it was closed. We decided to go to the UT Tower because there is a fabulous pond behind it that is filled with turtles. I could not remember where to park to get there, so we parked by the stadium. I had forgotten that the stadium was about a half a mile from the Tower. No biggy, our son needed to burn off some energy. We parked and immediately my husband decided that he really needed to pee. My son and I walked around the Alumni Center courtyard looking at statues of Bevo, some horses, and a cowboy while my husband went to the souvaneir (?) shop to use the restroom. He came out and said they had no public restroom. I noticed that there was a memorial service going on in the Alumni Center, so I told him to go in. Heck, he was wearing a grey shirt, he could have easily been a mourner. My son and I discussed the makeup of the statues while he went inside. He came out again without finding a restroom. I knew what was coming next, my husband would have to pee outside. He rushed ahead of us and down a trail leading to a creek. Soon, he came back- a victor. I could see the relief on his face. He asked me if I saw him fall. I immediately started laughing and said no. As an aside, my husband has a really big problem with falling. He seems to fall all the time. Usually it is in the privacy of our own home as he goes up the stairs. In fact, tonight he almost ripped the end of his big toe off. How you lacerate your toe on stairs, I will never know. The last big fall was at my niece's birthday party when he tripped over a stake holding down a moonwalk. I missed the actual fall, but I heard that he bounced back up from the ground like he was on a trampoline. The family still talks about this. So, anyways, we are all on a bridge over the creek. My husband points out some old timey, rock stairs leading down to the creek. They were wet rain and mossy. He said he was going down the stairs and turned to see if anyone was around before he peed. He said as he turned, both of his feet slipped out from under him and he went airborne. He landed on his left butt cheek. He said it was like a cartoon fall. He showed me the back of his pants and they had nasty green moss stains on them. His hands were also covered in a green funk, like he was turning into the swamp thing. We walked up to one of the big water fountains on the UT campus so he could wash off a bit. So that was his story. Now for mine. My husband gets so irritated with me because whenever something happens to him, I embellish the story. Maybe I do, maybe I don't. So, I asked him if I could write my version as long as I told his version first. Here is how I see it: he walks down the mossy slippery stairs. He unzips his pants and starts to pee, when he decides he better look around to make sure no one is watching. As he turns, he falls like he described it above. He hands slips off of his, you know, and he can't stop the peeing as he falls. The pee is spraying everywhere and it like a fountain- getting his pants all wet and as he continues to fall the pee begins to spray onto his head. He finally lands and the pee has stopped. He is laying on his right side and slides down the slippery moss rocks a few feet. He is finally able to zip his pants and make his way back to his family. You can decide which version you think is true.
From 08/27/07: White Trash Pool Party
August 27, 2007 - Monday
White Trash Pool Party Category: Life
So today I remembered that I had a slip n' slide in the garage that we got about 4 years ago. Actually, my friend Heidi bought it for a party we called Death Row Dinner. This was a potluck in which you brought the food that you would want served to you the day before you were executed, your last meal. We were originally going to call it the Last Supper, but I thought it would be too sacrilegious. So, my son donned his favorite outfit for the occasion, his birthday suit. That kid sheds his clothes the minute he hits the door. At EVERY function we attend, whether family or public, he requests to "be naked." We are working on the no nudity in public till you're 18, but it's not working so well. So, my husband sets up the slip n' slide (SNS so that i do not have to keep spelling it out) in the backyard. Let me tell you, those SNS's are not what they were when I played on them. As Ray said, they used to be like a long crappy trashbag. Now, there are stakes to hold them down, the water showers over the entire slide, and there is a bumper at the end to stop you. No more fat burns from the part that was not getting wet and no more sliding off the end into a sticker patch. Thankfully, we do not have stickers in our yard. Here is an aside, when I was growing up, our yards were COVERED with stickers. I never thought much of it, but now that I do, having your backyard covered in stickers is pretty white trash. Now, if your backyard is a pasture, that is one thing. But if you have a fenced in yard and you cannot afford to put in decent, weed free and sticker free grass, that is pretty trashy. I am pretty sure that many of you that are reading this are offended because your own backyards are like this. Well, then this is your wakeup call. Give your children a place to play without having to wear shoes or constantly worry about tripping and falling to their doom. If you don't have kids, then just do it for dignity's sake. Grow some pride in your landscape! Alright, so my husband set up the SNS. My son immediately goes to the bumpered end because there is a fountain of water coming out the end of the hose that runs down the side of the SNS. He played there and I asked him if he wanted to run and slide and he said no. After a while, I asked him if he