Captains Log #1

The ship has officially sailed. I'm finally taking a breather. But a quick one, because the little one's gonna be nipping at the boob any second. I remember now why people always say God makes you forget the bad stuff about the whole labor/newborn thing because if we remembered it all we might choose not to continue to procreate. Not that I'm not loving life right now, it's just hard to see through the fog that is sleeplessness, sore boobs, patched "parts" (and by the way--every girl part I have has some sort of ointment-slash-pad on it) and unwashed hair. But seeing that I remember very little about Aidan's labor pain and infancy and as I look at those tiny toes poking out from underneath the blanket in the bouncy chair, I know that this too shall pass.

Little Ryan isn't latching well. It got so bad that I had to call in the milk maid support people to come help me. A lactation consultant sat with me for hours yesterday looking at what is happening, and apparently the little guy just doesn't want to open up wide enough. We have spent hours and hours trying. I hit my breaking point over the weekend when Evan walked in and saw me bawling during one of our terrible nursing sessions. He sat down and immediately tried to console me and start helping me fix things, and with a very caring and helpful look said, "Do you want to call a lactologist first thing in the morning?"

A lactologist! I stopped crying for a second and burst out into hysterical laughter while he just sat there with a blank look on his face and I know he was thinking, "what on earth did I say?" Leave it to him for some comic relief. That's why I married him.

So it's been one day and he's still not latching perfectly but I already see an improvement. I am so thankful. Needless to say, it has been an incredibly busy couple of weeks. Evan was home with me the first week and my mom was here for about a week and a half. This week was the first time flying solo and it's been surprisingly nice and peaceful. I took my first trip out with both boys on Monday (just a quickie to Target but a trial outing nonetheless) and it went smoothly. We went out Christmas shopping this morning. Of course the real test will come when Poops has a complete meltdown while we're out, but so far he's been pretty good.

This has been a trying time for him, apparently. Unfortunately, he is having a bit of a difficult time getting used to another Poops in the house, he has done some lashing out, he gets this crazed look on his face, the pursed lips and evil devil eyes and I think "Where did my angel go!!!!" It has been somewhat of a struggle. I feel like I definitely didn't do enough research on this ahead of time. He has learned to turn on the breastpump, however, which is both funny and not funny at the same time. So they're both napping and I think I will too. Sleep is just too rare these days. I hope everyone's doing well and having a happy holiday season!! May everyone get their shopping done before Christmas Eve!

We're Home!

Oh, the birth story this time around is quite different from my the birth story of my first. Thank you for all the wonderful thoughts and well wishes. I can't believe I'm not pregnant anymore, it feels so weird! In a good way of course. So it wasn't quite the labor and delivery I had in mind, but the coming home part was nothing short of a miracle. I have lots to write, but my chotch hurts and I'm beat. But here are pictures from the weekend.

So here's what three hours of pushing looks like. Yes three hours. He didn't get the memo that the second is supposed to be easier. Here he is: Ryan James, 7 lbs. 8 oz.

Poops meeting his baby brother and loving him.

A sleepy boy.

Going home day.

Does life get any better than this really?

I've sprung a leak!

My water broke! My water broke! (Yelled in the tone of Jerry Seinfeld's dad yelling 'my wallet's gone!' when he couldn't find his wallet at the doctor's office.)

We're headed in. See ya on the flip side! Wish us luck!
XO

She's gonna blow!

Would you look at that ticker! ZERO day left! We made it!! At last check last Wednesday I was already 4 centimeters, I guess the "Braxton Hicks" I've been having have actually been productive. The problem is, I had them again (faker!) on Thanksgiving and again last night, ten minutes apart (faker! faker!) but they eventually tapered off and I fell asleep. Again. I worry though that if these sporatic contractions are actually working, that I'll be driving down the road at 8 centimeters and have the baby on the side of the road. What to do! I'm about as big as a house now and haven't felt much like writing or doing anything much for that matter, so Happy Belated Thanksgiving everyone!! I hope everyone had a wonderful dinner, wonderful bird, and wonderful family time!

