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1. Yes, I am still pregnant. 41 weeks, 2 days to be exact. This makes people uncomfortable for some reason. People who are not me. I’m largely unphased by the length of time this kid chooses to incubate.
2. The doctor’s office pisses me off. Their blatant use of lies, privilege, and fear mongering is disgusting. That’s the only part of being pregnant this long that I don’t like: fighting with the damn doctor’s office every 3 days. Last week I just ignored them entirely and hid out like a fugitive.
3. I’m hungry. Why haven’t I eaten breakfast yet? Ah yes, because I’m lazy. Check.
4. I really wanted to experience that ‘nesting’ feeling I hear so much about. My OCD was shitting golden kittens in excitement about the prospect of unbridled energy devoted to cleaning and organizing like a lunatic. No. Such. Luck. Thanks a lot, Universe.
5. That Boy’s job wants to cut his pay by 33-66%. Uh, yea, that much. I’m … overjoyed. Right. Suffice it to say he’s already looking for something else el pronto. Not to mention, the hours at this job suck in the worst way.
6. I’m beginning to believe this child is never coming out. Ever. I think this kind of irrational thinking is also what happens to serial killers when you leave them in solitary confinement too long. The crazies just start to creep in when you aren’t looking and before you know it you’re convinced the all kinds of crazy things are up.
7. Did you know they made a pack of Starbursts that only have the red flavors in it? Uh, yea. I just heard. I could dance in the streets about it. Pink and yellow Starbursts, I have no time for your shenanigans! Out you go!
8. I’m supposed to work next weekend (3-5 Feb) at a state tournament. Why? Because I was supposed to have this kid already. I’m not sure how this is going to play out in the near future. Shit. I need to find someone to cover for me. Good thing I have an assistant … wait … an assistant who already told me he won’t work that weekend. Double shit. Uh oh, spaghettio.
9. I got this cool double layer plastic tumbler thing for Christmas from my brother. Have you seen them? It doesn’t condensate, had a twist on lid that looks like a fountain pop cup, and a hard plastic use-it-forever straw. I’m kind of in love with it. It makes me wish we had a freezer upstairs. The trek to the basement for ice cubes is generally unappealing to me always.
10. Believe it or not, the constant check-up phone calls, emails, and facey spacey messages have begun to diminish. I attribute this to either a: people forgetting that I’m possibly still pregnant or b: me scaring them into not bugging with my shitty snark responses over the last couple weeks. I know B worked on my dad who is now afraid to call me for an update lest he “upset me” which I think is code for “have to listen to me bitch about how I’m not answering anymore damn questions”. Either way: bonus for me.
My estimated due date is the day after tomorrow. Right. While I’m still pregnant and not caught up in the feed me! change me! feed me again! cycle of newborn craziness, I thought I’d empty my brain of the random musings I’ve accumulated in the last 39 weeks and 5 days. For your reading pleasure (and to assuage my mild need to number everything …), bullet points.
1. I continue to be tragically unexcitable. I get anxious like a professional, yes, but that anxiety is something entirely different than excitement. I have not been excited this entire pregnancy. I am not excited about delivery. I don’t have some sweet building sense of anticipation about seeing The Squishy in person for the first time. I’m not unexcited by any means. I don’t have a sense of impending doom or dread or disdain. I’m just not dancing in the streets and screaming bloody murder in giddiness. Pregnancy has yet to transform me into some emotionally uncontrolled quintessentially stoked parent-to-be. For this I remain eternally grateful.
2. People who are overly excited about this impending delivery creep me out. No lie. I know that people love us and are happy for us and all that jibbity jabber, but seriously … their excitement is starting to eat at me a little. It’s entirely possible that I am a stone cold bitch who just hates the world (except the part where I don’t really hate much of anything …), but I just.do.NOT.get.it.
3. I am not miserable. At no point have I been anything close to what I would call miserable. I get asked rather constantly these days if I’m “sooooo ready to be done being pregnant” or if I’m “sooooo unhappy and uncomfortable”. The answer is no. It has not ever been yes. I am slightly uncomfortable sometimes, yes. It is not that pleasant to walk around feeling like someone put a size 12 steel toe boot to my crotch repeatedly. I’m slower than usual. I get frustrated with people chastising me for “doing too much”, and then I regularly plan my day around bringing down everything I need from upstairs in one fell swoop so I don’t have to trek the stairs again. I am not, however, “miserable”, and I am certainly not bitching to people constantly about it.
