Blaine works with a guy who is the king of all stooges. He's our age and a great talker, but reality proves to be much different. Seriously. Working with this guy is like mining gold for prime sitcom material. He could easily be on Seinfeld.
Story #1:
He is very proud of his yard. Very proud.
A year or so ago, his neighbor made some comment to him about "keeping up with the Joneses" in reference to his yard. I can't remember why. The next day he came into work and told Blaine the story, totally pooh-pooh-ing his neighbor and said, "I don't know who these Joneses are, but I know my yard is way better than theirs".
Huah! Smackdown.
Story #2:
He loves comedians and will listen to their acts over and over again in the office. He also loves to flirt with women in their mid-twenties that come into the warehouse. And yes, he's married.
Just yesterday, he recited a comedy routine verbatim to one such lady visitor. It was a routine about "unsweetened tea" and why on earth companies market tea as unsweetened when they don't have to take the sweetener out; why don't they just call it "plain tea" instead of using a polysyllabic descriptor in their tagline?
Verbatim. Blaine has heard the routine 10-15 times and this guy recited it word for word. He can't even come up with his own material.
The woman laughed throughout his "routine" and afterwards giggled, "tee-hee-hee . . . what does polysyllabic even mean??"
And his response my friends, is gold. Pure gold. He stuttered and said, "Ehhhhh . . . errrrrrrr . . . . uhhhhhhhh . . . . why don't they just call it plain tea?!"
Oh yes, he did. Or should I say, "Oh no, he didn't". Un-un-un-un.
Showing posts with label Ripping-good Yarn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ripping-good Yarn. Show all posts
Thursday, August 08, 2013
Monday, February 11, 2013
The twin saga
We had a bit of a wild ride last month, when the possibility of TWINS cropped up. I know, I know. I spent many a sleepless night, my mind running and not able to stop contemplating the possibility of caring for two babies at once. I mean, I know people do it, but it just sounds so. hard.
Here's the story --
Back in December, I measured 18 inches at my 16 week prenatal appointment. Five weeks later, at my January appointment, I measured 29.5 inches. For anyone who doesn't know, at 21 weeks it is normal to measure 21 inches. Not 29 inches.
I didn't realize what she was contemplating until she asked, "Are you planning to have an ultrasound with this pregnancy?" as she measured my belly for the third time. I answered cheerfully at first, "Well . . . only if you want me to," as the slow terror of what she was considering dawned on me. Twins?!
In addition to what appeared to be a rather large growth spurt, my midwife was reminded of her twin-mamas with some of the things I was telling her: heavy pressure on my pelvic floor, substantial ligament pain, movement that seemed much stronger than it should be, etc. Though I wasn't ever quite sure it the movement was actually stronger, or if I was just more aware of it due to experience.
She found one heartbeat and two placental tones, which didn't tell us anything because it could have easily been the placenta attached at the back and reverberating off the sides of my uterus. There was no telling for sure. She also felt a lot of "baby parts" but couldn't necessarily place the exact position of the head or back or feet, though it did appear the baby was laying in a breech position. She recommended either 1) waiting until next month's prenatal to see if I was still measuring large, or 2) if I really couldn't stand it, go in for an ultrasound for the final word.
Initially, I figured I would just wait. I have measured large two different times before, always evening out by the next appointment in both cases. It seemed silly to go in for an ultrasound just for measuring large. Right? Right?? But then I started checking in with one of my yahoo groups, a group that I know has a number of twin-mamas on its list. Two of the answers, "I didn't find out until my ultrasound at 20 weeks" and "I didn't start measuring large until 20 weeks or so" was enough to spur me into action.
I called my back-up doctor and scheduled an appointment. A doctor's order is required to get an ultrasound and I needed to connect with him at least once before the birth anyway, so it was going to work out for my benefit either way.
At the appointment, I was still measuring large, though not in correspondence with the two weeks which had passed. He also checked for fetal heart tones and thought he found two - TWO. One on the lower-left at 150 beats per minute and then one immediately afterwards on the upper-right at 160 beats per minute.
I think I screeched, "Are you telling me that you found two heartbeats?!", but then he was unable to relocate the "first" heartbeat. This could have meant that either the baby moved, or the first baby moved behind the second baby. Either way, there was no telling. An ultrasound was the way we were going to find out.
We all went in together two days later, thinking that if this was a doozy-of-an-ultrasound with the huge news of two babies, not just one, it might be fun for the boys to witness it. I didn't sleep very well the night before, as you can imagine. How would I get anything done? How I could I ever travel by plane again? How would we fit everyone into our mini-van? How could there ever be enough of me to go around? And so on.
We all filed into the room and I lay down on the table. The ultrasound tech slopped the glop on my belly, put the instrument down, and said, "There's your baby". Talk about anti-climatic.
"My baby? There's only one in there....?" I asked. She evidently didn't get the memo that this was the sole reason why we were there. "Yep," she said. After checking and re-checking and confirming that yes, she would absolutely be able to tell the moment it came up on the screen, I was satisfied. One baby. One baby! There was only one baby. The relief flooded in.
The reason I measured large is because the baby is in a longitudinal breech position, with the head in the upper-right part of my belly, the feet in the lower-left. It also measured about a week ahead in size, so it could have been a "growth spurt" in conjunction with the breech position.
Here's the story --
Back in December, I measured 18 inches at my 16 week prenatal appointment. Five weeks later, at my January appointment, I measured 29.5 inches. For anyone who doesn't know, at 21 weeks it is normal to measure 21 inches. Not 29 inches.
I didn't realize what she was contemplating until she asked, "Are you planning to have an ultrasound with this pregnancy?" as she measured my belly for the third time. I answered cheerfully at first, "Well . . . only if you want me to," as the slow terror of what she was considering dawned on me. Twins?!
In addition to what appeared to be a rather large growth spurt, my midwife was reminded of her twin-mamas with some of the things I was telling her: heavy pressure on my pelvic floor, substantial ligament pain, movement that seemed much stronger than it should be, etc. Though I wasn't ever quite sure it the movement was actually stronger, or if I was just more aware of it due to experience.
She found one heartbeat and two placental tones, which didn't tell us anything because it could have easily been the placenta attached at the back and reverberating off the sides of my uterus. There was no telling for sure. She also felt a lot of "baby parts" but couldn't necessarily place the exact position of the head or back or feet, though it did appear the baby was laying in a breech position. She recommended either 1) waiting until next month's prenatal to see if I was still measuring large, or 2) if I really couldn't stand it, go in for an ultrasound for the final word.
Initially, I figured I would just wait. I have measured large two different times before, always evening out by the next appointment in both cases. It seemed silly to go in for an ultrasound just for measuring large. Right? Right?? But then I started checking in with one of my yahoo groups, a group that I know has a number of twin-mamas on its list. Two of the answers, "I didn't find out until my ultrasound at 20 weeks" and "I didn't start measuring large until 20 weeks or so" was enough to spur me into action.
I called my back-up doctor and scheduled an appointment. A doctor's order is required to get an ultrasound and I needed to connect with him at least once before the birth anyway, so it was going to work out for my benefit either way.