We had a good old fashioned Publix Thanksgiving dinner, didn't really make anything except for a couple a sides and a pie. We just re-heated an already-cooked turkey and all the fixins from Publix and we had mostly paper plates and cups. I know, so very redneck sounding but the key was to lay low this time and if there's any year to do it, it's this one for me. We'll dust off the china next year. So now the waiting. I have to say, if I had to choose between early arrival and waiting, I'll wait. Thank God my little guy hung in there. I figure while I'm feeling brazen I'll post a picture of the alien belly.

And we'll offset that crazyness with pictures of the nursery. I did end up going with Dr. Seuss and it was so fun! I still want a small rug for the center of the room and I still want to paint a small little something over the crib, but other than that, it's done!

Family portrait

It's a few weeks after we made it to the pumpkin patch but I was so excited about it this year because last year Poops was teensy and the pumpkin patch meant nothing to him. But this year, he had a blast running around in the pumpkins. We ended up carving the pumpkins a week before Halloween which was nothing short of disastrous. First, the Poops Pumpkin, which was of the smaller variety was too hard to carve. You couldn't even get a knife in it. We got as far as carving off the top, but drawing on the face. We call it "Sylar Pumpkin" (which makes sense if you're familiar with Heroes and what the villain Sylar does to his victims).Anyway, we successfully carved the Momma and Daddy pumpkins which were very large, and we used a tiny gourd for the tiny baby and put the whole family out on the wall in front of our house. Of course, it hadn't rained in months, but it rained the night I put out the pumpkins and two days later we had pumpkin mush running down the wall. The pumpkins began caving in a day later and sadly, never even made it to Halloween. Oh well! Note to self: put out pumpkins the day before Halloween.

Prayers for Preemies

I can't let this month go by without mentioning that again it is Prematurity Awareness month this month. Ironically for me, or God granted, it is also the same month that I am will be having a full-term baby. Something that at one point in my life I thought would never ever happen. Not a day goes by that I don't thank God and all my angels for the people, the love, and the beauty in my life. Especially for my little preemie and his little brother who will grace our lives soon.

And as I reflect on Prematurity Awareness month, I think about the dear friends and family I have who also have preemies, or once were preemies themselves. I am saddened that millions of other families have and will endure this experience. That a mother must experience the pain and the overwhelming guilt that, for whatever reason, her body didn't hold out for the whole length of pregnancy. That a mother has to fear for the life of her precious baby for however long. That a mother won't get to hold or see that precious little face when it joins this world. That a baby must endure pain and surgery, arriving too early for its little body to exist without it. That a baby must spend its first hours, days, or months alone, in a tiny isolette, without being held or comforted by its parents. I mourn for these families' pain and their personal losses, whether it's a baby or the experience of having a joyful birth experience. I pray that the mommies will realize and accept one day that it was not their fault. I pray that one day we will find out why more babies are coming into this world too early and that one day we can stop it. All of these families are in my prayers this month and every month, every day. Please say a prayer for them today.

Confessions of a pregnant wife

The sexiest thing I've heard from my husband in a long time:

"So, after we put Poops to bed... " (puts his arm around me while standing in kitchen and says lovingly), "I'll run a mop through here."

This more than excited me. I wish I were kidding.

Still no baby

And I really didn't expect one, except that for a second time this week he has kept me up for hours and hours with contractions. He had me so convinced that I started my "labor project" which is baking chocolate chip cookies. The rule is, start the cookies and when they start burning that means it's time to head to the hospital. From 2:30 in the afternoon contractions came regularly, anywhere from 15 minutes to 5 minutes apart, but not consistently 5 minutes apart. So at 8:30 when they got the teensiest bit stronger and about 8 minutes apart, I started baking. I finished baking. I finished watching a movie. I had showered and dried my hair. We cleaned and finished packing. Everything is by the door. I got tired. Fell asleep around 1. Woke up at 9 this morning and not a single contraction for the rest of the day. Faker! Faker faker faker! So now I have rebought chocolate chips and added a package of brownies for good measure which I fully expect to bake while this little guy fakes me out a few more times and my husband and I will gain 20 pounds each from fake labor.

The Pooping Place

Guess it's time to start thinking about potty training. If you look really closely near the chair you'll see a little boy thinking real hard.

Yes, he's doing exactly what you think he's doing. I recognize the pattern now. Apparently a boy needs his privacy.

