Posted on by Wise Sass · 4 Comments

Shakespeare in the shower

Summer. I get to sleep in a wee bit later and it’s fantastic. I snoozed until 7:20 this morning and noticed when I was getting up that my hubby was stirring a bit as well. I took my time in the shower, lost in the lather of the moment, trying to wake up and face the day. (You know how you get into the shower and the white noise keeps you lost in your thoughts? Sometimes I can’t even remember if I shampooed already or not.) Today, though, I was busy lathering and planning my world domination when I was pulled out of my thoughts by my husband’s voice in the next room.

I paused. I listened. I heard . . . . Shakespeare?

*sigh*

Yes, Shakespeare. Oberon. Or possibly Theseus. From A Midsummer Night’s Dream (hereafter known simply as “Midsummer”). It is the soundtrack of my days. I hear “dost thee,” “hast thou,” “couldst” and “fare thee” every hour of my time with my husband. In the kitchen, in the car, while grilling, and doing laundry, doing the dishes, during commercial breaks on TV, and in the bloody bathroom. The boys are asked, “Hast thou gone pee?” and I’m told, “Fare thee well, nymph,” when I leave the room. It certainly makes things interesting.

Have I told you about my husband? He’s an actor, you see. Well, really he’s a writer for hire. (HIRE HIM, por favor). But about five years ago when he started acting in community theater it TOOK OVER HIS SOUL. I may be exaggerating just a teensy, weensy bit. Maybe not. When he’s in a role it is his life until the show is over. No lie. For reals.

For about three years he participated primarily in a somewhat traditional musical theater company where he played in well known shows like Miss Saigon, Cinderella, A Christmas Carol and, his favorite, Jesus Christ Superstar. He was Jesus. He loved it.

He loves being on stage and performing in front of an audience. He loves the applause and kudos he receives when he does it. He LOVES singing and he does it quite well – and quite loudly. My husband and performing for people were MFEO. (If you don’t know that reference then go watch Sleepless in Seattle right now. I’ll wait here.)

Then he branched out. He started working for a company that provides entertainment on an old train that runs up the mountain and back. He does dinner theater murder mysteries and wild west type shows, primarily, and some seasonal trains around Christmas. He has participated for two years in a short film festival where, one year, the movie short he was in won first place and he won Best Actor. Awesome. (I’d post a link to the full movie if I could find it. Which I can’t. Fail.)

WAIT! It’s been found! Hallelujah! It’s 13 minutes long but really ridiculously funny: Beneath a Western Skyscraper

The train show thing – with a few other things that pop up once in a while – is so much better for us as a family. He’s not gone every day to rehearsal. We can plan things and do them together. Novel concept. I like it.

BUT . . . a few weeks ago he was presented with an opportunity to do Shakespeare for the first time. SHAKESPEARE. The Bard. The Man. The Legend. (Did I mention that my husband and I were both English Lit majors in school? Yeah, that).

The problem? It’s a traditional theater show again.This time, though, with a different company. He emailed me the schedule. He said, “Honey, it’s SHAKESPEARE.” He waited. He emailed again and said, “I told them I won’t do it if it’s not okay with you. But, honey, it’s SHAKESPEARE. And the rehearsal schedule isn’t that bad. We can still go on vacation.” Good, because I’ve got non-refundable tickets and my name is already on a pool lounger.

So what’s a wife to do? I said yes. Of course I said yes. What I have always told him was simply this, “Who am I to stand in the way of your dreams?” I may be his wife and life partner, but I’m not going to hurt, hamper or detract from his personal growth if I can help it. Provided that fulfilling his dreams don’t negatively impact the well-being of our family, of course. In this case, his dream is to play Oberon and Theseus in Midsummer. So be it.

Which brings us back to today. I was in the shower and I heard Shakespeare.

So, first it was this:

O, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame or a dowager
Long withering out a young man revenue.

That’s Theseus – the king. I hear this line all the time now. That poor old moon is blamed for so much. Tragic.

Then it was Oberon, the Fairy King, speaking to Puck:

That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal throned by the west,
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;

To which I said, “that’s some love-shaft!” *giggle, snort* My apologies. Poor taste. Still funny though.

Life could be boring. Thank goodness it’s not.

Fare thee well, my dear friends. Time is apace and my thoughts are much in the bosom of my home. I leave you with dear Puck’s parting words:

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

Posted on by Wise Sass

Slacky McSlackerton here

Hi, it’s me. Remember me? I used to try to post a couple times a week but lately not so much and I feel badly about it. There is life happening here, you see. And life takes precedence over blogging. It must otherwise I wouldn’t have anything to blog about, right? 
It’s after midnight on a school/work night and I’m going to have to make this brief. And full of pics. Instagram, to be more specific. Because I can’t find my real camera again. For reals. I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME. *sigh* Moving on. 
So these things have been happening:
We had a mini-twister hit our backyard. It was the weirdest thing. Knocked one tree down, and lifted and twisted a small tree nearly off its stump. And killed a duck. Sad. So this is the big tree that fell:
It leaned like that for a week before we got a tree service out to chop it down. For mucho moolah, might I add. Grr. But they left the rounds for us so we can use them as firewood next year. Can I just say that’s some pretty dang expensive firewood?
Since the weather has finally started to get Spring/Summer-like we’ve also been doing a lot of work in the yard. We’ve planted a few plants and have just been cleaning up some of the beds. I love that my kids get involved now so much more than they used to. I took this 2 days ago and the light was just perfect (you can see our oldest sweeping on the right):
We’ve also had a lot of this going on:
But this Saturday was the first time he actually made it home during a game so it was monumental. He has batted last in his previous two games, but on yesterday’s game he batted first. He’s doing great and getting better each game/practice we have:
I love that pic. Great light. But, because of that light I developed a sunburn. Unexpected and weird. I was wearing a cap and v-neck t-shirt so I have half a face sunburn and v-shaped redness on my chest. Weird. (I won’t torture you with that pic.)
After that game was over yesterday the rest of the weekend was about getting ready for my sister’s visit. My (step)sister from Australia, to be more specific.
She’s awesome. I first met her in ’98 and I’ve seen her maybe 2 or 3 times since then. The funny thing is, she went to my high school 5 years ahead of me but I never knew her. I didn’t meet her until after her mom & my dad had been together for quite some time because she had moved to Australia. She met an Aussie in SLO in the early 90’s and followed him back to AU and stayed. I like her a lot and we get along great. I wish I had known her a long time ago. Not that I wish my parents had split earlier than they did, but it would have been cool to have an older sister like her. She has a pretty awesome husband and two kids as well. Every time the kids speak I think they are going to sound like Americans and then they sound totally Australian and it’s too freakin’ cute.
So, interesting side note, my sister worked at the Australia Zoo with The Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin, and his wife, Terri. Terri is an American – she’s from Oregon – and she and my sister became friends. My sister has always been an animal NUT and the Zoo was an ideal place for her to work. Don’t believe me? BAM!:
That’s my sister feeding Harriet – a 166 year old tortoise.
So the cool thing about their visit tonight is that our husbands never met before and we hadn’t met their son (though my sister and her daughter were here a couple years ago). I was excited.

I got up Sunday morning and did a few things in the yard and then started the food prep for 10 of us. We were going to BBQ, but my husband has had performances (he’s an actor) both afternoons this weekend so a lot of the prep was left in my hands and it was a LOT of freakin’ work. I started the food prep about noon and didn’t finish until 4 pm. At which point I still needed to clean the house and shower before they got here at 6:30. I started to PANIC. Then I died. No, not really. Just felt like I might.

Food prep consisted of marinating both chicken & beef for kebabs, cutting up and marinating all the vegetables, making a greek spinach, feta & pasta salad with a homemade dressing, making a fruit salad and strawberry cheese fruit dip, and making cookies. 4 flippin’ hours, people, with nary a break – except to make lunch for the kids and occasionally play referee to their bickering:
But, thankfully, it all turned out lovely and oh so yummy:
And my boys got to play with their Australian boy cousin for the first time – as only boys do:
Once the wrestling stopped we got the older girl cousin to sit down with the stinky boys and we clicked a few pics of them:
Love it! Love them. Great night with fun people. Now I’m utterly exhausted and apparently I have to go to work tomorrow. Really? Because I feel like I’ve been working all bloody weekend. I guess it’s not the same. 
Off to la-la-land for me. G’day, mate!
Posted on by Wise Sass · 6 Comments

Sometimes I’m a lucky girl

My company HQ is in San Francisco. Coincidentally, I love San Francisco. Always have. Sometimes I have to go visit my HQ to do work type stuff. When that happens I take full advantage of the opportunity to visit my California family.
So last Thursday night I packed a small bag for the weekend and got my booty into bed by midnight. I set the alarm for 5:30 AM. Then I lay there. And I tossed. Then I turned. Then I tossed again. Then I moved to the sofa. Sometimes I can sleep on the sofa when I can’t get comfy in my bed. 2 am, 3 am, and finally, blessfully, I fell asleep around 4 am. I had moved the alarm to 6 am. Yeah, you do the math.
On the way to the airport I saw this:
When I got to SFO I took the BART, because I’m thrifty like that, to my HQ’s BART stop near Market:
And schlepped the few blocks, partially UP HILL, to my office in SOMA. It was an absolutely, unbelievably gorgeous day:
I worked for a while. I had a successful, productive meeting. I found out that our HQ has a “Zen room” (more like a Zen closet) which I said was very Zen-like and my co-worker corrected me and said, no, it’s more IKEA-like. But, you know, that works for me.
After a few hours there, I took the BART back to SFO and picked up a rental car. In fact, I got a BRAND SPANKING NEW rental. It only had 70 miles on it. Sunroof, leather seats, satellite radio. I dug it. And I hit the road. And parked. In San Jose traffic. It took me 2 1/2 hours to travel 42 miles. Frick ‘n’ frack was I annoyed. And tired. Did I mention that I was operating on only 2 hours sleep?