At the appointment, I was still measuring large, though not in correspondence with the two weeks which had passed. He also checked for fetal heart tones and thought he found two - TWO. One on the lower-left at 150 beats per minute and then one immediately afterwards on the upper-right at 160 beats per minute.
I think I screeched, "Are you telling me that you found two heartbeats?!", but then he was unable to relocate the "first" heartbeat. This could have meant that either the baby moved, or the first baby moved behind the second baby. Either way, there was no telling. An ultrasound was the way we were going to find out.
We all went in together two days later, thinking that if this was a doozy-of-an-ultrasound with the huge news of two babies, not just one, it might be fun for the boys to witness it. I didn't sleep very well the night before, as you can imagine. How would I get anything done? How I could I ever travel by plane again? How would we fit everyone into our mini-van? How could there ever be enough of me to go around? And so on.
We all filed into the room and I lay down on the table. The ultrasound tech slopped the glop on my belly, put the instrument down, and said, "There's your baby". Talk about anti-climatic.
"My baby? There's only one in there....?" I asked. She evidently didn't get the memo that this was the sole reason why we were there. "Yep," she said. After checking and re-checking and confirming that yes, she would absolutely be able to tell the moment it came up on the screen, I was satisfied. One baby. One baby! There was only one baby. The relief flooded in.
The reason I measured large is because the baby is in a longitudinal breech position, with the head in the upper-right part of my belly, the feet in the lower-left. It also measured about a week ahead in size, so it could have been a "growth spurt" in conjunction with the breech position.
Isn't it just the cutest little thing?
And . . . we know what we are having. Does anyone want to venture a guess?
(If you know already, shhhhhhhhhhhhh.)
(If you know already, shhhhhhhhhhhhh.)
Saturday, December 05, 2009
No joke
When I was a kid I used to wonder if we were all cartoons and if we were, why couldn't I see the lines around my body?
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Oh dear, small airports, and to be a daughter again
I'm in Western WA at my parents' house - we flew in Thursday morning, after getting up at 4:30 a.m. to get to the airport and spending about 9 hours en route. Funny, because in Minneapolis, it was 4-5 hours. We're living out there, baby: and, well, it added quite a bit of time onto any kind of traveling.
It actually went very well; both baby and toddler were even tempered and easy to entertain. It was such a relief, because much of my week [spent dodging carpenters and electricians, btw - the remodel wasn't complete until Friday, the day after I left] was spent dreading it. People's favorite thing to say to me was, "Boy, it looks like you have your hands full!" Yep.
And don't even get me started on the Sioux Falls airport - it looked like a rinky-dink bus depot from the outside. We were late, of course, and I ran up to the security stop panicked, telling them that my flight was leaving in 10 minutes, and I needed to get through. There were 20-30 people in line ahead of me and I fretted that I'd never make it in time. The security officer was quite rude, saying, "Yes, everyone else is too." I was incredulous, and said again, "Excuse me, my flight is leaving in 10 minutes - I don't think I'm going to be able to make it!" And again, she said, "Everyone else is too!" and then ignored me.
And really, everyone else was: just like she said. There was only one flight leaving from the Sioux Falls airport that morning, and that. was. it. Oh, the humiliation. My list grows with every passing month. I'm just not used to the smallness of it all. [Even more humiliating, my flight wasn't actually leaving in 10 minutes; I was somehow confused and we actually had a half-hour before departure. Doh!!]
Oh dear.
I must say, it feels so good to be home; it is nice to be a daughter again. I know that I'm always a daughter, but it feels so good to be home; taken care of; under my parents' roof: a daughter again. And the green-smelling earthy air! I could just faint in the bed of moss under my parents' plum trees and lay there forever, like a sleeping fairy. I'd get wet, of course, but it would be dreamy.
It actually went very well; both baby and toddler were even tempered and easy to entertain. It was such a relief, because much of my week [spent dodging carpenters and electricians, btw - the remodel wasn't complete until Friday, the day after I left] was spent dreading it. People's favorite thing to say to me was, "Boy, it looks like you have your hands full!" Yep.
And don't even get me started on the Sioux Falls airport - it looked like a rinky-dink bus depot from the outside. We were late, of course, and I ran up to the security stop panicked, telling them that my flight was leaving in 10 minutes, and I needed to get through. There were 20-30 people in line ahead of me and I fretted that I'd never make it in time. The security officer was quite rude, saying, "Yes, everyone else is too." I was incredulous, and said again, "Excuse me, my flight is leaving in 10 minutes - I don't think I'm going to be able to make it!" And again, she said, "Everyone else is too!" and then ignored me.
And really, everyone else was: just like she said. There was only one flight leaving from the Sioux Falls airport that morning, and that. was. it. Oh, the humiliation. My list grows with every passing month. I'm just not used to the smallness of it all. [Even more humiliating, my flight wasn't actually leaving in 10 minutes; I was somehow confused and we actually had a half-hour before departure. Doh!!]
Oh dear.
I must say, it feels so good to be home; it is nice to be a daughter again. I know that I'm always a daughter, but it feels so good to be home; taken care of; under my parents' roof: a daughter again. And the green-smelling earthy air! I could just faint in the bed of moss under my parents' plum trees and lay there forever, like a sleeping fairy. I'd get wet, of course, but it would be dreamy.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Because I know you were wondering...
My most-used kitchen utensil? Without a doubt, the cheese grater. I use that sucker every single day.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Ring-a-ting-ting, complaining, midwifery & FSBO updates
I heard the first Ice Cream Man of the season yesterday. Where I grew up (Western WA), we called him the Popsicle Man. I once blew 20 dollars that I had found at my elementary school playground during after-school hours, ALL ON POPSICLES. I think I bought them for all my siblings and any kids around at the time, too. I always loved the Astro Pops the best.
Anyway, our Ice Cream Man yesterday afternoon played an array of Christmas music, of all things. While he was going by, I heard Jingle Bells and Silent Night. It seems so bizarre and ironic to me as a Northerner. Perhaps a Southerner wouldn't think twice? There is such a firm connection between summer and popsicles/ice cream that is seems so strange to be playing wintry Christmas songs while cajoling through the neighborhood. It gave me a chuckle while I was slaving to wash and rinse blinds that have been in storage since we moved in. It was shocking how dirty they were. It took some serious scrubbing to get the grim off and all the while, I was thinking, "Four years later, and we're still cleaning up their messes!" Seriously. They better be glad they sold in a Seller's Market. Spring cleaning was a foreign concept to these people; they kept their house surfacy-clean, so we spent the first few weeks/months opening up hiding places and shrieking, "Ahhhhhhkkkgh!" You would think blinds would qualify in the Surface Dept.
My meeting with the midwife went well; it was more of a "get to know you" session. We spent a lot of time just chatting, intermixed with light talk about birthing philosophy. They just sold their home FSBO, so that was an interesting connection. Starbeans spent his time going back and forth between the "prenatal room" and the living room, bringing toy cars galore and lining them up on the couch. I liked her. She seemed very big on nutrition and food intake during pregnancy, which is really nice. She is still nursing her 3 year old, so I know that she'll be very supportive in that dept. It seemed like the process of seeing her up unto the birth is not only to monitor general well-being and the pregnancy as it progresses, but also to get a good feel for each other prior to the Big Event. I like that, too. In the case of our move, she is willing to meet half-way for check-ups (amazing) and fine with traveling the 2-3 hours from her home to ours for the birth. She said that there aren't many midwives in the Western MN area. After my search, I would agree with her. I couldn't find much of anyone. Sad.