Update-Still nothing

We thought Thursday was going to be it. I had contractions from 8 pm until about 2 in the morning, but they tapered off and I went to bed. So, nothing yet. Just waiting now. Maybe I will get that 41 weeks I have asked for! Of all the weeks of pregnancy, this one has been the biggest roller coaster. I have never had so much energy and so little energy from hour to hour. One minute I feel like I will literally fall over from tiredness. So tired I don't want to even take the energy to open my mouth and make chewing motions to eat. Then so energetic that I'm racing around finishing thank you cards, the nursery and laundry. I feel like I am going crazy. My mom has been here, so that has been such a huge help. Happy Friday!

WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Guess what today is?

It's time to celebrate, we're full term today! FULL TERM! WE MADE IT! Now, I was pretty excited about making it to a full nine months, but all the way to full term is just a dream. I'm going to log off and pinch myself. If only I could give this little baby a high-five.

If I Only Had a Brain....

Here's Poops on Halloween as a scarecrow. He's wearing a costume made by my best friend's mother, she did such a great job on it! Isn't that the life, getting carted around and getting candy thrown at you!

HAPPY HALLOWEENIE!

I was trying to think, how on earth can I incorporate my belly into my costume this year? And then I came up with this:
So we went to a Halloween party dressed as breakfast, which took a lot of coercing my husband (even though, if you ask me, wearing two strips of bacon over a black shirt and pants is really the easiest costume to wear for a non-costume-wearer ever). Poops is going as a scarecrow this year and I'm trying to teach him how to say "trick or treat". We've been practicing, but all he seems to come out with is: "Gank goo!" which is "thank you!" That works too. Happy Halloweenie!

Ooooooooooohhhhhhhhh (that's my ghost sound)

OK so I'm bringing out the old "haunts" this Halloween for this week's Heads or Tails. It's an article I wrote for the AP a few years ago about some local hauntings in Salt Lake City, however, the funny part was that I apparently "attracted" a ghost during one of my interviews. The tape really is scary sounding, I played it for everyone in my office and they agree. It is on one of those teensy tiny interview-recorder tapes so I haven't dubbed it over. I did, however, call a priest who told me that I need to get over it. That helped. Anyway, my advice is the advice I got from the psychic in the piece: don't put up your ghost antenna.

Ghosts lend spookiness, spice to Utah sites
by Christie L. Hill Associated Press

Halloween 2003 is a memory, but the ghosts of Utah past -- some happy, some tortured, some who just can't let go -- continue to haunt, psychics say.

If you believe in such things (recent polls indicate Americans are split on the topic of ghosts), it only makes sense that Utah's rich history is brimming with spirits.

A high-haunt area is This Is the Place Heritage Park, a Mormon pioneer village replica near the mouth of Emigration Canyon in east Salt Lake City, where storyteller Michael Bennett recounts tales about the sounds of "children's voices laughing when there were no children around."

Bennett's never seen any ghosts, but he's heard enough stories to make him a believer. "I think that there's been enough legitimate reporting of things seen and heard," Bennett said.

He's talking about the strange occurrences at Brigham Young's old forest farmhouse, reputed to be one of the most haunted houses in Utah. It's hard to miss this pink, two-story, stucco house with a wraparound porch when you drive into the park. The 140-year old home was moved from its original site along I-80 back in 1975.

The Mormon pioneer's ghost apparently wasn't too keen on the move and stayed behind. The ghost of Anne Eliza Webb Young, Brigham Young's 19th wife, is said to haunt the house now.
"Some of the things happened before it was moved that have not happened since it was moved," Bennett said. "There's been a change in personnel."

That's typical, according to Salt Lake City psychic Margaret Ruth, whose morning radio show frequently muses on the otherworldly.

"If I remodeled, I might get rid of a lot of residual energy," Ruth says. "All I'll have left is those who are very attached to the site."

But whatever lurks in the eaves of Brigham Young's old home these days has frayed the nerves of at least one of the park's guides. She won't set foot back in the home, at least not alone.
"In October, in the evenings, it starts to get dark a little early, so if you went up there to close the blinds by yourself, you had this feeling that somebody else was in the room with you," said Pamela Schiess. She was a guide at the farmhouse for two years but has since moved to another job within the park. She's much happier.

Schiess says it's commonplace for park guides to have ghost stories. Even some of the park's visitors have left the park with chilling tales of their own. A student on a field trip says he once saw a pioneer woman, dressed in pioneer clothing late at night at the park, and when he turned back around she was gone. The area is locked up at night, so there's no way someone could've gotten in, says Schiess.