4. Throwing up eventually becomes normal. 6 straight months of puking at least once a day apparently a habit does make. First thought: This sucks. Second thought: So this is why bulimia is so attractive to people. It’s way more fun to puke than not eat.
5. I hate people constantly checking up on me. This has become especially heinous in the last few weeks. Did I have the baby yet? Am I in labor? Do I have any new discharge? Yea. I’m not kidding on that last one. My father asks this regularly and makes me throw up a little in my mouth at the thought of having a conversation about any kind of bodily fluid with anyone, um, ever. I know there are several hundred reasons why people insist on asking questions every 10 minutes, but it’s highly irritating. Next time you’re about to check up on a pregnant friend, stop yourself. Ask how SHE is doing, sure, but stop there. No one needs the Baby Time Line Police interrogating them every 24 hours like perhaps you’ll deliver this kid in your garage and hide it there under straw bales for a few weeks just to spite them.
6. I still feel like I deserve a role in the next Alien movie every time this kid moves. I know it’s supposed to be “beautiful” and “special” and 294 other ooey gooey adjectives, but mostly it just gives me the creeps. Still.
7. The modern obstetrical model is an overly medicalized piece of crap. I feel like I have an entire other post in me for what my opinion on this entails, but suffice it to say … life is far too simple to be made this fucking complicated. The fear-mongering does not help. I promise this is not the last you’ve heard about this.
8. Pregnancy is not a reason to be a demanding, annoying, moody pain in the ass. Nothing really is. So you’re growing a human, yes, kudos. Now please seek out personal validation some other way than by using your current incubator status to be a whine ass who makes unrealistic and unnecessary demands for attention.
9. I’m still not positive what contractions feel like exactly. I hear all about how you’re supposed to feel your abdomen tighten, but … uh … the odds of my uterus being bad ass enough to tighten my not so svelte exterior are pretty damn slim. Is it that crampy feeling? Is it that back achy uncomfortable feeling? Is it something else entirely I have simply not felt yet at all? I remain completely in the dark on this. Someone needs to write “Pregnancy for Fat Girls: A Beginner’s Manual” el pronto.
There are plenty more, friends, but that will have to suffice for tonight. The next time you hear from me I might officially be someone’s mother (how terrifying is that shit?). Or not. I have no idea. It could be tonight. It could be next month. We’ll just have to see what happens …
I’m a nerd. Check.
I asked for a cross cut paper shredder for Christmas. Yea, that kind of super special nerd. I am in love with this black beauty and its 10 sheet capacity … be still, fluttering heart.
My office hides hundreds of pounds of filed away paper. Some of it’s useful. Some of it’s necessary. A lot of it is related to my nerdy job. The rest, though, has just been hanging out because I didn’t have a proper way to dispose of it. We used to pretend that That Boy would use this identifying and private information to stoke the garage wood stove, but … well, he didn’t. It just kept adding up.
Today is a big day.
The piles have been transformed into heaps of colorful confetti, hiding away years of memories I don’t want to have anymore. Most of it is completely benign … old electric bills here, financial aid documents from a degree completed almost 5 years ago, old car registrations and since renewed driver’s licenses. Some, though, is more emotionally charged.
Among the mess are three year’s worth of paper trail for That Boy’s workman’s compensation claim, an injury that changed and challenged everything about our lives, our livelihoods, and our relationship. Then there’s the pile of credit card statements, a dusty history of my fall into Consumer Debt Hell … a battle since won that completely turned topsy turvy the way I handle money, consumption, and the place my intense need to simplify probably comes from.
It’s all in tiny pieces now, headed for a new life as compost. I feel 100 pounds lighter already.
Goodbye. Good riddance.
1. I am no longer capable of composing cogent posts, so you’re stuck with bullet pointed lists about crap that goes on here. Aren’t you lucky?
2. I’m still sick and tired. I hear it ‘goes away eventually’, but I feel like this may be lies propagated by the right to keep people from realizing how terrible they’re going to feel until it’s ‘too late’ to throw one’s self down the stairs effectively anymore.