wanted Daddy to show him how. He said yes. So Ray goes into the house to get his swimming trunks, or so I thought. Instead, he came out with his shirt off and took off his shorts. He is standing there in his boxers and I asked him why he did not go get his trunks. He said because he would have been in there a long time and I would have gotten mad about that. Oh, and I would not get worked up about him parading around our backyard in his underwear?! And on top of that, he had not shaved his back in many months (see my blog about his back hair). No, I was not mad, but geez I am sure the neighbors' eyes were bleeding from the sight in my yard. Naked 3 year old and half naked 34 year old. So, Ray proceeds to show my son how to slide down the SNS. When he reaches the end where my son is, his white striped boxers are essentially see through. My son points the water hose at Ray's butt and the crack is in full view through his underwear. It is like some nasty wet tshirt contest. I thought that my son would take over the sliding, but no. He was content to play with the hose. Ray got up, with great excitement and did another pass over the SNS. He determined that he needed to rearrange the positioning of the SNS so that he could get more of a running start. You should have seen the smile across his face. I bet it hurt. He moved the SNS 2 more times trying to find just the perfect spot for HIM to play. My poor son just wanted to play with the hose, but he was just a speed bump on my husband's road to funtown. Well, the boys had a great time this evening. The SNS is still staked out in the stickerless backyard and I am sure Ray will be thinking about it all day at work tomorrow.
White Trash Pool Party Category: Life
So today I remembered that I had a slip n' slide in the garage that we got about 4 years ago. Actually, my friend Heidi bought it for a party we called Death Row Dinner. This was a potluck in which you brought the food that you would want served to you the day before you were executed, your last meal. We were originally going to call it the Last Supper, but I thought it would be too sacrilegious. So, my son donned his favorite outfit for the occasion, his birthday suit. That kid sheds his clothes the minute he hits the door. At EVERY function we attend, whether family or public, he requests to "be naked." We are working on the no nudity in public till you're 18, but it's not working so well. So, my husband sets up the slip n' slide (SNS so that i do not have to keep spelling it out) in the backyard. Let me tell you, those SNS's are not what they were when I played on them. As Ray said, they used to be like a long crappy trashbag. Now, there are stakes to hold them down, the water showers over the entire slide, and there is a bumper at the end to stop you. No more fat burns from the part that was not getting wet and no more sliding off the end into a sticker patch. Thankfully, we do not have stickers in our yard. Here is an aside, when I was growing up, our yards were COVERED with stickers. I never thought much of it, but now that I do, having your backyard covered in stickers is pretty white trash. Now, if your backyard is a pasture, that is one thing. But if you have a fenced in yard and you cannot afford to put in decent, weed free and sticker free grass, that is pretty trashy. I am pretty sure that many of you that are reading this are offended because your own backyards are like this. Well, then this is your wakeup call. Give your children a place to play without having to wear shoes or constantly worry about tripping and falling to their doom. If you don't have kids, then just do it for dignity's sake. Grow some pride in your landscape! Alright, so my husband set up the SNS. My son immediately goes to the bumpered end because there is a fountain of water coming out the end of the hose that runs down the side of the SNS. He played there and I asked him if he wanted to run and slide and he said no. After a while, I asked him if he wanted Daddy to show him how. He said yes. So Ray goes into the house to get his swimming trunks, or so I thought. Instead, he came out with his shirt off and took off his shorts. He is standing there in his boxers and I asked him why he did not go get his trunks. He said because he would have been in there a long time and I would have gotten mad about that. Oh, and I would not get worked up about him parading around our backyard in his underwear?! And on top of that, he had not shaved his back in many months (see my blog about his back hair). No, I was not mad, but geez I am sure the neighbors' eyes were bleeding from the sight in my yard. Naked 3 year old and half naked 34 year old. So, Ray proceeds to show my son how to slide down the SNS. When he reaches the end where my son is, his white striped boxers are essentially see through. My son points the water hose at Ray's butt and the crack is in full view through his underwear. It is like some nasty wet tshirt contest. I thought that my son would take over the sliding, but no. He was content to play with the hose. Ray got up, with great excitement and did another pass over the SNS. He determined that he needed to rearrange the positioning of the SNS so that he could get more of a running start. You should have seen the smile across his face. I bet it hurt. He moved the SNS 2 more times trying to find just the perfect spot for HIM to play. My poor son just wanted to play with the hose, but he was just a speed bump on my husband's road to funtown. Well, the boys had a great time this evening. The SNS is still staked out in the stickerless backyard and I am sure Ray will be thinking about it all day at work tomorrow.