Is the story little more than the overactive imagination of youth?

Consider the supposed sightings of an angry Mary Fielding Smith, widow of martyred Mormon leader Hyrum Smith, who's been seen standing outside her home up on a hill in the park, wagging her finger, annoyed that her house was put there, facing the wrong way.

The ghouls aren't confined to This Is the Place.

Workers at the old Capitol Theatre, another infamous haunt spot, have named a live-in ghost "George." And the owner of Cassidy's Bar in Salt Lake City lets an old, attention-starved, emaciated, smoking and drinking cowboy stay there rent-free, as long as he doesn't hurt anyone. The owner said the supernatural bar-dweller once wanted attention so badly, he pushed a piece of equipment onto her son's head, requiring four stitches.

Skeptical? You're not alone. A recent Harris Interactive poll conducted online shows that Americans are split when it comes to believing in ghosts. The poll also showed those 65 and over are the least likely to believe in ghosts.

The doubters don't faze Margaret Ruth. "I didn't have to be crowned by the Spiritual Society. Psychic awareness belongs to everybody," she says, "and some people choose to do more with it than others."

Anyone can attract ghosts if they want to, Ruth says before adding a warning: "Most ghosts are really, really boring."

But on one recent day at this reporter's apartment, where Ruth insisted on conducting an interview after sensing a spirit over the phone, Ruth felt the presence of something that was anything but boring.

With deep breaths and eyelids flitting, Ruth tuned in to the spiritual world and quickly sensed the energy of a woman who died too young, who didn't know she was dead. The young woman just wanted some attention, Ruth said. "I think she was quite attracted to us."

A playback of the interview tape revealed an inexplicable, bloodcurdling scream that drowns out Ruth's voice as she and the reporter are talking. Neither heard a scream during the interview, and it only turned up on the tape.

A true believer might say the tape picked up an EVP, or electronic voice phenomenon. "It raised the hair on the back of my neck," said Ruth, after hearing the tape played back, "and that doesn't usually happen."

Anyone who's heard the tape agrees it's bizarre, a little creepy. Then again, it is Utah, where ghosts wander freely.

Or do they?

A Full Nine Months

No, no baby yet. But it's been a little busy around here lately. The longer I go with this pregnancy, the more I find to do. I had four lists going yesterday and I hope to knock three of them out today.

This morning we passed a milestone. I made it! We're 9 months!!! I've never been 9 months before! I don't know if it was the butt shots or if my body just did it on its own, but we're there and it's a miracle. I can't even explain the overwhelming peace I have within myself.

Last week I had my last butt shot and the nurse and I had a moment when it was all over and I had made it to the end and we hugged. I felt like I did on graduation day when you realize it's all over and a weight is lifted. My "sack" has moved up, so that's no longer an issue. And my blood pressure is a wonderful 102/70. Now we're betting in the "baby pool" on when he'll arrive. I fully expect now to make it through November to the 26th, but who knows, there is a full moon November 12.

That's the quick update. I know I've become a "weekly" blogger recently but I hope you'll still visit from time to time regardless. Hope everyone had a good weekend!

Eddie Vedder

Raise your hand if you remember who he is. I had a rude awakening the other day. I was wandering through the mall, looking for some shoes when I decided I was craving an iced latte. And you know those CDs on the counters at Starbucks? Well, I saw one with Eddie Vedder on it. (Lead singer of Pearl Jam. Don't worry- we can 'don't ask don't tell if you didn't remember.) And here's where I'm going to feel really old here. Back in my day, (yes, before cell phones and laptop computers-- sometime in the early 90's) he was a GOD to most girls in college, at least to me and the chicks in my little group. And his picture on the CD here in 2007 was a little surprising. He looked old. Wah! Eddie Vedder looked old! And I was so taken aback by it that I asked the fetus cashier guy if that really was Eddie Vedder and didn't he look old??!!! And he stared at me blankly and said, "Sorry, I don't know who that is."

Of course I felt like and old lady-slash-idiot and of course I had to call my husband right away and relay the story, and he just said, "Yes. You're old. Now put down your crochet and walk away."

Yes, I'm crocheting a blanket at the moment.