Finally, around Morgan Hill, CA, I hit open road and I kept going until I hit Fresno County. At which point it was about 8 pm and I had to pee. And felt a powerful need to eat a little something too. But, thank goodness I didn’t need gas because that’s where I saw this:
Holy preposterousness, Batman. For reals.
And then I got a text from one of my best friends from high school, Alicia. I call her Leash. Her brother’s band was playing at a dive bar that night in my hometown and could I come? Pretty please? And bring my mom since her mom was going to be there too? Um, yeah, SURE! Because I may have only had 2 hours sleep and flew across 3 states at dawn, and been in meetings all day and on the road for 5 hours but OF COURSE I’m up for hitting a dive bar with friends to listen to a rockabilly band. Duh.
So this happened:
It was sorta dark in there and my mom couldn’t figure out how to work the camera on my phone. At this point we were all laughing at her. That’s Leash on the right. And on the left, Kristen. We all reminisced about getting into a fender bender in Kristen’s car on the first day of my Freshman year. Probably the first time my mom let a friend drive me anywhere. Yep. Kristen & Alicia look exactly the same since HS and I hate them. Except that I love them. Moving on.
I spent the weekend with my Mamacita. This is her in her backyard. It’s my own personal Zen place. Her house backs up to a field so it’s super quiet and there’s very little light pollution so I can lay out there in the patio loungers and listen to the fountain and look at millions of stars. Om.
One of the biggest reasons I came to my hometown this weekend was to see my Grammy. You see, she’s the best Grammy EVER. Without exception. Even my hubby says that she’s the best – and he had a pretty amazing Gram himself.
Here’s me and my Gram:
I was laughing in this pic because she was clutching her blouse up around her neck in order to hide her “turkey neck.” She is so silly. The best parts of me, my cousins, my mom & my aunts all came from her. She’s ornery, nurturing, loving, understanding, and the epitome of gracefulness. Except when she burps out loud. Man, can she burp. And snore. My goodness. Oh, how I love her.
I also spent a good part of the weekend with this dude:
Okay, so his hair is a little crazy in this pic, but he’s still cute right? And he has kind eyes. He’s my cousin. He’s my brother/cousin. And he’s single. Swoon, ladies, swoon. Also, he’s 30 and he likes older women. If you live in the valley and want to meet him just email me. (He’s also a journeyman/electrician looking for steady work so, you know, email me for that too).
Saturday night something momentous happened:
That’s JONI! Yeah, THE Joni. My blogging inspiration and altogether-awesome-person Joni. And that bitty baby is Ella. I tried to hold Ella. She took one look at me and screamed her adorable little head off. C’est la vie. But I did get to try one of Joni’s chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting. Delicioso. (That baby WILL like me someday. I’m determined).
Sunday afternoon I packed up my fancy rental car and headed for the bay. I pit-stopped at Harris Ranch in Coalinga. I sang my way along I-5 and 152 over Pacheco Pass. I smelled the garlic in Gilroy. The drive went quickly and before I knew it I was standing at the window in the airport looking out at the bay and thinking how much I love California. Politics, finances, even pollution aside – I love California. I love the way I feel when I visit. I love the roads that I know by heart. I love the colors. I love the ocean, the country and the mountains and that in one afternoon’s drive I can experience all three. Until we meet again, California: 
Sometimes I’m a lucky, lucky girl. 
Posted on by Wise Sass · 2 Comments

Baseball Mom

It’s starting. I’ve resisted for a long time – he’s too young, he’s not ready, let’s just do martial arts instead – but now it’s time. To push it off any further would be doing him a disservice.
My oldest has joined an organized sports team. Baseball, to be specific. 
3 weeks ago when I reminded my son that he was signed up for baseball and it would be starting soon he had a gigantic fit. He didn’t want to do it, how could I make him and why didn’t I warn him before I signed him up? Well, he knew I was signing him up, he chose baseball over soccer, and I even double-checked with him. So what was the problem? Nerves. He was scared to meet new people and do something he wasn’t used to doing.
2 weeks ago when my mom & stepdad were here they bought him a bat, a couple baseballs, and a mitt. We went out to a baseball diamond at a school nearby and practiced a bit. After that I didn’t hear a word of complaint.
Last night we went to the first practice. I signed all the forms, got his uniform and signed up to bring the snacks for one of the games. In true sports mom form.
I was so proud of him last night. No nerves last night. He jumped right in. And when the coach was asking for a volunteer to demonstrate where center field was he raised his arm the highest.  
In the next 5 weeks we have 4 practices and 10 games. Here we go.
He’s an Angel. And a handsome devil.
His brother giving him words of encouragement just before his first time up to bat.
Because I love themed collages.
Posted on by Wise Sass · 1 Comment

9

At 1:47 AM this morning, 9 years ago, this happened:
(Read the story of how that birth happened here). 
And, just like that, we were a family: 