From 09/30/07: I am no Earth Mother
September 30, 2007 - Sunday
I am no earth mother
So I have a 11 week old, as most of you know. I also have a 3 year old. With the 3 year old, I had a pretty hard time breastfeeding him. Difficult latch, unhappy momma, lots of reasons why it did not really work. So, I just pumped the milk with and gave it to him in a bottle. Not exactly natural, but at least he was getting the milk. With the second child, I was determined to breastfeed her the "right" way. I was going to take advantage of my natural, God-given ability. After 11 weeks, I have done very well. I am proud of my tenacity and that my nipples have held up. But, I would not exactly say I am the earth mother type. There are some real truths about breastfeeding that no one had ever told me. First, let me explain the pillow that I use to feed her. It is called (and I am not kidding) My Brest Friend (my bff). For those of you who do not know what it looks like- search it online to get a clear picture.You strap it around your waste and the baby lays on a kind of pillow table. It is probably the Brest thing ever invented. It puts the kid in the right position and holds the kid in place without much effort. Let's say she was feeding off the right one (feeding, sounds like a shark feeding frenzy). I could easily lay her across the pillow and use my right hand to hold the breast in place. The left hand is free to do whatever. My best friend used to be my body pillow, but this has moved into the first position. The only major problem with it is that it is not really practical to carry along with you and use in public. It is very big and barely fits in the carrier below the stroller. In trying to be the super earth mother that I thought I was, I thought "no big deal, I can just breastfeed in public without My Brest Friend." Well, I do not know how all these other women do it and have done it for millions of years, but Oh---My----God----, it is not easy. It is almost like the 3 stooges trying to feed a baby. It is a multifaceted task that really should require a couple of people. People, these are the things that no one else will tell you. First off, it forces me to feed her in a manner that is completely different than the way My Brest Friend and I do it. Again, as an example, lets say I was feeding her off the right breast. Even though I try to be super earth mother, I am NOT going to show my breasts in public! I know it is all natural and that is what they were made for, but I just do not think that people want to see that. So, I take a large blanket and throw it over my right shoulder. As I am holding her, I have to tuck the top of the blanket under my bra strap to hold it up. That way, when she thrashes around, which she always does when I try to do this in public, she does not pull the blanket down exposing my breasts. Without the pillow, I have to cradle her in the crook of my right arm. This in itself is quite a task. A 13 1/2 lb baby in the crook of your arm is not easy to hold. Then, I have to maneuver the squirming, crying, and anxious-to-eat child onto the nipple. Again, not easy. I have to expertly place the blanket around her head to create a kind of wall that allows me to her face, but at the same time prevent others from seeing my goods. Then, I have to try to get her mouth in the right spot on the nipple. For those of you unfamiliar with breastfeeding, you have to get the right "latch" or your nipples with crack and become raging fire balls. In fact, if your nipples get injured or you get clogged ducts in your breast from not drinking enough water- when that kid nurses you would think that someone was trying to saw your nipples off with the butter knife. Wow! You do not know pain until it feels like your kid is trying to gnaw your nipples off like a starving wolf. Back to the story- when a baby is hungry, they get very excited and move their face around trying to find the milk source. So, with my blanket placed, my right arm falling asleep, the baby squirming, and me trying to keep the public from seeing "my space", I take the left hand and try to guide my nipple into her mouth. Once I finally succeed, I have to keep my left hand inside the blanket tent to hold my breast away from her nose because their size and gravity force the breast over her nostrils. Beside all the other things that are happening in the public breast feeding fiasco, I do not want infant suffocation to be added. So, once she is on there, it is a constant battle to keep her on the nipple. She knows that this is not the way we usually do it and she does not like it any more than I do. On top of all this, my child, like many I am sure, is a very loud sucker. I could not discreetly breastfeed this child anywhere. My husband and I purposely choose to eat at loud restaurants to drown out the sound of my son screaming and sound of my super sucker. As soon as my baby and I get a rhythm going, she needs to be burped. So, I have to pluck her mouth off the nipple, pull my bra up, pull my shirt down, pull the blanket off, and then I can sit her up to burp. And, then the dance starts again when I put her back on. I forgot to mention, that on top of all of this, I have to try to keep the back of my shirt down so that no one can see my back fat. So how do these earth mothers do this? How do they just wip it out, sans blanket? They just don't care. I do not think the La Leche League will be call me anytime soon to be a spokesperson.