3. Please don’t send me hate mail for that last one. Joke, loves. Joke.
4. Everything is still a mess and it’s adding to both my stress and anxiety levels exponentially. I get stressed when things are a disaster, and now, because I’m less than inclined to do anything about it I start getting anxious that That Boy is going to begin thinking I’ve lost all motivation and become the world’s laziest bum. I feel guilty about coming across as lazy because my Type A, first born, overachieving self cannot handle that perception and then I start getting anxious all over again. Dear Valium, why can’t you be safe for babies?!
5. I’m also vacillating wildly between thinking this whole thing is awesome (we did (not) try for FIVE years to make it happen) and thinking it’s the end of the entire world. I hear this is because hormones are eating my rational brain as we speak. This, I do not like one bit. I am not an emotional girl. I cry twice a year, approximately. I cannot have my rational brain eaten by sob inducing hormones and still maintain my reputation as a cold hearted badass. Oy.
6. The campaign is still going. I can’t say it’s going well or not going well, really, because I haven’t been there. I feel like crap and I’m distracted and I just plain don’t want to be there. Promises, be damned. I hear I have a good excuse. I cannot wander around knocking on doors for hours in the hot sun, because the entire time I will be plotting ways to kill an ice cream truck driver and steal his rocket pops.
7. I kicked Britt’s ass in Biggest Loser Part Deux. The last month of which I was unknowingly incubating a person. This makes me kind of a big deal. I’ve also lost 10 more pounds since I found out I was preggo, 2 of which were in the last 2 weeks. Thank you very kindly, Mr. and/or Ms. Parasite for your lovely addition to my metabolism. The making it so I feel like I’m in the hull of a round bottomed boat in the middle of a hurricane without my SeaBands also helps.
8. This wee human wants me to eat gluten. I’m trying not to indulge it. Except the other day when I met Britt at Shish and attempted to eat my body weight in pita. Nom nom nom nom. That’s certainly not very Gluten Free Ann Arbor of me, but well … mostly I needed a transitory reason to say “Gluten Free Ann Arbor” again and piss off that stupid Yahoo group that thinks it owns those 4 words. Ha. Sorry.
9. My back hurts.
10. Oh, and while I’m thinking about it … I got into GRAD SCHOOL! Yes! Both programs! Sweet! Now, the part where I tell them I can go for a semester and then need to take a hundred years off to care for an infant. Shit. World, your timing is impeccable.
Almost a month?!
I really shouldn’t go falling off the interweb like that, probably. It’s been weeks full of meetings and door knocking and 60+ hour work weeks. I go to the office. I come home. I occasionally eat. Then it’s time for sleep, rinse, repeat. This has been a pretty successful system honestly.
Until a week and a half ago.
Because I didn’t feel well. I was sick, and a sick Em is almost always a cranky Em. I went to work anyway. I tried to get stuff done. I tried positive thinking and changing my food intake and drinking more water.
I still felt terrible.
I still feel terrible.
And then I (possibly the second to last person on the planet to consider this possibility) figured it out. And I spazzed, for a second. Then I ran up the stairs and woke up That Boy (certainly the last person on the planet to think this an option) from what looked like a pretty content sleep at 8am.
And I told him.
Well, not exactly, because I have a really hard time saying that word yet, but I dodged around and euphemised it enough that he got it … even in his sleepy eyed haze.
And then I think I cried a little (great. it begins already.).
And then I saw that smile on his face. That unstoppable ear to ear uncontrollable smile. And I heard him call his mom … excited, breathless … beaming.
It was then that I realized the finest thing this week isn’t the ‘good news’, but the absolute joy it brought to my staunch, stubborn, largely stoic That Boy. There’s plenty of time for this tiny unseeable thing to be in the spotlight. Today is not its day. Today is about catching him secretly smiling at me. Today is about him calling everyone on the planet because he can’t contain himself. Today is about this moment reminding me of what an amazing man That Boy is.
I love him.
Probably more now than I did last week.
(even when I want to throw up)
ps, please go check out Amy’s Finer Things Friday. This post is linked there. Go read the rest of them. Great things are happening.
1. We had pizza for dinner tonight. I made my lovely family a terrific thin crust that they all thought was pretty tasty. Thinking myself a badass, I also thought I’d try to make GLUTEN free pizza crust from scratch (because the only ‘mix’ I had on hand was my ridiculously over priced but amazing bread mix). Yea. About that. So … take a box of graham crackers and subtract all forms of sweetener. Then leave them out on the cupboard for a week to get stale. Slather with pizza toppings and toast the snot out of them in the oven. They will resemble dust in texture and … well, burnt dust in taste. Yum.