Then we took him home and started the arduous task of raising him. It was tough, at first, with amazing highs and lows. The boy was dubbed “failure to thrive” after losing some weight and then he started refusing to nurse. We found out that I wasn’t producing enough milk for him. I started pumping and pumping and pumping. And then I pumped some more. I was a dismal failure at it. The max I ever pumped in ONE DAY was 2.5 ounces. So, as if that challenge wasn’t enough, the kid wouldn’t sleep at night. I spent all day pumping and trying to feed him in-between his naps and then when the hubby got home from work I would try to sleep for a few hours and then, like clockwork, the boy was wide awake from midnight until 8 am. It took a month for us to start paring that down and, hour by hour, I was able to get him to go to sleep earlier. But, man, for awhile I felt like the walking dead.
Once we got over these speed bumps we were able to really just enjoy him. He was so sweet and we enjoyed him so much. He loved being swaddled very tightly. We called him our burrito baby. He was happy and snuggly and he looked like a little man. 
Here’s a pictorial from his younger years:
8 weeks old. He can thank me for this later.
My little man
Look what’s growing!
First trip to Disneyland
Kickin’ it baby-style
And then, before we knew it (or had even considered it) he was a big brother:
He seemed to grow up so fast after that point. He just became a big boy in the flash of an instant:
Halloween when he was 4
5th birthday
Going to school!
And now, so handsome, so smart and clever. He’s become so independent. He gets up in the morning and starts getting ready for school. He runs to the bus stop by himself. He gets his own band-aids. He does his chores and yells at his brother and brushes his teeth and combs his hair and reads. He started reading the first Harry Potter book this year. Oh my.

Look what I made. I am one proud mama today. (And most days, to be honest).

Posted on by Wise Sass · 2 Comments

Last week in Instagram & this week in sheer panic

Okay, before we get to an Instagram review of the week and a recap of our wild ride on Easter, let me just tell you about this coming week. 
My momma is coming on Thursday evening. Momma & stepdad, actually. So I have guests coming in 3 1/2 days.
Something you may or may not know about me – I’m a 90%er. I like to do jobs/projects until they are mostly done and then I lose steam and it takes me FOREVER to finish them. This is a problem for me this week because over the last two weekends we have been working on our bedroom re-do. The room itself is done. (Well, mostly. I need to pick up a bench, some storage options like a bookcase, and a couple of small, tall side tables – but it’s mostly done. The furniture will wait a bit.) 
The problem is we put all that junk that was cluttering up our bedroom into my office. My office that also doubles as our guest room. Do you see where I am going with this?
I have 3 1/2 days to now make the guest room presentable. But I don’t wanna. Because I’m a 90%er and I’m done with my bedroom project. Whine.
So – that’s my week. Clean, clean, organize, organize. Then my parents are coming and it will be my son’s birthday on Friday. I’m feeling the PRESSURE. I’m feeling a little panicky about it. Maybe that adrenaline will help me get it done. Fingers-crossed.
Okay, now that I’ve got THAT out of the way we’ve got some loverly pictures:
The beginning of the week was rough at work. Drastic measures were necessary:
Sangria
Then we did homework. This is my Autistic guy. When I see him doing so-called “normal” things really well I can’t tell you how much my heart expands. The hubby’s too. See his face? Proud dad.
Speaking of the Autism thing – my little guy has been afraid of dogs for about 3 1/2 years. That’s about 1 1/2 years after we got our Labradoodle, Murphy. Murphy was a very active pup. And big. With gigantic paws. Bubba got scared and from then on Murphy had a weird half-life – all day outside and all night inside in his crate. Lately as my little bubba has gotten older we’ve been seeing improvements. He’s not as scared as he was. It probably helps that he’s taller than Murphy now. 
We started “Project: Integrate Murphy” last week. Starting with a bath and a haircut:

It’s going pretty well. Murphy does have a tendency to eat paper though. He gnawed on the hubby’s hard-bound Hitchhiker’s Guide though and that was a big, fat no-no. He needs to work on his manners a bit before he’s given carte blanche access to the whole house.
Friday the boys went to Hobby Lobby with me. I have started a love affair with that place. Largely because of the bedroom re-do. And partially because all the wall decor was 50% off. Yikes. 
Anyway, to reward them, and me, for their good behavior at the store I took them to U-Swirl for yogurt where I snapped one of the cutest pictures ever of these two boys together:
Brothers
I just died. 
Look how sweet they are? So, so misleading.
Saturday I busted ass to try to get my bedroom done. It’s done-ish. Here’s a preview of a later, date TBD, blog post about the room re-do:
Hobby Lobby purchase. Yep. Infatuation all the way.
We also dyed eggs on Saturday. I’m not artsy-fartsy with them. More of a traditionalist, I think. They are what they are:
Which brings us to Easter. We went to the in-law’s house. They have 4 acres on which sits the old farmhouse, a guest house (currently inhabited by a visiting aunt & uncle), a big barn-like structure (for holding the RV, junk and cars. and more junk), old outhouses, an old pump house, old chicken coops, a playhouse, a wood pile, about 8 old undriveable cars, an olive grove, picnic tables, and, finally, a beaten earth track that will eventually have actual train tracks on it for my father in law’s ride-on train. 
It’s a fun place for 13 grandkids (11 of them boys) to play.
But before the playing we had the egg hunting:
And egg-inspecting at the playhouse:

And Papa took some of the littlest kids for a ride on the track in the golf cart:

Those are the 2 girlies. Twinsies too.