As far as selling our home goes, we may be going FSBO after all. I can hardly believe it. A simple conversation while meeting a new neighbor morphed into an opportunity to sell our home. The interested couple are friends of our neighbor; they want to move into South Minneapolis and like the idea of living close to their friend and, I believe, the Creek. They came and looked at our house last Friday and are already in the process of scheduling an inspection, an appraisal, another look-through, and plan to put their offer in this Sunday evening. It will be interesting to see what happens. We haven't signed with a realtor yet, so we are home-free to go FSBO. As you can imagine, we are very pleased. We knew our house was cute, but it is so nice to have that affirmed by an outside party. Hooray!
Anyway, our Ice Cream Man yesterday afternoon played an array of Christmas music, of all things. While he was going by, I heard Jingle Bells and Silent Night. It seems so bizarre and ironic to me as a Northerner. Perhaps a Southerner wouldn't think twice? There is such a firm connection between summer and popsicles/ice cream that is seems so strange to be playing wintry Christmas songs while cajoling through the neighborhood. It gave me a chuckle while I was slaving to wash and rinse blinds that have been in storage since we moved in. It was shocking how dirty they were. It took some serious scrubbing to get the grim off and all the while, I was thinking, "Four years later, and we're still cleaning up their messes!" Seriously. They better be glad they sold in a Seller's Market. Spring cleaning was a foreign concept to these people; they kept their house surfacy-clean, so we spent the first few weeks/months opening up hiding places and shrieking, "Ahhhhhhkkkgh!" You would think blinds would qualify in the Surface Dept.
My meeting with the midwife went well; it was more of a "get to know you" session. We spent a lot of time just chatting, intermixed with light talk about birthing philosophy. They just sold their home FSBO, so that was an interesting connection. Starbeans spent his time going back and forth between the "prenatal room" and the living room, bringing toy cars galore and lining them up on the couch. I liked her. She seemed very big on nutrition and food intake during pregnancy, which is really nice. She is still nursing her 3 year old, so I know that she'll be very supportive in that dept. It seemed like the process of seeing her up unto the birth is not only to monitor general well-being and the pregnancy as it progresses, but also to get a good feel for each other prior to the Big Event. I like that, too. In the case of our move, she is willing to meet half-way for check-ups (amazing) and fine with traveling the 2-3 hours from her home to ours for the birth. She said that there aren't many midwives in the Western MN area. After my search, I would agree with her. I couldn't find much of anyone. Sad.
As far as selling our home goes, we may be going FSBO after all. I can hardly believe it. A simple conversation while meeting a new neighbor morphed into an opportunity to sell our home. The interested couple are friends of our neighbor; they want to move into South Minneapolis and like the idea of living close to their friend and, I believe, the Creek. They came and looked at our house last Friday and are already in the process of scheduling an inspection, an appraisal, another look-through, and plan to put their offer in this Sunday evening. It will be interesting to see what happens. We haven't signed with a realtor yet, so we are home-free to go FSBO. As you can imagine, we are very pleased. We knew our house was cute, but it is so nice to have that affirmed by an outside party. Hooray!
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Cat problem: solved
Does anyone ever have people leaving comments that are in no way related to the post? Check this out. I don't get it. There I was, wallowing sorrowfully in the fact that my cat is peeing outside of the litter box; and I have one person telling me that it was a "great post", while the other one says how he has recently moved and misses his old 'hood. By the way, I know do not know either of these people.
Now, A-Lo and Aravinth - if you are sincere in your comments, my apologies. They just strike me as outlandish and bizarre. Perhaps people are just trying to get their names out there? This is most definitely not the blog to do that, as only a handful of people look at it per day. Maybe they thought they were commenting on a different blog? Whatever the case, it is just so we-ird.
As for Lester, the offending feline, we came to a suitable solution. When we go rural, hopefully by this summer, he will become an Outside Cat. He'll have his own little cat house by the front door and can pee wherever his little heart desires. This will also solve the issue of our self-induced Feline Mania, as we will be booting out Lester's side-kick, Toots, as well; they can snuggle together in their cat house at night and hunt mice together by day. And we'll have 2 less cats in the house! The other two, Lit Bay and Little Bud (I know...I know...ridiculous names) are virtually harmless and much more manageable.
We have realized that is it totally insane to have 4 cats under one roof. What were we thinking? We weren't; or at least, we were not thinking of a future with anyone else to take care of aside from ourselves and the fur balls. Adding a child into the equation changes the entire situation. As another blogger once said so well, "I could have written pages and pages before they [her children] were born; but now, they are just pets." Yes mama, with a capital Y! I like, enjoy, and feel affectionate towards our cats, but I'm not longer willing to slave for them. Done.
For clarification, Lester's main peeing problem is this: he has chronic urinary tract infections that only stop with a raw food diet. I can handle that. Part II of his peeing problem is that he likes to urinate on anything sitting on the floor in our basement: plastic bags, laundry baskets, blankets, etc. Every once in awhile that problem comes upstairs, which is twice the annoyance; but thankfully, has never happened on the carpet - it has always been on the vinyl or wood floors.
Once (and this is insane), when Starbeans was first born, I was lying on the living room floor, admiring my newborn. Lester walked by and stopped by my head; I saw him out of the corner of my eye and I thought his legs were positioned strangely. As I sat up, I saw that he was squatting in a peeing position and literally peed on the floor where my head was. This is not a joke. Right on the floor: as in, he would have peed on my head if I hadn't of sat up. What the...? So, we have definitely have problems.
If anyone is interested in a raw food diet for their pet, check out Natural Health for Dogs and Cats by Dr. Pitcairn. It is a really good book: we've used it a lot. It is packed with recipes and is a good source for first aid, up-keep, dealing with health problems, etc. Pitcairn strongly advocates a raw food diet and spits tacks about dried food - and it makes sense: if you think long enough about what goes into dried cat/dog food to keep it from rotting, it'll give you the heebie-jeebies. Check it.
Now, A-Lo and Aravinth - if you are sincere in your comments, my apologies. They just strike me as outlandish and bizarre. Perhaps people are just trying to get their names out there? This is most definitely not the blog to do that, as only a handful of people look at it per day. Maybe they thought they were commenting on a different blog? Whatever the case, it is just so we-ird.
As for Lester, the offending feline, we came to a suitable solution. When we go rural, hopefully by this summer, he will become an Outside Cat. He'll have his own little cat house by the front door and can pee wherever his little heart desires. This will also solve the issue of our self-induced Feline Mania, as we will be booting out Lester's side-kick, Toots, as well; they can snuggle together in their cat house at night and hunt mice together by day. And we'll have 2 less cats in the house! The other two, Lit Bay and Little Bud (I know...I know...ridiculous names) are virtually harmless and much more manageable.