2. Some days, I fricking hate being GLUTEN free. Knowing that I can’t cheat only makes it worse. F this jazz.
3. I do not hate ice cream. The local walk up ice cream place (which is far less ‘local’ than I would prefer … stupid living in the country) reopened so we headed down there after dinner tonight. MmmmmmicecreamIloveyou. My mother suggested we make it out summer goal to eat everyone of their 24 flavors, excluding the crap “kid ice cream” (superman, cotton candy, etc). I think this is an admirable cause to take on … except the part where I can’t eat the ones that have cake in them.
4. I want someone to come clean my house so I don’t have to do it. Mostly, the basement. And by clean, I mean haul away the crap I already know no longer needs to live here. Applications and interviews available through the comments section. Compensation negotiable (by which I mean, largely nonexistant … unless I can pay you in crappy GF pizza).
5. I got a very sweet email today. It kind of made my day. The end.
6. My desk is a disaster. I am fearful the Department of Desk Safety may come knocking and take my lovely french colonial desk (and by lovely, I mean you can’t even tell it’s partly particle board) to live with a foster family that will love it enough to not pile unending crap on top of it.
7. I had the shortest employment stint I’ve ever had this week. I mentioned before that I was offered a job with the US Census. After 2 days of training (well, one day of training and one day of them pretending we didn’t spend all day screwing off with the fingerprint pad) I was told my job was contingent on me upholding their departmental non-disclosure agreement. The one that stands in direct conflict with the state law I swore to uphold years ago when I was granted a medic license (Fun fact: I once took 27 credit hours in one semester so I could finish my medical training at the community college while trying to finish my bachelors degree programs at the university. Indeed, I was a crazy person.). Yea. Abdicate my previous responsibility (and sworn personal integrity) for some schmuck job that only lasts 4 weeks? Not happening, US Census, so sorry.
8. Other opportunities to fill in the income gap created by giving the Dept of Commerce the proverbial finger have already started appearing. I couldn’t ask for them to be so speedy. I’m just here for the ride.
9. I dropped off my graduate school applications today. I couldn’t mail them. Mostly because they were due today and I finished them yesterday … and because leaving those beauties in the mailbox instead of personally watching them arrive at the admissions office was terrifying me. Please cross your fingers or knock on wood or cast some awesome sacrifice to your heathen deity for a speedy acceptance letter to arrive in my mailbox. I will worry myself into a hot mess of heartburn and pacing regardless.
10. It’s still 74 degrees here, even after 10pm. Please don’t let this be a sign of some bizarrely hot summer where I spend an entire 3 months melting profusely all over town. We do not air condition our house. We barely heat it, let alone cool it. I hate that. Well, I hate it when it’s hot. I don’t hate it when the electric bill comes.
11. Speaking of electric bills, we have hot water again! The water heater died on Monday, and the replacement arrived today (3 days ahead of schedule! yes!). I am not so stoked about the hit our savings account took to make that happen, but I am pretty elated that the new water heater uses something like 1/100th of the energy the old one did (that math is completely made up, but I swear, it’s a LOT less energy). That Boy spent the day installing it. If I can’t find him later, I think I’ll check the basement. He’s more than likely sitting there staring at this new machine, drooling and mumbling, “Ooooooh, prettttty.“.
12. Sometimes, I wish water tasted less like water.
Anything wacky going on in your neck of the woods? Having a fabulous week? Tell me about it in the comments.
This post is linked to Jen’s 7 Quick Take Fridays over at Conversion Diary. You should go check it out.
1. If you’re still hanging around after the Ultimate Blog Party, it’s nice to have “met” you. Feel free to keep hanging around (and commenting on the inane hilarity I continue to post) as long as you’d like.
2. My dearest That Boy has been gone THREE STRAIGHT DAYS from early until far later than he should be with my car doing favors for other people. I say my car, because even though we downsized to one car, the one we kept is indeed titled in my name. Most of the time, I don’t mind sharing a car. I say most, of course, until I’m stranded in my house for THREE STRAIGHT DAYS with places to go and errands to run and one That Boy who will not stop running off with my only source of transportation for 13 hours a day. Boo.
3. I should have cleaned more while I couldn’t leave. I didn’t. Great. Now I’m angry about not leaving and guilt-ridden about not cleaning. Fab-u-lous.