Then we had some boy cousin playing on the wood pile:

Old fallen trees are really the best places to play.
The hubby and I borrowed the keys to the golf cart and drove out to the back olive grove. We may have smooched a little. I can neither confirm nor deny, but this guy certainly thinks he’s pretty clever:

Note: I cannot tell you how fun this was. I just can’t. I don’t have the words. It was like a ride at Disneyland except without all the safety restraints and perfectly imagined scenery. The hubby drove with swagger. Then he let let me drive and I was a tad more cautious. I want to do it again. 
On our way back we saw this band of pirates getting ready to attack:
That’s my baby in the middle. With his stick sword.
And then we were caught:
My baby lost interest at some point during the charge and went the other way.
And during all this crazy driving and pirate attacks what were the little girls doing? 
Contemplating the crazy boys, of course. Just like women have been doing for centuries:
“Hmm, why would they get on the roof just to fall on their heads? Doesn’t seem logical.”
Happy Easter, Peeps.
Posted on by Wise Sass · 1 Comment

A first birth story

Next Friday, April 29, will be 9 years since I gave birth for the first time. Most people would say that’s the moment I became a mom, but I felt like a mom from the instant I knew he was in my body. Even when the early tests came back negative I *knew* he was there. And I was right – he was. And he was precious and he changed my life. 

When I think back to my pregnancy, birth and the first few months of his life I’m filled with a mix of pride & happiness and shame, guilt & regret. 

Shame, guilt & regret? Yep. I could have done it better. I’m ashamed of myself for not knowing more or being more pro-active about knowing more. I hope I didn’t screw him up too much. I would do things differently now than I did then. I should be clear – I didn’t actually do anything to hurt him (at least I hope not). But we struggled. Before, during, and after his birth there were difficulties. I didn’t know how to do it better. 

Before his birth I had borderline preeclampsia. I retained so much water those last few weeks I could probably float. I gained 40 lbs and the last 15 were all water weight in the last 2 weeks. I was on bed rest for 3 weeks.

During his birth I was unaware of the process; I was scared and exhausted. I didn’t know or understand what to ask for, or even that I could ask for more than what was being provided to me.

After his birth I was sleep deprived and emotionally drained and scared and inhibited and I didn’t know how to make it better.

I just need to remember this: When I knew better I did better.

When I knew better I did better. When I knew better I did better.

When he was born I was 26. I knew what a typical 26 year old knows about birth & babies. I took the birthing classes. I read books like What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I joined an online message board for moms that were due in April 2002. Some of the moms were first-timers, like me, and some were more experienced. I put together a birth plan based on what I had read. I wanted to incorporate different birthing methods and positions in my labor that would ease my pain and help with the delivery. I was open to having an Epidural if the pain got intolerable because I had heard how horrible the pain was and I was scared. I felt as prepared as I could be for something that was still largely an unknown thing.

On Sunday, April 28, my due date, I woke at 7:30 am when I felt a trickle of liquid. I flipped myself 180 degrees out of bed to a standing position (in an insane desire to prevent the bed from getting wet) and my water gushed out all over the floor. (Sorry if that’s TMI for you. If it is, then maybe you shouldn’t read this post. Consider yourself warned). I woke my husband, called my OB’s office and posted to my message board that it was my turn.

It was a couple hours before we headed to the hospital. I wasn’t feeling the contractions yet so everything was calm. We got all checked in to L&D at the hospital and began walking the track to try to get things moving. We walked and we walked and we walked some more. 

After about 3 hours of this, and for reasons I can’t remember, they wanted to hook me up to a monitor. I should note that it’s around this time when my memory gets a little fuzzy. I don’t know why, but from about 1 pm to 9 pm I only have vague images or snippets in my mind of things that happened. I’m really, really hazy on a complete narrative of the day. Was it the pain? I don’t know. The Pitocin? The eventual Epidural? I just don’t know.

These are things I know happened:
  • I couldn’t walk around anymore because I had to be in bed due to the monitor.
  • I got an IV and, at some point, Pitocin, because I wasn’t progressing.
  • As some point the baby’s oxygen levels dropped so they put an oxygen mask on me.
  • I had the most horrible heartburn all day and, thankfully, they were able to give me Tums for some temporary relief.
  • I threw up several times. Probably throwing up the Tums since I hadn’t had anything else. 
  • The on-call OB came to check on me and, when she noticed I was in pain she asked why I hadn’t asked for an Epidural? Well, because I didn’t know it was time to ask for an epidural. The contractions and level of pain had increased so gradually that it wasn’t obvious to me that I should be asking for an Epidural. I don’t know how else to explain that.
  • I had the shakes really bad before I got the Epidural. I think those calmed down after. At least I don’t remember them after. 
The next part of the process that I remember clearly was when I was starting to feel the pain from the contractions again. They were going to give me another dose of the Epidural but they realized then that I was at 10 and started preparing for me to deliver instead. Since they wanted me to feel the contractions (so I would know when to push) I didn’t get more Epidural. 

I pushed for the next 3 hours. From 9 pm to 12 am. Pushed for about 30 seconds and then rested for 30 seconds. Rinse and repeat. For 3 hours. I threw up a few more times. The baby was crowning but that was it. That kid was not budging. 