We have realized that is it totally insane to have 4 cats under one roof. What were we thinking? We weren't; or at least, we were not thinking of a future with anyone else to take care of aside from ourselves and the fur balls. Adding a child into the equation changes the entire situation. As another blogger once said so well, "I could have written pages and pages before they [her children] were born; but now, they are just pets." Yes mama, with a capital Y! I like, enjoy, and feel affectionate towards our cats, but I'm not longer willing to slave for them. Done.
For clarification, Lester's main peeing problem is this: he has chronic urinary tract infections that only stop with a raw food diet. I can handle that. Part II of his peeing problem is that he likes to urinate on anything sitting on the floor in our basement: plastic bags, laundry baskets, blankets, etc. Every once in awhile that problem comes upstairs, which is twice the annoyance; but thankfully, has never happened on the carpet - it has always been on the vinyl or wood floors.
Once (and this is insane), when Starbeans was first born, I was lying on the living room floor, admiring my newborn. Lester walked by and stopped by my head; I saw him out of the corner of my eye and I thought his legs were positioned strangely. As I sat up, I saw that he was squatting in a peeing position and literally peed on the floor where my head was. This is not a joke. Right on the floor: as in, he would have peed on my head if I hadn't of sat up. What the...? So, we have definitely have problems.
If anyone is interested in a raw food diet for their pet, check out Natural Health for Dogs and Cats by Dr. Pitcairn. It is a really good book: we've used it a lot. It is packed with recipes and is a good source for first aid, up-keep, dealing with health problems, etc. Pitcairn strongly advocates a raw food diet and spits tacks about dried food - and it makes sense: if you think long enough about what goes into dried cat/dog food to keep it from rotting, it'll give you the heebie-jeebies. Check it.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Do I have a man-voice?
I had my final bloody wisdom tooth extracted today. Goodbye pressure! Goodbye tension! Goodbye over-crowding! (Or, at least, let's hope so.)
I had never been offered laughing gas before today, but I decided to go for the gold. After all, Lord-willing, I will probably never have another tooth pulled; I've also never had a cavity in my 29 years; so I took my chance while I had it. And oooboy, was it fun!
Here's how it went:
The little mini-mask went over my nose and I was told to breath regularly. We (the oral surgeon, his assistant, and me) were all watching the kids sledding on the hill across the creek as my frontal lobe started buzzing: it tickled. I began to melt into a relaxed state, recognizing that I didn't give a crap whether I was about to be poked with a needle or not. What the heck! It's just a needle! I told them that my frontal lobe felt like it was floating, and while I was thinking about it - my vocal cords didn't feel like they were attached to my body either.
"It's the gas," said Dr. Rahimi. I gigglegurgled a bit and then realized, "I feel like I'm talking with a man-voice. Am I talking with a man-voice? I mean seriously - do I have a man-voice?" I asked, barely able to hold back my giggles.
"No - that's the gas too," replied Dr. Rahimi, seeming quite amused. During this interlude, he had numbed me up with two shots of novocaine (saying, "Sorry...sorry..." as he poked me) and was waiting a minute before it took complete effect in my mouth. He then took an instrument that looked a lot like a stainless steel popsicle stick, asked me to tilt my head slightly towards him and said, "You're going to feel a little bit of pressure." He pushed on the tooth; I could feel slight pressure and hear some soft cracking; then he took some kind of dental pliers and POP - out came my tooth, like a snap. I didn't feel a thing.
I asked to look at it, which he allowed; the root was curved, like it grew in with devious secrecy because it knew there wasn't enough room in there. Seeing the tooth brought back a memory that sent me into a fit of giggles again: Dr. Rahimi pulled my first wisdom tooth (impacted lower left...oh was that was a painful SOB) in 2002. After that extraction, I asked him if I could keep the tooth and he very abruptly replied, "No! BioHazard!" It startled me a bit at the time, but I think about it now and it makes me laugh.
Being naturally open and particularly cheerful because of the laughing gas, I happily told him the story with a lot of hysterical laughter in between "and then you said..." and "No! BioHazard!" and then confided, "and you said it so mean!" They (Rahimi and the assistant) both cracked up and we all had a good guffaw together. It was great: getting my tooth pulled has never felt so good.
I have very little pain even now; I haven't taken any kind of pain killer and don't really plan to. It is a lovely, lovely feeling knowing that my jerky tooth is gone and that I'll never have to worry about an over-crowded mouth again. Maybe my teeth will even move back into place again. My FIL seems to think this is the case; I really hope so. Presently, my bite is completely off and I can't even shut my mouth completely because my teeth don't rest together anymore. We'll see. I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile...as The Maestro on Seinfeld says, "Let's celebrate!"
I had never been offered laughing gas before today, but I decided to go for the gold. After all, Lord-willing, I will probably never have another tooth pulled; I've also never had a cavity in my 29 years; so I took my chance while I had it. And oooboy, was it fun!
Here's how it went:
The little mini-mask went over my nose and I was told to breath regularly. We (the oral surgeon, his assistant, and me) were all watching the kids sledding on the hill across the creek as my frontal lobe started buzzing: it tickled. I began to melt into a relaxed state, recognizing that I didn't give a crap whether I was about to be poked with a needle or not. What the heck! It's just a needle! I told them that my frontal lobe felt like it was floating, and while I was thinking about it - my vocal cords didn't feel like they were attached to my body either.
"It's the gas," said Dr. Rahimi. I gigglegurgled a bit and then realized, "I feel like I'm talking with a man-voice. Am I talking with a man-voice? I mean seriously - do I have a man-voice?" I asked, barely able to hold back my giggles.
"No - that's the gas too," replied Dr. Rahimi, seeming quite amused. During this interlude, he had numbed me up with two shots of novocaine (saying, "Sorry...sorry..." as he poked me) and was waiting a minute before it took complete effect in my mouth. He then took an instrument that looked a lot like a stainless steel popsicle stick, asked me to tilt my head slightly towards him and said, "You're going to feel a little bit of pressure." He pushed on the tooth; I could feel slight pressure and hear some soft cracking; then he took some kind of dental pliers and POP - out came my tooth, like a snap. I didn't feel a thing.
I asked to look at it, which he allowed; the root was curved, like it grew in with devious secrecy because it knew there wasn't enough room in there. Seeing the tooth brought back a memory that sent me into a fit of giggles again: Dr. Rahimi pulled my first wisdom tooth (impacted lower left...oh was that was a painful SOB) in 2002. After that extraction, I asked him if I could keep the tooth and he very abruptly replied, "No! BioHazard!" It startled me a bit at the time, but I think about it now and it makes me laugh.
Being naturally open and particularly cheerful because of the laughing gas, I happily told him the story with a lot of hysterical laughter in between "and then you said..." and "No! BioHazard!" and then confided, "and you said it so mean!" They (Rahimi and the assistant) both cracked up and we all had a good guffaw together. It was great: getting my tooth pulled has never felt so good.
I have very little pain even now; I haven't taken any kind of pain killer and don't really plan to. It is a lovely, lovely feeling knowing that my jerky tooth is gone and that I'll never have to worry about an over-crowded mouth again. Maybe my teeth will even move back into place again. My FIL seems to think this is the case; I really hope so. Presently, my bite is completely off and I can't even shut my mouth completely because my teeth don't rest together anymore. We'll see. I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile...as The Maestro on Seinfeld says, "Let's celebrate!"