Press the full button!

The worst thing about spending time among a million family members is the tendency to feed Poops everything. It's not anyone's fault, he's a scavenger. He'll go from plate to plate and grunt and go "OOh, OOh!" like a monkey, pointing at their food until they give him some. It's embarrassing actually if we're among non-family and he does this. We've been practicing at home with the whole "No, honey, that's not yours," or "You've already had lunch, let Aunt Clairanne eat in peace." And it works at home, mostly, just not when we're out. Like this weekend. My family threw me a shower on Saturday and my sister and her husband were in town for it, and it was wonderful and beautiful. I actually have some hysterical pictures of us playing games like competing for the first one to put a diaper on made out of toilet paper, or my 92 year old grandmother winning the game where you pass the pacifier from person to person using only a pencil in your mouth.

After all the shower-ness, Sunday we were spent. We all layed around like beached whales with football on in the background, awaking only for meals. After dinner, we went to have ice cream at a place called "Wide Licks." Yes, extremely naughty sounding, which makes shoveling ice cream in my piehole that much naughtier. And Poops made his normal rounds, this time with my sister after having gorged himself on chocolate ice cream already, picking on her marshmallows from her ice cream. I thought we had stopped him from stuffing his face in time, I actually had said that I thought he probably had enough ice cream, because he would have definitely eaten more.

But I was too late. As we drove home, I heard a cackle type cough, followed by a nasty, stinky smell that could only be throw up, so I pulled over. And on his shirt was a marshmallow still fully in tact. Isn't that lovely.

The Triad

Have I mentioned yet that two of my very best friends who I have known since the 7th grade are also pregnant? Yep! All three of us. Me, at 33 weeks, Ellen at 20 weeks, and Clairanne at about 16 weeks. It's simply mad! And to boot, we all already have boys. And we may all be having another round of them. The jury is still out on Clairanne, but Ellen and I are having boys. This is what we do. We pump out boys.

Our lives are a far cry from when Ellen was drum major in the marching band and we all wore our tight polyester band-geek outfits complete with ruffle and cumberbund and feathers for our hats in the hot hot sun. (We did have a half-time show that was the James Bond theme and it completely rocked, our awesome drumline included. Sorry, I got all geeked out again for a second.) So yes, we were band-geeks together, but I'd like to call us "musicians." Then we went off to college and got all hoochied out together when we went out dancing and carrying around bottles of vodka (I am so glad we missed the era of camera phones!) We called ourselves "the triad." And look at us now! All pregnated out and married off and adult-like! Yeah right.

Where's my shoes??!!!

Oh just one of the many complications of getting larger by the second is thinking, "I really have to bend down to get that," then re-thinking it for a minute to weigh out the item's actual importance, then deciding against it. I have noticed over the past week that my shoes have been disappearing and this morning when I asked my husband to look under the couch for a missing shoe for me, he pulled out this:

So that's where they were! Now where's my cat?

I'm in a quandary. (Scroll down for Heads or Tails)

I am finding myself in an interesting quandary. When I created this blog just about one year ago, I had a 5 month old. His nickname was "Poops". I did not, however, count on being about two seconds away from popping out another kid the exact following year. So when this one is born, what on earth am I to do about the title of my blog? It's not going to be "The Mis-Adventures of Captain Poopy" because now there will be two Poopies. When I think about adding the littler Poops to the name, I think about the cartoon "Captain Caveman" when it was a second go-round for him on Saturday morning and they added his son to the cartoon. So you would hear him yelling in his caveman voice at the beginning of the show: "Captain Caaa-a-aaaaaaaaaaave-mannnnnnnnnnnnnnnn! (And son!)" So that's what I hear in my head. But that makes no sense.

So what am I to do? I guess I can keep the link the same and update the title, or even re-work the whole darned header, but I can't decide which to do. Especially because I want even less to confuse anyone who actually comes here to visit me. So, anyone have any ideas? Or even better, ideas for a title? It is possible that I might turn this into a contest.

Heads or Tails: Stack

It's "heads" in this week's "Heads or Tails" and the theme is "stack." Which I had a really hard time thinking about because all I kept thinking about were boobs. As in, "she's stacked." Is that pervy?

Anyway, I figured that my life is completely made up of stacks, so I'll list 10 of them lying around my house because that should be pretty easy.