I have to say, my L&D nurses were fantastic. There were 3 of them there with me. One down between my legs who seemed to be running the show (you know, other than ME). She was particularly nurturing and encouraging and I wish I could remember her name. There was another one up by my head who kept helping me sit up, rubbing my back, encouraging me, wiping my brow, etc. There was another nurse floating around supporting those two. 

My husband was on the other side of me and he was incredibly encouraging and supportive. I don’t think I cursed at him even once.

3 hours. Pushing non-stop. No progress. I became incredibly worn out. 

They decided to let me rest and asked the OB to come check on me. She had been delivering another baby so I hadn’t seen her much. When she came and examined me she gave me less than a 10% chance of delivering naturally and recommended a c-section.

I was exhausted. I just wanted him to be born already. Please, please, just make it be done and put him in my arms already. 

I consulted with my mom and my husband. They were worried about me. They were worried about the baby. It was so easy to just trust the doctor and say, “ok.” 

I don’t want to regret the decisions I made then but I can’t help but think that I should have questioned that decision more. I should have asked if they knew WHY he was stuck and wasn’t there anything else that could be done? Was he in jeopardy or should we wait it out a bit more? I didn’t know enough to ask the right questions. And did I mention I was exhausted? We were 16 hours in since my water had broken and I think about 11 hours in from when the contractions had become painful.

I got more Epidural. Around 1 am April 29, 2002 I was wheeled into surgery. At 1:47 am this happened:

I had a perfect, beautiful baby boy. He was gorgeous. I cried and told him he was beautiful for the brief second they held him next to my head. I was happily exhausted and relieved. He looked just like a miniature man.

Then they took him away from me so they could sew me up. My husband left me too and I felt tired and alone and a little disconnected to what was happening around me. 

My husband washed him and fed him a bottle – because they needed to feed him, apparently, and I was in recovery and I couldn’t breastfeed him yet, they said. I don’t know. I was annoyed they gave him a bottle, for sure, but I didn’t have it in me to throw a hissy fit after the fact.

I was wheeled back to my room and had uncontrollable shakes for a long time. They kept piling warm blankets on me. Finally they brought my little angel in and I was able to breastfeed him for the first time. He latched on great and drank like a champ.

They told me later he was facing the wrong way in the birth canal and that’s why he had gotten stuck. He was “sunnyside up.” Even now, years later, I wonder how they didn’t know that? Or check for that? Couldn’t they have turned him over? 

So that’s my first birth story. That early morning as I was recovering from the surgery and he was laying in my arms I felt the most vulnerable I have ever felt in my life. I wanted to put him back IN. At least when he was inside of me he was safe. Outside of me anything could happen to him. That’s when I truly understood what people mean when they say it’s like your heart is beating outside of your body. 

The first few months were really hard – breastfeeding/milk supply issues, sleeping issues, etc. But I’ll save that for part 2. 

Here he is, almost 9 years later:


Thanks for reading. 🙂 

Posted on by Wise Sass · 2 Comments

A Love Story

Get a cookie & a coffee and settle in because this got long. 
I warned you here and here that there would be more to come from the phenomenal inspiration I have received from reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s follow-up to Eat. Pray, Love called Committed.
There’s a part near the beginning of the book when Liz (again, I call her Liz because we’re that tight now) is first beginning her journey to understand the institution of marriage. She was in a village in Vietnam and she began speaking to a family of Hmong women about their marriages. She realized quickly there was a disconnect between her Western concept of marriage (for want of love & companionship) versus a more Eastern concept of practical/arranged marriages. As she further ponders this she says:

[the Hmong woman was not] placing her marriage at the center of her emotional biography . . . 

In the modern industrialized Western world . . . the person whom you choose to marry is perhaps the single most vivid representation of your own personality. 

 And this gem:

Your spouse becomes the most gleaming possible mirror through which your emotional individualism is reflected back to the world.

Read that last one two or three times to let it sink in. That is so true. So crazy, unbelievably true.  
As Liz next states, and I fully concur with, Western women cannot wait to share the stories of how they met their husbands. In detail. With pictures, if possible. It’s true. Because we (we, because *I* am one of those women) consider choosing our husbands as one of the singularly most important things we will do in our lives. Until we have kids, or a divorce, it may be the SINGLE most important thing we do. We value choosing our partner much more than choosing a profession, a place to live, or a dog. Why? Because those things are fairly changeable and usually lacking in broken hearts and shattered crockery. Husbands & marriages, and divorces, especially, tend to be high in the broken hearts and broken crockery category. 
(I know this from personal experience. My husband still reminds me of his favorite cup that I threw at him and broke about 5 years ago when we were going through the hardest time we’ve had in our marriage. Yes, I throw things. These days I try to limit it to things that don’t break or hurt if they hit their mark. Like pillows. It’s who I am. My biological father was a redhead. Fiery. I have bad aim though.)
For these Hmong women their husbands play a role, or position, in their lives but have no bearing on their lives as a WHOLE. Not in the way that we Western women wrap ourselves up in our menfolk and then, later, when things get real or turn sour we have to unwrap ourselves and remember who we are again. For them, it appears that they remain who they are inherently as individuals without needing or even wanting validation as a woman, wife or mother from their husbands. (And vice versa for the husbands as well, it seems. (Bear in mind these are my observations from Liz’s observations so there is a fair amount of interpretation happening here)). 
Liz is quick to point out that just because husband/wife roles appear to be be a little less all-encompassing than we expect in the West that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a notion of romantic love. Romantic love is everywhere and crosses all cultures. In their culture, however, it may not be tied to the actual mechanics and necessities of marriage. Interesting, no? I believe these kinds of “pragmatic marriages” can breed a type of love – especially those long-lasting marriages of many of our grandparents. It’s just a different love than love born from passion first.
Love is love. Marriage is marriage. 
But we, the greedy Westerners, we want it all. Wrapped up in a pretty package with a bow on top. We don’t really want to work for it. We just want it to appear – perfect and complete the moment we say “I will.” 
I think there’s a point in marriages – maybe it’s the infamous 7 year itch – when they will either break or bond. Some of them may string out past the 7 years due to some efforts from one or both parties to keep things together – but generally the writing is on the wall at some point. 
But in other marriages this may be the point when the partners actually start effectively partnering. They start actually learning to listen, really listen, to each other and learn that marriage and love must be nurtured. A wife must water and fertilize her husband’s love and he must absolutely do the same to hers. That can’t be done without respect.