4. I did manage to clean the office, and a storage bookcase that was in desperate need of attention. Three bags of trash later (and a box that still needs to leave my house), and it’s looking pretty clean in here. That is, if you ignore the cat hair tumbleweed I found under the worktable but have yet to find a vacuum for.
5. I hate vacuuming. That Boy loves it. I am totally ok with this arrangement. When it’s vacuum time, I go into the office, shut the door, jam to loud ass music from my iTunes and play Bubble Spinner until it’s over.
6. The good people at the IRS told me they’re depositing my tax refund tomorrow (after 23487 years, I think). They also told me my return was incorrect and had to be “adjusted”. That makes one hold one’s breath while on hold for “a customer service agent” for 10 loooooong minutes with words like audit and penalty and federal frickin’ prison floating around one’s head. As luck will have it, I have been spared. The adjustment was because I missed a $390 tax credit apparently. Let me say that again … there will be an extra $390 in my refund (if the damn thing ever shows up). Yes, please.
7. A week from today is National Take Your Brat To Work Day. You should do that. Take your brat with you and entertain them for 8 hours photocopying your body parts and screwing around with the vending machines. My mother has wrangled me into providing “supervision and activities” in the afternoon for the brats her employees are bringing in. I don’t remember the legislative proclamation saying the day was called, “Bring Your Brat To Work So Em Can Entertain Them For Hours” Day, but I will oblige my mother nonetheless because she “gave me life”, and as I am consistently reminded, “can take it away when ever she wants”.
8. My brother and I totally saw “The Midwestern Fireball” last night. We were outside letting the dogs out during the 1st period intermission of the Red Wings (are you a fan? you should be. it’s state law.) game when the sky lit up like it was noon for a couple seconds then faded back to black. We were much less concerned than we probably should have been, now that I think about it. Don’t put us on the front lines against the alien invasion, because apparently we’ll just chalk up giant flashes of light as “rogue lightening” even when the sky (and radar) are completely clear. We were preoccupied dissecting an obviously terrible Stanley Cup first round prediction by some idiot blogger who (falsely) thinks teams from states that don’t have snow should win hockey games.
9. Are you ready for Stanley Cup season? If that last one wasn’t enough of a warning: We are Red Wings people (um, because we’re for MI … and because they might be the winning-est franchise in the NHL and we like to back winners). We (and by we, I mean me, obviously, and my imaginary friend that just crept right into my grammar all of a sudden) will reserve the right to blog about hockey during the playoffs whether or not you want to read about it. We will (now this multiple pronoun is getting weird, but I feel like I need consistency …) expect you to either smile politely or cheer along for the Wings, but not for those other crap teams from your hometowns that you may be in love with. This is especially true of Chicago and Pittsburgh. Native Canadians will be excluded from this rule as their national law (not unlike the great state of MI) also mandates they be hometown hockey fans. You have been warned. /crazyhockeytalk
10. Tomorrow, if That Boy lets me go near my precious vehicle, I have to return 3.2 million empty pop bottles. They have been accumulating in the basement for much longer than is commonly decent. Why not throw them away? Well, first, that makes Mother Earth cry a little. Second, each one of those little devils is worth a whole dime here in MI. I had to pay them 10 damn cents for each one to leave the store, and by golly, I will get my dimes back. Returning 3.2 million empties is not really on my list of “Coolest Things Em Could Ever Want To Do” nor does it make the “Marginally Ok Not Too Terribly Irritating Things Em Could Spend A Friday On”, but that little pile of dimes, which will be added to our Tropical Wedding (not ours, mind you) Vacation Fund, is motivation enough for me. Oh, and the part where there are bags and bags and bags and bags of empty cans littering my basement like someone is building a shanty town. That helps too.
A nice even 10. Yes. The round number monster has been appeased.
Sooooo, any weekend plans? Any hockey trash talk? Any life in bullet points you’d like to share?
ps, this post is linked to Jennifer’s 7 Quick Takes Friday at Conversion Diary.
1. I have been trying to convince myself that I had not acquired a spring head cold for a week, even through the sniffling and all around awful head cold-ness. I am delusional, apparently. Now I am trying to convince myself that this head cold will not be going to my chest (as is the general outcome of every single head cold I’ve ever had) so I don’t end up with pneumonia next week. Go away, cold.