1. Diapers! (of course.)

2. Boxes of decaf tea (chamomile and Sleepytime) that my sister-in-law got on discount from the military base for me (thanks!!)

3. New baby clothes for littler Poops. He can't have alll hand-me-downs.

4. A nice big stack of Parent and Real Simple magazines in the bathroom, just in case one might get stuck in there for a while.

5. A stack of brown leather boxes in the office full of crafting stuff, like scrapbooking paper, ribbon, fabric glue, stickers, embellishments. Which brings me to the question, what is it about motherhood or even pregnancy for that matter that moves a person to wanna craft? I have crochet class with my mom tomorrow night (I am desperate to make a "coming home" blanket.) Where will the madness end?

6. A stack of books on my desk that are my life; the AP Handbook, my pregnancy journal and planner.

7. Gift cards. (Ooh la la!)

8. Christmas cards. Yes! Christmas Cards! I ordered mine already and I love them! Why not get prepared for which will be a completely nutty holiday season?

9. Coupons which I always leave at home and allow to expire.

10. Labeled boxes underneath my bathroom cabinet for hair stuff, face stuff, foot stuff, nail stuff, etc. etc.

Don't forget Heads or Tails Tuesdays at Skittles Place! Anyone can join in!

No Longer the University of Southern Florida

Obviously as a USF alumni who graduated in what feels like 1898, I am proud to be watching a football team that is now ranked in the top 10! Oh how I have waited, even dreamed, about this day! I remember what it was like before the school even had a football team. We watched basketball back then. I also didn't have a computer yet (no, I didn't chisel my essays into stone tablets -- but I did have a "word processor", does that count?) Then, once they had a football team, we were referred to by everyone, including sportscasters, as "The University of Southern Florida," which was just so annoying (it's SOUTH Florida!). But it showed how unknown we were and I was always sad about that. And then, even up to about two years ago, we'd go to watch a football game at Beefs or some other sportsbar (in Tampa mind you! Where USF is located!) and not only would no one in the place know that USF was playing, but we'd have to fight with people (mostly UF fans) to get our game put up on one of the bigger tv's and not the teensy one way up high in the back corner with no sound.

So Friday was historic, not just because our team finally broke into the top 10, but most of all, because husband and I were in a bar/restaurant that actually had an hour and 45 minute wait (thankfully we got there before then) and everyone in it was there to watch USF. And everyone in it roared when USF did anything even remotely good. It was amazing. I couldn't even believe my eyes and ears! And the game was actually sold out! I remember watching it on tv when the cameras would try desperately to focus on the little groups of fans scattered around the huge Raymond James Stadium so as to make it look like USF actually had fans. That, or the fans of whatever team they were playing outnumbered USF's. Or, we would actually go because it was easy to get tickets and they were really cheap and we'd be too drunk to notice what the score was or who won.

And no, I didn't get to go Friday night and for that, I am sad. I am too bulbous now. But I won't ask for too much. Just the fact that people actually know what the heck school this is is enough for me. Finally.

Sorry, I am here. Really I am.

I am just taking a lot of naps. I just have not been feeling good at all. Baby's doing flip-flops all over my stomach, which is making for an interesting time for any food in there trying to stay down. Yes, I know, TMI. (I bought a cute new pair of pj's the other day that was stained within mere minutes where I spilled my Maximum Strength Gaviscon.) So that, along with the nasty heartburn, extreme nausea, the leg cramps, the headaches and the snoring husband (love you honey!) and you have a sleepless in Tampa-bay, somewhat grumpy "me". But the good news is, baby is doing fine still incubating in there and he's supposedly creeping up on 4 pounds in there, according to latest sonogram.

The partial previa I have is starting to lessen, although not very much. My placenta (aka my "sack" as my sister likes to call it-- she asks me often "How's your sack?") is migrating northward slowly (it has moved about a centimeter in the past 10 weeks) and I have another sono at 34 weeks to make sure it's moving farther up.

I don't remember being this uncomfortable with Poops the last time around, but they say that God makes you forget the yucky parts so you'll keep on popping out kids. I am convinced that is true. But before I get to thinking, "I still have 9 more weeks to go???!!!" (and by the way, most people--even strangers-- who see my belly and ask how far along I am have no problem expressing their astonishment at the fact that I still have until the end of November even though I look already like I am about to pop) I quickly push that thought from my mind and think I will be absolutely blessed to go another 9 weeks, no matter how huge and uncomfortable I become. I promise I will be around to visit soon!