I am no earth mother
So I have a 11 week old, as most of you know. I also have a 3 year old. With the 3 year old, I had a pretty hard time breastfeeding him. Difficult latch, unhappy momma, lots of reasons why it did not really work. So, I just pumped the milk with and gave it to him in a bottle. Not exactly natural, but at least he was getting the milk. With the second child, I was determined to breastfeed her the "right" way. I was going to take advantage of my natural, God-given ability. After 11 weeks, I have done very well. I am proud of my tenacity and that my nipples have held up. But, I would not exactly say I am the earth mother type. There are some real truths about breastfeeding that no one had ever told me. First, let me explain the pillow that I use to feed her. It is called (and I am not kidding) My Brest Friend (my bff). For those of you who do not know what it looks like- search it online to get a clear picture.You strap it around your waste and the baby lays on a kind of pillow table. It is probably the Brest thing ever invented. It puts the kid in the right position and holds the kid in place without much effort. Let's say she was feeding off the right one (feeding, sounds like a shark feeding frenzy). I could easily lay her across the pillow and use my right hand to hold the breast in place. The left hand is free to do whatever. My best friend used to be my body pillow, but this has moved into the first position. The only major problem with it is that it is not really practical to carry along with you and use in public. It is very big and barely fits in the carrier below the stroller. In trying to be the super earth mother that I thought I was, I thought "no big deal, I can just breastfeed in public without My Brest Friend." Well, I do not know how all these other women do it and have done it for millions of years, but Oh---My----God----, it is not easy. It is almost like the 3 stooges trying to feed a baby. It is a multifaceted task that really should require a couple of people. People, these are the things that no one else will tell you. First off, it forces me to feed her in a manner that is completely different than the way My Brest Friend and I do it. Again, as an example, lets say I was feeding her off the right breast. Even though I try to be super earth mother, I am NOT going to show my breasts in public! I know it is all natural and that is what they were made for, but I just do not think that people want to see that. So, I take a large blanket and throw it over my right shoulder. As I am holding her, I have to tuck the top of the blanket under my bra strap to hold it up. That way, when she thrashes around, which she always does when I try to do this in public, she does not pull the blanket down exposing my breasts. Without the pillow, I have to cradle her in the crook of my right arm. This in itself is quite a task. A 13 1/2 lb baby in the crook of your arm is not easy to hold. Then, I have to maneuver the squirming, crying, and anxious-to-eat child onto the nipple. Again, not easy. I have to expertly place the blanket around her head to create a kind of wall that allows me to her face, but at the same time prevent others from seeing my goods. Then, I have to try to get her mouth in the right spot on the nipple. For those of you unfamiliar with breastfeeding, you have to get the right "latch" or your nipples with crack and become raging fire balls. In fact, if your nipples get injured or you get clogged ducts in your breast from not drinking enough water- when that kid nurses you would think that someone was trying to saw your nipples off with the butter knife. Wow! You do not know pain until it feels like your kid is trying to gnaw your nipples off like a starving wolf. Back to the story- when a baby is hungry, they get very excited and move their face around trying to find the milk source. So, with my blanket placed, my right arm falling asleep, the baby squirming, and me trying to keep the public from seeing "my space", I take the left hand and try to guide my nipple into her mouth. Once I finally succeed, I have to keep my left hand inside the blanket tent to hold my breast away from her nose because their size and gravity force the breast over her nostrils. Beside all the other things that are happening in the public breast feeding fiasco, I do not want infant suffocation to be added. So, once she is on there, it is a constant battle to keep her on the nipple. She knows that this is not the way we usually do it and she does not like it any more than I do. On top of all this, my child, like many I am sure, is a very loud sucker. I could not discreetly breastfeed this child anywhere. My husband and I purposely choose to eat at loud restaurants to drown out the sound of my son screaming and sound of my super sucker. As soon as my baby and I get a rhythm going, she needs to be burped. So, I have to pluck her mouth off the nipple, pull my bra up, pull my shirt down, pull the blanket off, and then I can sit her up to burp. And, then the dance starts again when I put her back on. I forgot to mention, that on top of all of this, I have to try to keep the back of my shirt down so that no one can see my back fat. So how do these earth mothers do this? How do they just wip it out, sans blanket? They just don't care. I do not think the La Leche League will be call me anytime soon to be a spokesperson.