2. I am trying to be patient with That Boy and his idiosyncrasies and emotions in the aftermath of his grandmother’s (relatively) sudden death. Being sick and being patient are not inherent friends in my world. I’m trying, I swear.
3. This is the week of mysterious injuries. Two nights ago, I cut my hand open in my sleep. Well, I can only assume that’s what happened as it wasn’t cut when I went to bed and it was when I got up. I’m not sure if I was attacked by closet gremlins, the cat, or my night stand. Then today, I woke up with a split lip. I’m going to blame that one on being sick and mouth-breathing my poor lips into desert like conditions, but still. Boo. What does tomorrow hold? A broken leg?
4. There is nothing on TV today worth watching. Sickie pajama wearing Em does not like this revelation.
5. Did you see the news that B-Rock (my favorite president) gets to nominate a replacement for Justice Stevens? Yes! The politics of this scenario were anticipated in the lead up to the last presidential election, and I’m kind of stoked that this president gets to nominate not one, but two justices. Perhaps the Roe balance can shift from a tenuous 5-4 to a much more comfortable 6-3. I could be stoked about that. You may not be. I’m ok with that.
6. Jamie Oliver might be my new best friend. He kind of makes me feel guilty though, for the garbage we do let into our food even though we’re aware that it’s garbage. The take out pizza we’re eating tonight is probably a sweet example (and oh so not GLUTEN free. oops.)
7. Add to the list of stuff that pisses me off: people who blog hop during carnivals like the Ultimate Blog Party and leave comments like “I’ll follow you if you follow me. K Thanks Bye.” Ugh. Stop being so transparent and annoying, people. I know everyone will do anything for traffic (except, well, my lazy ass), but come on. Go visit the blogs that you think are interesting. Leave a comment if you have something to say. Discover people you didn’t know before. That’s all cool. Please don’t just click on every link to annoy the shit out of people with your petty never ending desperate attempts for traffic. If you’re interesting, people will follow you. If they don’t … who cares? /soapbox.
8. I have the spring cleaning bug today. While I’m sick. I’m trying to tell my body it needs to stay very still and fight this stupid cold so I don’t get the death plague, but sitting still gives me lots of time to look around and notice clutter that needs to go or fingerprints on door frames (which I absolutely detest). Le boo. Someone come over and be my spring cleaning sherpa before I go crazy, ok?
9. Best part of Lent being over? Mountain Dew slushies.
10. Worst part of Lent being over? The heartburn I inevitably get from Mountain Dew slushies. Crap. I’m not drinking other pop, though, still, which is rockin’ cool.
What’s going on in your bullet pointed life this week?
Hi there. I’m Em.
(if you’re a regular reader, you’re probably concerned that this is about to turn into the bloggy version of an AA meeting …)
If you’re stumbling here from The Ultimate Blog Party 2010, welcome welcome welcome! I’d love for you to pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee (or your favorite Irish whiskey … an an Oberon …), and hang out in my little corner of the ever growing blogosphere with me. But … no one likes to party with a stranger, especially a creepy stranger, so let’s talk facts first.
I’m a 20something. I started saying 20something when I could no longer say “early 20s”. I have a whole bunch of quarter life angst about that whole aging thing, and so you’ll have to bear with the non-specifics. I live in community with my adorable husband (a term that even after the forever we’ve been together makes me both ridiculously joyful and squeamish), my mother, my little brother and little brother’s girlfriend. We all live in one big old farmhouse like the sandal wearing hippie I am (and they really aren’t …).
Em is not my real name, and I refer to the husband (Ah! Twice in two sentences!) as That Boy … just so you don’t get confused. That Boy and I have been together just over 9.5 years. The looming decade anniversary makes me nervous … more nervous than 30 … maybe. We don’t have small people yet, but we wouldn’t necessarily mind some showing up soon (That Boy would not admit to saying that outloud, I’m positive).
I work with high school kids for a living. They entertain the snot out of me. I wear sandals from snowmelt to snowfall. I’m a big fan of sustainable living, recycling (because it saves money and the planet), and real food. I’m one of those coupon clipping frugal girls, and I spend a lot of the summer pretending to be a farmer. You should be stoked for all the inane pictures of my little green garden that are coming this summer … brace yourself. I really like ice cream and complaining about things I don’t like on the internet. I’m a bit of a perfectionist, and occasionally a little too lazy to do anything about it.