Monday, January 01, 2007
Long lost twins
Squeeze's Grandma keeps a vintage 1982 Montgomery Wards Christmas catalog out on her porch, under an arm-chair. On a quiet afternoon a number of years ago, Squeeze and I were breezily leafing through it and discovered, much to my shock/pleasure, the original advertisement for one of my favorite sweaters (I really like the zipper and the long zippery neck).
We were reunited again this weekend: only this time, I was wearing the old boy. Here we are (snuggling). I think the model puts a burly out-of-doors feel to it, while I am going for more the look of a relaxed amputee.
We were reunited again this weekend: only this time, I was wearing the old boy. Here we are (snuggling). I think the model puts a burly out-of-doors feel to it, while I am going for more the look of a relaxed amputee.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Svenska flicka
God morgon! (That means "good morning" in Swedish)
I'm really getting into this whole Borealis family history thing. I requested an English-Swedish dictionary from the library - I want to at least slip in a Swedish word here or there in my emails to Lars. I feel like such a lunk, writing to him in English - knowing full well that the brunt of translation lies on his shoulders. Now, his English is more adequate than my non-existent Swedish, but still...
I am spending good chunks of precious free-time examining family trees, pictures, birth-dates, and names. It is really interesting! I've found that I really adore the name Birgitta - several generations of Swedish Borealis women have this name. I also like the name Mats - isn't it cute?
Hej då
(goodbye!)
I'm really getting into this whole Borealis family history thing. I requested an English-Swedish dictionary from the library - I want to at least slip in a Swedish word here or there in my emails to Lars. I feel like such a lunk, writing to him in English - knowing full well that the brunt of translation lies on his shoulders. Now, his English is more adequate than my non-existent Swedish, but still...
I am spending good chunks of precious free-time examining family trees, pictures, birth-dates, and names. It is really interesting! I've found that I really adore the name Birgitta - several generations of Swedish Borealis women have this name. I also like the name Mats - isn't it cute?
Hej då
(goodbye!)
Monday, November 06, 2006
Good old Lars
Have you ever googled yourself? I suppose most people have; but listen to this story:
Squeeze googled himself several weeks ago, looking for his high school track records (I'm married to a track & field super-star: he went to state in 4 events several years in a row). During the search, he saw his name in a Danish heritage website; following the link, he found his family the subject of detailed conversation. Lars, a Swedish Borealis, was looking for the American descendents of his family: his father's father came to the US as an old man in 1897 and was listed as suffering from "senility" on the Ellis Island record. Some of his sons stayed in Sweden, while other came to the States.
The website is a forum to help people track down geneological information; they researched & provided family history that Squeeze's parents weren't even aware of: Ellis Island records, occupations, census records, etc.
We emailed Lars and the forum volunteer to introduce ourselves and get more information, and several weeks later - family reunion! We are exchanging email, letters, and pictures; and Lars sent us a detailed family tree that dates back to the 1700's. Amazing.
Lars' father was first cousin to Squeeze's Great-grandpa Axel. Now is that fodder for an excellent middle name, or what???
In short: what a small, big world.
All through the power of The Internets.
Squeeze googled himself several weeks ago, looking for his high school track records (I'm married to a track & field super-star: he went to state in 4 events several years in a row). During the search, he saw his name in a Danish heritage website; following the link, he found his family the subject of detailed conversation. Lars, a Swedish Borealis, was looking for the American descendents of his family: his father's father came to the US as an old man in 1897 and was listed as suffering from "senility" on the Ellis Island record. Some of his sons stayed in Sweden, while other came to the States.
The website is a forum to help people track down geneological information; they researched & provided family history that Squeeze's parents weren't even aware of: Ellis Island records, occupations, census records, etc.
We emailed Lars and the forum volunteer to introduce ourselves and get more information, and several weeks later - family reunion! We are exchanging email, letters, and pictures; and Lars sent us a detailed family tree that dates back to the 1700's. Amazing.
Lars' father was first cousin to Squeeze's Great-grandpa Axel. Now is that fodder for an excellent middle name, or what???
In short: what a small, big world.
All through the power of The Internets.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
The Bride's Keepsake Book
Squeeze and I were married 6 years ago, approx 2 months before I turned 23. I had just graduated from college and thought the whole wedding thing was pretty sissy.
I did, however, buy a vintage 1976 (the year before I was born) copy of The Bride's Keepsake Book. I found it at a thrift store the very summer we were married.
I updated it with pictures and some stories, swatches of cloth from our dresses, and the song list from our Wedding Soundtrack. I'm glad I did - it is fun to look back on. However, I had always looked at the Wedding Gifts section of The Bride's Keepsake Book and thought, "Who has time for that?" Funny, since just within the last year, I relished going through Squeeze's maternal Grandmother's bridal keepsake book. I loved looking at everyone's names, seeing what gift they gave, and figuring out their connection to the family.
So...
I updated my copy of The Bride's Keepsake Book. I just finished today.
It all started last week, when I pulled out the old standby How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman. It was a wedding gift; one that I've used quite a bit. I like how he talks about the recipes before going into the details, like, "The US must be very removed from the kitchen to have allowed pancake mixes a hold on the market, because they are ridiculously easy to make".
As I opened the cookbook, I thought about its status as a Wedding Gift but I had no idea who it came from. What a shame! I stated such to Squeeze, then wondered out loud about all of our wedding cards in the big plastic bag stored in one of our cupboards. Squeeze promptly went to the cupboard, pulled out the bag, and began going through the cards until he found the Cookbook Giver. Harley S. (& family): one of my beloved professors from college. That makes the cookbook twice as nice! He even wrote in the card of his fondness for it.
So. I brought out my 1976 The Bride's Keepsake Book, found the very blank Wedding Gifts section, and began transcribing all of our gifts and the givers, divided between our MN reception and WA reception. It has been so much fun. First of all, being able to connect various household items, kitchen tools, and other miscellany with the people who actually gave them to us: very cool. Now I can think of these people as I rinse peas in our colander, or weigh myself on our bathroom scale. I love it!
The other thing that struck me is all the life changes amongst my kin and acquaintance since the year 2000: death, divorce, marriage, and children. Death stands out the most starkly, followed by divorce. Jack and Peggy L. are no longer Jack and Peggy L. - it is now simply Peggy L. My heart aches with the reality of life (death). Entering both of their names on the registry felt so normal, and yet - he was gone as I wrote it.
9/11/06 conclusion:
Re-reading this post is like falling down a waterfall. It just ends; hacked. I don't have the time to edit into coherence, yet I don't want to delete it either. Therefore: it is what it is. A waterfall.
I did, however, buy a vintage 1976 (the year before I was born) copy of The Bride's Keepsake Book. I found it at a thrift store the very summer we were married.
I updated it with pictures and some stories, swatches of cloth from our dresses, and the song list from our Wedding Soundtrack. I'm glad I did - it is fun to look back on. However, I had always looked at the Wedding Gifts section of The Bride's Keepsake Book and thought, "Who has time for that?" Funny, since just within the last year, I relished going through Squeeze's maternal Grandmother's bridal keepsake book. I loved looking at everyone's names, seeing what gift they gave, and figuring out their connection to the family.
So...