Blog from 04/24/08: We need a change of pants.
April 24, 2008 - Thursday
We need a change of pants please Category: Life
So I got off work early today and I thought I would have a great rest of the day to spend with my family. My husband, son , and daughter stayed home because my daughter was running a fever. I got home about 1300 and my daughter sounded wheezy and snot was coming out of her ears. She just got tubes a week ago, so drainage is to be expected when they get stuffy. Well, she has been a lung nightmare for about the past 5 months, so I decided that I better take her in to the pediatrician to have that all checked out to make sure she did not have pnemonia or something. On our drive there, which is about 17 to 20 miles from my house, both kids fell asleep in the car. We get to the office and sit in the car for about 20 minutes before the appointment. Ray and I listened to some talk radio like all nerds do. Yes, I love talk radio. I know it is not cool, but I like it. My daughter woke up in time to go into her 315pm appointment and my son remained asleep. We checked in and proceeded to wait and wait and wait. After 30 minutes, I asked the front desk ladies to make sure I had been checked in appropriately and they said I had. Whatever. After another 10 minutes, I called Ray and told him that we were still waiting in there if he and my son wanted to come inside. Ray, in a rushed voice, stated that my son had peed in his pants while he was sleeping and they were getting him changed. I asked him if my son had any clothes in the car and Ray said there were some really tight pants in there, some underwear and one of my tshirts. I said just put him in that. I finally got taken to the back so I called Ray again to tell him where they took us. I could hear my son crying in the background and Ray said that the pants were tight in the waist so he was trying to talk my son into leaving them unbuttoned, but my son was not having it. They finally came in and my son's little muffin top was hanging over the top of the pants. They stayed about 2 minutes until my son wanted to leave. My daughter and I waited another 30 minutes in the little room. The appointment was not real exciting, so we will just move on to our trip to get something to eat. On our trip down Red River, I looked over at my husband and I said "oh my god, did you fart?" Of course, he denied it. We smelled the awful smell for a few blocks until we realized it was my daughter. She had pooped and it was squishing out the leg holes of her diaper into her car seat. And, in the middle of all this, my son starts whining "my penis itches and I cannot scratch it!" I told him to unbutton his pants and scratch it, but he could not get them undone and he continued to cry about his itchy penis. Ray said it was probably because, not only were his pants too tight, but so were his Thomas the Train underwear Ray had put on him. So, the car is filled with a disgusting rotten ham salad odor and my son is having penis problems. We get to the end of Red River and there is an IHOP. We pull in there and in true white trash fashion, we strip down both kids- change a diaper, put on new clothes, take too tight underwear off and put new tighty whiteys on. Since we were there, we decide to go on in and have nice family meal (yea right, the last time I ate at IHOP I was in college and drunk at the time). While we were in there, my daughter choked on a cracker and threw up all over my pants. It smelled like rotten cottage cheese and looked like it, too. From now on, every person in my family will have a complete change of clothes in the car because you never know when you will poop on yourself, when your penis is going to be itchy, or get thrown up upon.