The Haircut

We had haircut #2 today, but this time it was done at a much cuter place (than my house) and by a much better haircuttress (than mommy). Mullet begone!

Poop Catchers: A Review

One thing we go through like water is diapers. And believe me, we've tried them all. There is nothing worse than when a diaper "fails" and we have to change his clothes, his sheets, his crib bumper, and head straight to the bathtub for a full-body washdown. After a lot of trial and error (and a lot of grossly failed experiments) our biggest success has been with Pampers Cruisers, but they are seriously expensive. So when I was asked to give Luvs' new "Bear Hug Stretch" diapers out, I couldn't help but think I'd probably get through one day and head back to Pampers. Boy was I pleasantly surprised!

The big fat tabbies close up tightly and hug his legs nicely. The diapers are built just as sturdy as Pampers and are extremely absorbent. We went through the entire 40-pack without so much as a single leak! I was very impressed, but most of all, I was impressed with the price. The only thing I have a little bit of trouble with is actually finding them in the store. Luvs says they'd like to price a 40-count at about 8 bucks, although I saw them for $10 in the one store I did happen to spot them in (but they didn't have my little guy's size). However, the Pampers 46-count is about $16, and the Luvs are just as good. I will be on the lookout for these and as soon as I find them, I will be switching. It's worth it. The newborn sizes aren't out yet, but they will be in December, just in time for my other little guy's arrival. Sweet!

Best Part Husband

OK what wife on this earth doesn't want to see this on her birthday???

(Hint for men: NONE!) I'd say husband did good. This beautiful necklace was inside of it:

Me=very happy. Thank you husband and babies!

I'm losing count

I am 32 today (Happy Birthday to me!) and I have an e-card from Kelly Clarkson telling me so. My day is complete.

Yes, I am lame. I am 32 and I am in the Kelly Clarkson fan club. I had to join in order to get an update on when her canceled show would be rescheduled, because I had tickets for her show that was supposed to be two weeks ago. It was rescheduled (as the fan club notified me thank God) but it was rescheduled for 5 days after my due date so I guess I should just let this one go. No Kelly Clarkson this time.

Anyway, what a lovely birthday present I got this weekend! A little bloggy love, first from The Rising Blogger for my post on September 11th, which was really sweet especially because I had misgivings about writing it at all.
And the second from Bankerchick over at Bankerchick's Scratchings, who gave me this (thank you!!!):

Isn't that the sweetest ever? The good thing is, I get to pass this on! And you know that giving is so much funner than receiving so I am giving this to Skittles (even though I noticed she has already gotten it!) because she is just so darn stinkin sweet (like the candy!), and to Jenmomof4 at The Wilson Six because every month she "pays it forward" and gets other people to too with her random acts of kindness! I just love random acts of kindness and because of her, probably dozens of people are smiling and saying "That made my day!" just because a random stranger did something nice. I love that.

So I am just going to kick back and relax today, despite my dirty floors, and bask in the sound that is the best birthday present ever, of a little boy in a monitor with a tiny little voice saying "Momma" over and over again and "Da-dddy" and "Hi!" while playing in his crib and not taking a nap.

Take a Bite out of Boob Class

I went to "Breastfeeding 101" last night with a dear friend of mine who is also pregnant, sparing my husband from such details as cracked nipples and cabbage leaves. However, when we were walking up to the classroom at the women's hospital, by the sheer numbers of men in the room, I was sure we were about to walk into the wrong class, like "childbirth" or something. But no, it was correct. And my surprise didn't end there! No, it didn't! Not only were the men vigorously taking notes on things like how long a woman has colostrum and when it turns to breastmilk, and details on the La Leche League, but most of the people asking questions were actually the men! I was astonished! And I can't help it, but part of me was even a little jealous. Then I thought about it again and decided I really don't mind owning the information myself and not having my husband standing over me with his notebad saying "Honey, I think you're doing that wrong."