Average Radical started as a place for me to tell the world stories about the (sometimes bizarre, sometimes hilarious) goings on of my life, rant about what’s wrong with the world, and occasionally complain about my on again off again relationship with GLUTEN (booooo). It’s become a sweet place for me to love on people, talk religion, share the occasional dollar stretching trick or recipe, and trash talk the infamous Britt about our ongoing head to head Battle of the Scales.
I kind of like it here.
I’m hoping you do too. I’m giddy as a school girl when people hang out and comment, so if you’re digging what you’re reading, I’d love for you to party with me anytime. I’m game if you are.
Now, back to that Oberon …
Did you know the UBP involved prizes?! I totally didn’t at first. Yea, I’m that brilliant sometimes. Anywho, you can check out the full list of prizes on 5 Minutes for Mom. Not that I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world, but if I were to go about picking winners, I’d love the Toshiba laptop (um, duh, who wouldn’t?!), the NIV 90 Day Bible, the Jillian Michaels Get Fit Pack (oooooh The Shred, how you scare me), or any of the retail store/Amazon gift cards. Heck, I’d love to win just about anything (I’m not a contest winner historically), but mostly, I’m just happy to party along with the UBP’10. Thanks again for stopping by!
Photo Credit: Japokskee
Sometimes, the world just gets peculiar. This weekend? One of them.
I had no intention of disconnecting from the world this weekend. I know it’s a popular thing to do, but I wasn’t exactly feeling it. I went to church in the afternoon on Friday, and then to the grocery store. Not exactly disconnected at all. When I came home Friday, we loaded the groceries into the house and then the power went out.
Yes, completely out.
I have a love/hate relationship with power outages. I kind of love the ingenuity and togetherness and laughter that come when we aren’t distracted by technology and have limited options other than to entertain each other. I kind of hate worrying constantly about my hundreds (thousands?) of dollars worth of food in the fridge and freezers. Luckily, only a few hours into the outage, That Boy was able to borrow the generator from his dad that gave us enough power to keep the foodstuffs cold.
Now, when you call the power company here, you can ask the automated system for a “Restoration Estimate” and a cheery computer voice will tell you when you will hypothetically have power back. When we called at first, Computer Voice Suzy didn’t have an answer for us at all.
Because the river flats were on fire. (This is usually followed by, “What the hell is a river flat?)
A high tension line carrying power pole broke the remote, marshy area of the river basin. It hadn’t really rained here in quite awhile. That spark ignited the dead reeds and grass and then proceeded to burn out of control for 11 or so hours, destroying 8 other power poles in the process.
One of them carrying power to my house, 40+ miles away from the ‘flats.
I was up with the sun (and getting dressed in the dark without any hot water for a shower … hooray bandana day) so I could get to the local community egg hunt. I was dragging ass in a serious way. I didn’t want to go help out. I know … we’re not supposed to admit we don’t always want to be helpful. Boo.
Then the phone rang.
At 7 in the morning?!
I was in the bathroom and missed the call. I checked the ID and it was That Boy’s dad. We are not early morning people. We do not expect social calls before the sun comes up, so I was immediately anxious about what could have spurred The FIL to call.
I woke up That Boy.
Which he didn’t like at all.
In 20 minutes’ time we were in the car on the way to the hospital. That Boy’s grandmother had a stroke overnight on Friday. She died by early afternoon. We were with family the rest of the day/evening.
And it rained all day.
And the power came back on.
And then the sun came out.
I got up for early church so I could avoid the crush of people that would be there at 11am. I stayed in my bed a very long time trying to convince my body to move. Church was marvelous. Joyous. Raucous. Fabulous. It was a party. An amazing time.
After church we had a family egg hunt in the backyard. Watching a group of adults scrounge around the backyard, pushing and shoving their ways to the most jelly bean filled plastic eggs was hilarious. We went out for dinner because none of the preparations for dinner at home had been done on Saturday. It was a quiet afternoon.
Sometimes, it rains and rains and rains and it gets dark and foreboding and uncomfortable. Sometimes, it feels terrible standing in the cold rain, like nothing will ever be good again. Sometimes, though, the sun peeks out. It promises hope and warmth and new beginning. This weekend was one of those sometimes. New creation abounds. You just have to watch for it.
I appreciate any thoughts for That Boy’s family as they process the loss of their vibrant, dynamic, powerful, wonderful, sweet, amazing matriarch.