We need a change of pants please Category: Life
So I got off work early today and I thought I would have a great rest of the day to spend with my family. My husband, son , and daughter stayed home because my daughter was running a fever. I got home about 1300 and my daughter sounded wheezy and snot was coming out of her ears. She just got tubes a week ago, so drainage is to be expected when they get stuffy. Well, she has been a lung nightmare for about the past 5 months, so I decided that I better take her in to the pediatrician to have that all checked out to make sure she did not have pnemonia or something. On our drive there, which is about 17 to 20 miles from my house, both kids fell asleep in the car. We get to the office and sit in the car for about 20 minutes before the appointment. Ray and I listened to some talk radio like all nerds do. Yes, I love talk radio. I know it is not cool, but I like it. My daughter woke up in time to go into her 315pm appointment and my son remained asleep. We checked in and proceeded to wait and wait and wait. After 30 minutes, I asked the front desk ladies to make sure I had been checked in appropriately and they said I had. Whatever. After another 10 minutes, I called Ray and told him that we were still waiting in there if he and my son wanted to come inside. Ray, in a rushed voice, stated that my son had peed in his pants while he was sleeping and they were getting him changed. I asked him if my son had any clothes in the car and Ray said there were some really tight pants in there, some underwear and one of my tshirts. I said just put him in that. I finally got taken to the back so I called Ray again to tell him where they took us. I could hear my son crying in the background and Ray said that the pants were tight in the waist so he was trying to talk my son into leaving them unbuttoned, but my son was not having it. They finally came in and my son's little muffin top was hanging over the top of the pants. They stayed about 2 minutes until my son wanted to leave. My daughter and I waited another 30 minutes in the little room. The appointment was not real exciting, so we will just move on to our trip to get something to eat. On our trip down Red River, I looked over at my husband and I said "oh my god, did you fart?" Of course, he denied it. We smelled the awful smell for a few blocks until we realized it was my daughter. She had pooped and it was squishing out the leg holes of her diaper into her car seat. And, in the middle of all this, my son starts whining "my penis itches and I cannot scratch it!" I told him to unbutton his pants and scratch it, but he could not get them undone and he continued to cry about his itchy penis. Ray said it was probably because, not only were his pants too tight, but so were his Thomas the Train underwear Ray had put on him. So, the car is filled with a disgusting rotten ham salad odor and my son is having penis problems. We get to the end of Red River and there is an IHOP. We pull in there and in true white trash fashion, we strip down both kids- change a diaper, put on new clothes, take too tight underwear off and put new tighty whiteys on. Since we were there, we decide to go on in and have nice family meal (yea right, the last time I ate at IHOP I was in college and drunk at the time). While we were in there, my daughter choked on a cracker and threw up all over my pants. It smelled like rotten cottage cheese and looked like it, too. From now on, every person in my family will have a complete change of clothes in the car because you never know when you will poop on yourself, when your penis is going to be itchy, or get thrown up upon.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Holiday Aspects that must go
Holiday aspects that must go
Every December you hear the phrase, in some variation, "Happy Holidays to You and Yours." What the heck does that mean and why do people only say it in December? Who are "yours"? Yea, yea, I know they mean your friends and family, but it implies that they are your possessions. The last time I checked, Ray did not have a clear title to me (of course, he is still paying on me. Been refinanced once or twice). Who are the main offenders to the "yours" annoyance? It is usually a newscaster doing a holiday promo, wearing a nice holiday sweater, in a dimly lighted room, with a fancy Christmas tree in the background. Or, it is your favorite meteorologist and his sweet little family, all in matching outfits (of course) sitting on the floor in front of a fireplace delivering the phrase. Oh, and the pre, intra, and post Christmas small talk. I know you don't care about what I am getting my kids (bike and some other toys), where I will be spending the holidays (Austin, Lampasas, and Mason), how my holiday went (great), whether my kids enjoyed Santa (one did, one did not), what I got (nothing except what my work friends gave me), and whether I am glad it is all over (still have one more to go this weekend). Please, don't ever feel obligated to make small talk with me. I have come to realize that people only use small talk to get to the real heart of what they want to talk about- themselves! And I am ok with that. Just come right up and let me know what you want to say about what is going on in your life. Often times, it is much more exciting than mine, so I enjoy it.
Every December you hear the phrase, in some variation, "Happy Holidays to You and Yours." What the heck does that mean and why do people only say it in December? Who are "yours"? Yea, yea, I know they mean your friends and family, but it implies that they are your possessions. The last time I checked, Ray did not have a clear title to me (of course, he is still paying on me. Been refinanced once or twice). Who are the main offenders to the "yours" annoyance? It is usually a newscaster doing a holiday promo, wearing a nice holiday sweater, in a dimly lighted room, with a fancy Christmas tree in the background. Or, it is your favorite meteorologist and his sweet little family, all in matching outfits (of course) sitting on the floor in front of a fireplace delivering the phrase. Oh, and the pre, intra, and post Christmas small talk. I know you don't care about what I am getting my kids (bike and some other toys), where I will be spending the holidays (Austin, Lampasas, and Mason), how my holiday went (great), whether my kids enjoyed Santa (one did, one did not), what I got (nothing except what my work friends gave me), and whether I am glad it is all over (still have one more to go this weekend). Please, don't ever feel obligated to make small talk with me. I have come to realize that people only use small talk to get to the real heart of what they want to talk about- themselves! And I am ok with that. Just come right up and let me know what you want to say about what is going on in your life. Often times, it is much more exciting than mine, so I enjoy it.
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