I think marriage years can be compared with individual growth in terms of maturity. So: 
  • The first 7ish years of marriage is like being a teenager. Instant gratification, I want what I want and I don’t want to compromise. Classic teenager behavior. 
  • The next 7ish years is that really, really important time between being a teenager and fully-fleshed adult with responsibilities and decisions. So much growth and change in a small, compact time frame. If we aren’t careful we grow too quickly. Other times we don’t grow enough. It’s a balancing act to make sure one does not outgrow the other.
  • The next 7ish, or more, may be the cementing of that mutual respect and maturity. At least that’s what I’m hoping because we’re heading there next. I’ll keep you posted. 
What does it all mean? It means I’m a Western woman. I want LOVE with my marriage. I want to be the deliverer of his happiness and the nurturer of his soul – but I’m mature enough in my marriage to know that it CAN’T all come from me. It has to come from within him. Just like some of my inspiration, self-awareness, confidence, and individuality MUST come from inside me. Because I’m still me and he’s still him and we just share each other.
And, since I’m a Western woman – here’s our story:
It was ’98 and I was 22. I worked at the student newspaper at my university. We had a cartoonist that I knew of – from reading the paper we issued – but I had never met. We called him the midnight cartoonist because he ALWAYS turned his cartoon strip in at midnight the day it was due. So I never met him until one day he came in during the daylight hours and our editor introduced us. 
He had long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Earrings. His face was red because he had just ridden his bike to the office and it was wet outside. There was a line of water that had kicked up from his back tire onto the back of his anorak type jacket. he was wearing holey khaki pants and had on leg pegged (due to the bike riding). He had a huge warm smile. 
I didn’t see him again until January ’99 when we had a class together. I smiled at him but he didn’t remember me at first and I had to remind him that we both worked for the paper.
Then he started walking me back to the newspaper offices every day after class. One day I told him my BFF was coming to visit and asked him where should I take her? And did he want to go out with us? So, you see, *I* asked *him* out. I did it. 
So she came up and we all went out. At the end of the night he leaned over and told me how cute my freckles were. Then he kissed me.

The next day I left for Spring Break and thought of him most of the time I was gone. I came back A DAY EARLY from Spring Break because I wanted to see HIM. We spent every day together from then on. But I had already planned to move back to California in 2 months and I did. I moved away. Honestly, I kept telling myself it was just a fling. His hair was longer than mine for goodness sake! 

I was wrong. I moved back Cali in May of ’99. He came to visit me in July. I went to visit him in September and he proposed. Scarcely 6 months had passed since we had started dating and we were engaged. WE JUST KNEW. It was another 4 months, and 2 visits, before he moved to California to be with me. We got married 6 months after that in July 2000.  See, proof:
And we lived happily ever after. 
*barf*  PUHLEEEZE. 
Remember, I throw crockery. AT HIS HEAD. (Once, about 5 years ago. And I missed.)

We live, more or less happily, and we try hard and we WANT to be married to each other. Should we ask for more than that? I don’t think so. It works for us.

Posted on by Wise Sass · 2 Comments

The week in photos: a recap

Warning: lots o’ pictures in this post. Some of food. Some of people. Some of other stuff. Some of teeth (or missing teeth). It was a busy week.

Unfortunately all the photos are from my phone because I have misplaced the cord to charge my camera. (I hope I didn’t leave it in the last hotel room I stayed in. I hope, I hope. I did that last year with my phone charger and have been kicking myself ever since.) Anyway, apologies for the quality of the pics. I really, really want a good camera but until I can afford that it would be nice if I could at least find the cord to my little Fujifilm point & shoot digital.

The boys (all three of them) were on Spring Break so they were all very, very happy about that. I had to work, a lot (end of the financial quarter and I was covering for my boss) but the fun stuff off-set the work stuff nicely.

We started the week by all going out to lunch.