I updated my copy of The Bride's Keepsake Book. I just finished today.
It all started last week, when I pulled out the old standby How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman. It was a wedding gift; one that I've used quite a bit. I like how he talks about the recipes before going into the details, like, "The US must be very removed from the kitchen to have allowed pancake mixes a hold on the market, because they are ridiculously easy to make".
As I opened the cookbook, I thought about its status as a Wedding Gift but I had no idea who it came from. What a shame! I stated such to Squeeze, then wondered out loud about all of our wedding cards in the big plastic bag stored in one of our cupboards. Squeeze promptly went to the cupboard, pulled out the bag, and began going through the cards until he found the Cookbook Giver. Harley S. (& family): one of my beloved professors from college. That makes the cookbook twice as nice! He even wrote in the card of his fondness for it.
So. I brought out my 1976 The Bride's Keepsake Book, found the very blank Wedding Gifts section, and began transcribing all of our gifts and the givers, divided between our MN reception and WA reception. It has been so much fun. First of all, being able to connect various household items, kitchen tools, and other miscellany with the people who actually gave them to us: very cool. Now I can think of these people as I rinse peas in our colander, or weigh myself on our bathroom scale. I love it!
The other thing that struck me is all the life changes amongst my kin and acquaintance since the year 2000: death, divorce, marriage, and children. Death stands out the most starkly, followed by divorce. Jack and Peggy L. are no longer Jack and Peggy L. - it is now simply Peggy L. My heart aches with the reality of life (death). Entering both of their names on the registry felt so normal, and yet - he was gone as I wrote it.
9/11/06 conclusion:
Re-reading this post is like falling down a waterfall. It just ends; hacked. I don't have the time to edit into coherence, yet I don't want to delete it either. Therefore: it is what it is. A waterfall.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Tight pants just might save your life
True story:
I've worked for the same company for 5 years now. Cubeland. Hundreds of people on each floor, thousands of people in each building. You know the routine. Recently a 24 year old co-worker's life was quite literally radically altered after a day in skin-tight leather pants.
"I'll be riding without a spare soon," he said.
Whaaaaat?
Let me explain -
He fell asleep (passed out?) in a pair of tight pants after work; when he woke up, he found himself at a slightly crumpled odd angle, body twisted, legs pressed together, and one of his testicles was aflame. He thought it wasn't much - it hurt for about a week, then the pain went away.
But that sucker grew. The testicle enlarged over a period of about a month until it was the size of a fist. He finally confided in another co-worker, who said, "Are you nuts?? Call the doctor NOW!!!" He did. They told him to come in that day. Within the week, he had an ultrasound, the doctor confirmed it was cancer, and he was scheduled for surgery. Oh yes - he's truly "riding without a spare" now. Interestingly, they removed his testicle through an incision in his lower abdomen and pulled it out, strings and all, from the top.
The tumor was 6 centimeters in length. The doctors said it was a kind of cancer that usually occurs in older men and does not spread. Sometimes, they said, tumors can grow rapidly if pestered. Thus, the life-saving dual purpose of the skin-tight leather pants: ridiculously good-looking and a valuable medical apparatus!
Amazing.
Guys: Turn you head and cough - monthly, at least.
Ladies: Tell your men to check themselves regularly!
I've worked for the same company for 5 years now. Cubeland. Hundreds of people on each floor, thousands of people in each building. You know the routine. Recently a 24 year old co-worker's life was quite literally radically altered after a day in skin-tight leather pants.
"I'll be riding without a spare soon," he said.
Whaaaaat?
Let me explain -
He fell asleep (passed out?) in a pair of tight pants after work; when he woke up, he found himself at a slightly crumpled odd angle, body twisted, legs pressed together, and one of his testicles was aflame. He thought it wasn't much - it hurt for about a week, then the pain went away.
But that sucker grew. The testicle enlarged over a period of about a month until it was the size of a fist. He finally confided in another co-worker, who said, "Are you nuts?? Call the doctor NOW!!!" He did. They told him to come in that day. Within the week, he had an ultrasound, the doctor confirmed it was cancer, and he was scheduled for surgery. Oh yes - he's truly "riding without a spare" now. Interestingly, they removed his testicle through an incision in his lower abdomen and pulled it out, strings and all, from the top.
The tumor was 6 centimeters in length. The doctors said it was a kind of cancer that usually occurs in older men and does not spread. Sometimes, they said, tumors can grow rapidly if pestered. Thus, the life-saving dual purpose of the skin-tight leather pants: ridiculously good-looking and a valuable medical apparatus!
Amazing.
Guys: Turn you head and cough - monthly, at least.
Ladies: Tell your men to check themselves regularly!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Love, baptism, and a new apartment
Our Wilburn went and got himself a ladyfriend. (We had to write him a letter to get a hold of the guy!) Isn't he handsome?
2006 was a big year of change. He moved out of his house of 55 years into an apartment connected with a Lutheran church, started seeing Evy (who lives on the same floor), and got baptized just this past weekend. This guy is 86 years old. Amazing!
Monday, August 21, 2006
Confessional
Words I almost always misspell:
- cheast - chest
- definately - definitely
- recieve - receive
I've been forced to memorize chest and definitely, but have to repeat "'i' before 'e' except after 'c'" over and over in my mind before I write down receive. How embarrassing!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Spider on your hat?
I just got back from a wonderful visit with my parents in the Pacific Northwest. It was my 10 year high school reunion, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and it is always a pleasure to bring Grandchild #1 (the one and only) for a visit.
One of the highlights of the trip was seeing my grandpa in his Old Duffer Hat, with, of all things, a spider glued to the bill.
Thus:
One of the highlights of the trip was seeing my grandpa in his Old Duffer Hat, with, of all things, a spider glued to the bill.
Thus:
He has been wearing pin-striped overalls since I can remember. In fact, when I was in 8th grade and we moved to the town where he has lived his entire life, I assumed that all the townsmen wore pin-striped overalls. (They didn't.)
He is getting older and weaker and didn't even recognize me when I saw him in June. While he often confuses or forgets my brothers, as in - "Who's that??" - my grandma says, "That's BRENT!!" or "That's Julie's son - ERIK!!", he has never forgotten me; it was a little disconcerting. As I was leaving, he wanted to know who I was.
But he was very coherent this visit. On Tuesday night, he asked me when our flight was getting in to Minneapolis. When I yelled (he's hard of hearing), "5:30 AM!", he responded in a snap - "Just in time to get up".
He loves one-liners.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Reflections
My sweet baby is 1 year old today.
On Friday morning, the 28th, I went to the Farmer's Market and bought sweet corn, in addition to a smattering of other vegetables. Pushing Starbeans in an umbrella stroller, I passed by a vender selling pints of beautiful blueberries and raspberries in little wooden square containers.
Seeing them pushed me into the realm of memory.
Last year, July 28th was on a Thursday. The Farmer's Market is downtown on Thursdays in Minneapolis and I was there after an appointment with my midwife. Before catching the bus, I bought sweet corn at one stand; then I passed by a vender selling beautiful blueberries and raspberries in little wooden square containers - and I stopped and bought a pint of each.
As I sat waiting for the bus, feeling hot and miserably pregnant, I thought about the raspberries, the blueberries, the non-pregnant Mexican woman sitting next to me, and wondered, "When...when...??" When on earth was I going to get this baby out of me? Who would it be? Was this woman feeling sorry for me - because I sure was. What would it feel like to not be pregnant again? What would it feel like to have an actual baby?
I brought all the corn and blueberries and raspberries home, but didn't eat any of it: I planned to savor them over the weekend. I wasn't due until August 8th anyways, and good grief - don't first babies go over their due date by at least a week?
We went out for dinner with my grandparents that night, where I pounded down an enormous hamburger, a giant plate of french fries, and drank glass after glass of water and raspberry lemonade. Very strange, indeed, as I barely drank anything after 6 pm last summer to avoid getting up (literally) 4-6 times a night to pee and I hadn't been able to eat much recently either - the baby was taking up too much room. Odd - very odd.
On Friday morning, the 28th, I went to the Farmer's Market and bought sweet corn, in addition to a smattering of other vegetables. Pushing Starbeans in an umbrella stroller, I passed by a vender selling pints of beautiful blueberries and raspberries in little wooden square containers.
Seeing them pushed me into the realm of memory.
Last year, July 28th was on a Thursday. The Farmer's Market is downtown on Thursdays in Minneapolis and I was there after an appointment with my midwife. Before catching the bus, I bought sweet corn at one stand; then I passed by a vender selling beautiful blueberries and raspberries in little wooden square containers - and I stopped and bought a pint of each.
As I sat waiting for the bus, feeling hot and miserably pregnant, I thought about the raspberries, the blueberries, the non-pregnant Mexican woman sitting next to me, and wondered, "When...when...??" When on earth was I going to get this baby out of me? Who would it be? Was this woman feeling sorry for me - because I sure was. What would it feel like to not be pregnant again? What would it feel like to have an actual baby?
I brought all the corn and blueberries and raspberries home, but didn't eat any of it: I planned to savor them over the weekend. I wasn't due until August 8th anyways, and good grief - don't first babies go over their due date by at least a week?
We went out for dinner with my grandparents that night, where I pounded down an enormous hamburger, a giant plate of french fries, and drank glass after glass of water and raspberry lemonade. Very strange, indeed, as I barely drank anything after 6 pm last summer to avoid getting up (literally) 4-6 times a night to pee and I hadn't been able to eat much recently either - the baby was taking up too much room. Odd - very odd.
- 2 am that night/morning, my water broke.
- 4 am contractions started.
- 10 am we went into the hospital.
- All afternoon and evening we labored through back labor, of all unpleasant and painful things.
- 10 pm, after being stuck at 7 centimeters for 5 hours, my midwife said, "I know you said that you wanted to go naturally, but if I've ever seen a time where Pitocin would be useful in my 30 years, the time is now."
- 11 pm, Pitocin administered.
- 1:17 am, Saturday July 30th, our beautiful Starbeans plunked out with nary a cry. The midwife brought him to my chest and I looked at him with utter amazement. He made little squeaking noises and suckled at the breast.
By the time we got back to our sweet corn, it has lost some of its juicy vibrance. We brought the raspberries and blueberries to the hospital with us, but got lost in all the excitement; and, they too, lost some of their umph.
It was strange to walk by the same vendor selling the same beautiful berries, only this time my sweet little munchkin was known to me - sitting in a stroller in front of me and smiling up with his 4-toothed grin. The last time he was snuggled up in my womb, pinching my sciatic nerve, and waiting for his soon-to-be grand entrance.
Amazing.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Mish-mash
Lord of the Flies kept me on the edge of my seat to the very last page. I honestly had no memory of the ending, so it was pretty intense.
Very good read.
Starbeans is 1 year old next Sunday. AMAZING. He has been eating solids regularly, so his poop is starting to change and get more stinky. Gone are the days of inoffensive yellow poop - hello, chunks!
It was interesting - today was the first day of his life where he pooped and felt upset about it. As in, he wanted that crap out. I thought that he had pooped, but I burnt my thumb and was nursing it with ice; so because of that, he was sitting in it for awhile (maybe 5-10 minutes). It got to the point where he was fussing and pulling on his diaper, looking up at me in a helpless way. Poor thing.
Another first: Today, I asked him where our cat Tootsie was. He looked over at her and put his hand out in her direction. My child is a genius! Seriously though - we were so proud. It is a lot of fun to watch his cognitive development.
On a side note: The best way to take the heat out of a burn is to ice, then apply lavender oil. It takes the pain right out.
Very good read.
Starbeans is 1 year old next Sunday. AMAZING. He has been eating solids regularly, so his poop is starting to change and get more stinky. Gone are the days of inoffensive yellow poop - hello, chunks!
It was interesting - today was the first day of his life where he pooped and felt upset about it. As in, he wanted that crap out. I thought that he had pooped, but I burnt my thumb and was nursing it with ice; so because of that, he was sitting in it for awhile (maybe 5-10 minutes). It got to the point where he was fussing and pulling on his diaper, looking up at me in a helpless way. Poor thing.
Another first: Today, I asked him where our cat Tootsie was. He looked over at her and put his hand out in her direction. My child is a genius! Seriously though - we were so proud. It is a lot of fun to watch his cognitive development.
On a side note: The best way to take the heat out of a burn is to ice, then apply lavender oil. It takes the pain right out.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Earache Remedy
My sweet little one was sick for 3-4 weeks this past January with RSV at the age of 6 months. He was so ill that he actually had to be hospitalized at Children's in Minneapolis for 4 days. (We were sick the entire time as well, but that is a different story).
I was completely unprepared for dealing with a sick baby - nay, an extremely sick baby. Aside from giving him cooling bathes and propping him up while he was sleeping, I didn't really know what else to do. We took him to Urgent Care on a Saturday after he had been sick for several days and all the doctor really did was offer us acetaminophen.
Not good enough.
By the time we took him to the ER on Monday, he was severely dehydrated, sleeping 18-20 hours of the day, and when he wasn't sleeping, he was wailing or coughing. He also wasn't getting enough oxygen. We called a Nurse's line and were urged us to take him to the ER - his legs were blue from the knees down when he woke up from his nap.
He hasn't been sick since, aside from a couple of small colds. However, I've been stocking my brain and daybook with an arsenal of home remedies so I will not be so helpless next time. I especially want to avoid antibiotics; and I fear ear infections the most.
I found a handy earache remedy from Natural Family Living - The Mothering Magazine Guide to Parenting. This book also contains excellent advice for the home care of fevers, colds and flus, and general first aid. I'm a big fan of Aviva Jill Romm as well and plan to buy Naturally Healthy Babies and Children: A Commonsense Guide to Herbal Remedies, Nutrition, and Health soon, as I can't find it at the library.
Garlic Oil eardrops:
I was completely unprepared for dealing with a sick baby - nay, an extremely sick baby. Aside from giving him cooling bathes and propping him up while he was sleeping, I didn't really know what else to do. We took him to Urgent Care on a Saturday after he had been sick for several days and all the doctor really did was offer us acetaminophen.
Not good enough.