We rented Just Dance 2. The boys thought it was going to be L.A.M.E. and that they couldn’t possibly get up and DANCE, like, in front of PEOPLE. But after watching me & the hubby do it, they were more than ready to try it. And, no surprise, they freakin’ loved it. (Note: if you are well-endowed, like me, then when your 7 year old begs you to play Just Dance before bed and you have already taken your bra off do NOT dance to “Jump.”)

We also had a wide range of weather (a friend of mine remarked that Mother Nature must be menopausal). Snow, rain, and later in the week sunny & 70 degrees. I never get tired of looking up and seeing the snow on the mountains just 20 miles away from us.

I went to the chiropractor 3 times (where, one day, an adorable 2 yo fell asleep on the table waiting for his adjustment and then SLEPT THROUGH THE ADJUSTMENT). Wow.

And I made flautas for the first time. They were oh so yum. (Fattening though. Warning: You may gain a pound just looking at the pic). I also made the Pioneer Woman’s Brother’s Chicken Tacos – but didn’t snap a pic of those. I make Mexican food at least once a week.

The sad news of the week was the untimely demise of my favorite pizza stone. I had it even before I had my children. Even before I was married. So sad. It was left on a hot burner and cracked down the middle. You can’t see the crack but it’s there. (The odd white round mark was left by a pan lid that was on top of the pizza stone.) Can you see how perfectly seasoned it was? Oh, the tragedy.

But then my little one wanted a pic with his mom & dad and the world was okay again.

I received this picture texted to me while I was at work so I’m not sure what happened, but the Tooth Fairy visited us again that night – just a week after her last visit. I really need to make this guy some Jello so he can learn how to shoot it out through the holes. Hee hee. (Oh, I WAS disappointed to find they didn’t buy any chocolate chips. Duh, they were right.there.)

On Saturday the hubby’s acting group premiered a new train show. It’s a Wild West idea, and the hubby is a bit of a bumbling but dedicated Confederate General. This is him the night before trying his costume and crazy face on.

We went to our nephew’s birthday party on Saturday. My little one insisted he wouldn’t go outside because of the dog – and then proceeded to follow the dog around and eventually try to ride him like a horse. Also my twin nieces are in the picture. So stinkin’ adorable I want to eat them up.

Then we marked World Autism Awareness Day, on April 2. You can read my post about it here. We put a blue light bulb in our front porch light and we all dressed in blue to show our support for the event. When we went outside to take this pic we noticed our neighbors next door had also put blue light bulbs in their outside lights. I WAS STOKED.

I hope your week was as fun as mine.

Hasta mañana, peeps.

Posted on by Wise Sass · 3 Comments

Lessons in moderation

I’m a better mom on the weekends.

This is me during the week, every day, Monday-Friday:
Wake up, stumble to the shower, dress, make-up, help the kids dress and brush things, and then run out the door with seconds to spare. Take one kid to school while the hubby takes the other to a different school.
Go to work and work, work, work. Maybe get lunch. Maybe not. 
Leave work at 6 or 6:30 or 7. Sometimes go to appointments after work. Then rush home because the hubby has to be somewhere at 7ish a few days a week. 
Make dinner. Do dishes. Maybe do laundry. Maybe play a game of Plants vs. Zombies with the boys (well, I’m being honest. don’t worry, homework is done already). 
Coax my little one to do the needful (drop a bomb, if you get my drift) and get a bath (because he’s Autistic and in his mind one must follow the other or there will be tears). 

Then jammies, and teeth brushing and bed around 9 or 9:30. (Where they will lay for another hour or two before falling asleep. Why? Because they are MY kids).

The hubby and I may sit down and watch something together (thank goodness for Tivo) or we may both do work. I’ll do my job-related work or pay bills or I try to blog. Then I fall into bed semi-comatose at midnight or 1 am.

Aaaannnnddddd repeat.

It’s the weekends that I can look at my sons and really think, “What do I want them to learn from me this weekend?” They see me work all week long, and that’s one lesson right there, but what can I impart to them on the weekends?

And I don’t mean the difference between an adjective or pro-noun, or how to work through their multiplication chart. 
I mean what can I do to be a positive example to them? So they understand how to live when they are adults. Respect, charity, industriousness, etc. The stuff that only parents can teach, you know, by example. 

Somebody once said, “If one oversteps the bounds of moderation, the greatest pleasures cease to please.”

Work ethic is important. It’s huge. But I firmly believe in living a life of moderation. In raising my kids I want them to learn from me that work is good – not only does it provide for more practical needs, but it also feeds the mind and helps individuals to grow and become better, more well-rounded people.
Conversely, I want my boys to know that playing and down-time and just plain, ole FUN and laughter is good too. To be successful at work a person needs to learn the virtues of the R’s – restart, refuel, reload, reboot & relax.
Sometimes, like this morning, the best lesson I can teach them is just to turn the music up and have a dance party. Right there in the living room. 
Laughter? Check. 
Exercise? Check.

Inhibitions? Gone.

My kids thinking I’m the coolest mom ever? CHECK. 
Collapsing on the sofa.
We’ll get to the laundry . . . later. They will help, they are good at that. (Industriousness, respect? Check, check).

If all we did was have dance parties then they wouldn’t be so special. 

Moderation, yo. It’s important.