By the time we took him to the ER on Monday, he was severely dehydrated, sleeping 18-20 hours of the day, and when he wasn't sleeping, he was wailing or coughing. He also wasn't getting enough oxygen. We called a Nurse's line and were urged us to take him to the ER - his legs were blue from the knees down when he woke up from his nap.
He hasn't been sick since, aside from a couple of small colds. However, I've been stocking my brain and daybook with an arsenal of home remedies so I will not be so helpless next time. I especially want to avoid antibiotics; and I fear ear infections the most.
I found a handy earache remedy from Natural Family Living - The Mothering Magazine Guide to Parenting. This book also contains excellent advice for the home care of fevers, colds and flus, and general first aid. I'm a big fan of Aviva Jill Romm as well and plan to buy Naturally Healthy Babies and Children: A Commonsense Guide to Herbal Remedies, Nutrition, and Health soon, as I can't find it at the library.
Garlic Oil eardrops:
- contains antiviral and antibacterial properties
- add 4 crushed garlic cloves to a jar with a quarter cup olive oil and let stand for 1-3 days -strain and refrigerate for up to 6 months
- add a few drops mullein, St. John's Wort, or calendula to the oil
- to administer - run hot water over a spoon until warm, add a few drops of the oil to the spoon, have the child lay dow, ear up, and drop 2-3 drops in the ear
- plug loosely with a cotton ball
- repeat 2-3 times a day for no more than 4 days
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Ora Newman
We go on a stroll almost every evening, usually to the creek that runs about 3 blocks south of our house. But tonight, I felt the itch to go somewhere different. Instead of going south, we went north, turning on a side-street that we've rarely walked on. And lo-and-behold, what a serendipitous decision it was!
We met Ora Newman. She was standing on the sidewalk in front of her house, poking at some weeds with her cane.
"Hello," I said, "Isn't is a lovely evening?"
"Isn't it though?" she replied, "It is such a beautiful night!"
It was cool, the breeze was blowing, and there wasn't a cloud in sight.
Ora (which is also the name of one of Squeeze's paternal Great-Grandmothers) is a small black woman in her mid-late 80's; she uses a cane to get around, hobbles a bit, and wears spectacles so thick they look like magnifying glasses. When she saw that we had a baby in the stroller, she immediately started squawking and crooning, calling him, "Sugar Boy" or "Mother's Love", and asking him how he was enjoying his walk. He smiled at first, but then stared at her wide-eyed until breaking down into intermittent tears.
We talked outside for awhile; we learned that she had lived in her home for 50+ years, her husband, Oscar, had 'passed' 12 years prior, and that they were some of the first black people to move into the neighborhood. She wanted to give Starbeans some mints, something - anything. Then she invited us in, saying "I've got to get this boy something! Ooooo - Mother's Love."
I love Grandmas. In fact, I love anyone's Grandma.
Her home was exquisitely kept and decorated. The carpet, walls, blinds, and drapes were all a light blue. Her home was decorated in 50's style - amazing boxey furniture with gold fabric woven in, lovely sculpture, curved ceilings, and wall-paper in the dining room that could make your mother cry. So ornate, it was shimmery with felted designs that added texture and made me want to touch it. She also had bowls of mints and candies everywhere.
We talked for awhile, and learned that her husband's father, Cecil Newman, had started the first black newspaper in Minneapolis - The Spokesman. She also said that while they were looking at houses in our neighborhood, they were told courteously, "We're sorry - we don't sell to blacks" (by the realtors). It is hard for me to even fathom this concept. However, they had decided on the neighborhood. They liked it, got in contact with a lawyer, and moved in; she said that the neighbors have always been extremely friendly and in the 50+ years that she has lived there, not one thing has ever been stolen from their yard or home. She had a dog for many years that she named, "Joipan". In fact, her neighbor named his dog, "Joi" in honor of her dog and she says that she takes care of him while the neighbor is out of town.
The conversation was punctuated with "Sugar Boy wants some pop - look how hard he is working on that can! He really needs some pop. Com'on now, go on in the kitchen and get a small cup. Oh go on - give him some pop!"
We had to leave before we wanted to, as Squeeze needed to head to bed. (He gets up at 2:30 a.m. with his new job - can we say yikes?) As we were leaving, she said, "Com'on back now, and visit me, Sugar Boy - I mean it!"
We exchanged goodbyes, and while we were parting, she said something very meaningful to me: "You never know who you're gonna meet, or what new friends you'll make!"
All because we took a little detour on our nightly walk.
We will definitely be visiting Ora Newman again: without a doubt.
We met Ora Newman. She was standing on the sidewalk in front of her house, poking at some weeds with her cane.
"Hello," I said, "Isn't is a lovely evening?"
"Isn't it though?" she replied, "It is such a beautiful night!"
It was cool, the breeze was blowing, and there wasn't a cloud in sight.
Ora (which is also the name of one of Squeeze's paternal Great-Grandmothers) is a small black woman in her mid-late 80's; she uses a cane to get around, hobbles a bit, and wears spectacles so thick they look like magnifying glasses. When she saw that we had a baby in the stroller, she immediately started squawking and crooning, calling him, "Sugar Boy" or "Mother's Love", and asking him how he was enjoying his walk. He smiled at first, but then stared at her wide-eyed until breaking down into intermittent tears.
We talked outside for awhile; we learned that she had lived in her home for 50+ years, her husband, Oscar, had 'passed' 12 years prior, and that they were some of the first black people to move into the neighborhood. She wanted to give Starbeans some mints, something - anything. Then she invited us in, saying "I've got to get this boy something! Ooooo - Mother's Love."
I love Grandmas. In fact, I love anyone's Grandma.
Her home was exquisitely kept and decorated. The carpet, walls, blinds, and drapes were all a light blue. Her home was decorated in 50's style - amazing boxey furniture with gold fabric woven in, lovely sculpture, curved ceilings, and wall-paper in the dining room that could make your mother cry. So ornate, it was shimmery with felted designs that added texture and made me want to touch it. She also had bowls of mints and candies everywhere.
We talked for awhile, and learned that her husband's father, Cecil Newman, had started the first black newspaper in Minneapolis - The Spokesman. She also said that while they were looking at houses in our neighborhood, they were told courteously, "We're sorry - we don't sell to blacks" (by the realtors). It is hard for me to even fathom this concept. However, they had decided on the neighborhood. They liked it, got in contact with a lawyer, and moved in; she said that the neighbors have always been extremely friendly and in the 50+ years that she has lived there, not one thing has ever been stolen from their yard or home. She had a dog for many years that she named, "Joipan". In fact, her neighbor named his dog, "Joi" in honor of her dog and she says that she takes care of him while the neighbor is out of town.
The conversation was punctuated with "Sugar Boy wants some pop - look how hard he is working on that can! He really needs some pop. Com'on now, go on in the kitchen and get a small cup. Oh go on - give him some pop!"
We had to leave before we wanted to, as Squeeze needed to head to bed. (He gets up at 2:30 a.m. with his new job - can we say yikes?) As we were leaving, she said, "Com'on back now, and visit me, Sugar Boy - I mean it!"
We exchanged goodbyes, and while we were parting, she said something very meaningful to me: "You never know who you're gonna meet, or what new friends you'll make!"
All because we took a little detour on our nightly walk.
We will definitely be visiting Ora Newman again: without a doubt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