But there were times in the class when I knew full well that it was best that I went with a girlfriend rather than my husband, because we probably would have been kicked out of the class for being the most immature adults in the room. Like, say, for instance, when the instructor brought out the little stuffed boob that looked like a burger with a nipple on it. Complete with a pull-cord which I must admit I spent half the class wondering what on earth the pull cord did, like did the boob say something when you pulled it? Or did it vibrate? (Later, I found out when you pulled the cord, it inverted the nippy to show what happens when a woman with inverted nippies tries to breastfeed -- kind of a boring toy now, but definitely useful). Anyway, that's neither here nor there. It was when she was demonstrating the latch that I know my husband and I would have completely and immaturely lost it. Because she likened how an infant tries to latch onto the boob to how an adult would eat a burger, and proceeded to turn the flat stuffed boobie sideways and take a bite. I'm still laughing thinking about it now.

So yes, my friend and I were the only ones in the class who already had kids but were taking the class anyway. But I had a lot of questions this time around because I didn't get a chance to take the class last time before Aidan was born because he was early, and I wanted to prepare better for breastfeeding this time around and try to go a little longer than I did with Aidan. Although I still have a slight problem with the idea of a person who has never given birth or breastfed teaching a breastfeeding class. This was the case last night and it was the case as well during our childbirth class. But I guess there's enough science behind it to for someone to teach that part of it. Still, I always feel like it's like a journalist reporting about a hurricane while standing in the sunlight under a bright blue sky rather than being knocked over by the sheer wind and rain.

Tails: September 11th

My mom asks me why it's been six years and I have never written about 9/11. I know why she asks me. I was living there at the time. But for some reason, I think that being there and living through it for me is so much smaller than the people who really lived through it, those who lost people they knew and loved, who literally ran for their lives that day, who were trapped buried underneath the rubble for days, who jumped from the inferno, who witnessed fear at its most basic, primal worst, who fought off hijackers, who sat helpless while terrorists ravaged through our hearts.

I lived in Queens, just on the other side of the river. I took the F-Train to work at my job at Fox News Channel every day and I was running a little late that morning. I was supposed to be in early to cover someone else's shift at 9:30. It was just past 9 when my phone rang and it was my mom who said, "Turn on the tv."

I saw the smoke coming from the World Trade Center and thought, "Shit." There were only preliminary reports then and at that time it was being labeled an accident; a small plane that went off course. I knew it was going to be a busy news day even if it were an accident, so I just said "Gotta go! I'll call you later! Love you." Hung up and ran for the subway. What a morning to be late, I thought.

I got onto the train and for the next hour and a half I was stuck on the subway underneath the East River on a trip that only usually takes 25 minutes. I was pissed. I thought the train was having problems. I thought I was in serious hot water, late on a breaking news day. Great. No one on the train knew what was actually happening. There's no cell service down in the tunnels. The conductors said nothing. It turned out the train I was on was one of the last ones into the city for the next few weeks.

As the train pulled up to my stop, there were officers everywhere. I ran up the stairs and out into the sunlight, straight down 6th Avenue toward the News Corps building and when I got there, it was under lockdown. Of course, I ran out of my apartment so fast, I had forgotten my I.D. and security wouldn't let me in. I pulled out my Driver's license, my business cards, everything I could to say who I was in a panic and he let me in. I ran in, ran down the escalator and into the newsroom, where everyone was standing, mouths dropped, watching the live news, watching the monitors at their desks as the second tower began to fall. I could not comprehend what was happening. I was seeing only one tower left and now it was falling.

I realized that as I was trapped in the subway for that hour and a half that my parents were probably watching the television, freaking out that while this was going on, I was on my way into the city, and after it all started to sink in, I called them. "I'm ok," I said. "I'm below ground. We're safe here. I'm safe." "Oh, THANK GOD!" my mom yelled back. I told her I had to go and I'd keep in touch. I logged in on the computer and my e-mail was flooded with subject lines "Where are you?" and "Are you ok?" from friends and family who live far from me.

Bulletins were crossing the wire, planes were missing everywhere, we realized we were under attack. The newsroom was both completely numb and chaotic at the same time. We didn't know the scope of this yet. This truly was worst case scenario. We didn't know if the world was going to end as we knew it, whether this was the just the beginning, whether there would be bombs, more attacks, we didn't know anything. But we had to find out. It's what we do. Turn off. Work.

I worked until 2 in the morning that day and had to come back in by 7 a.m. That was pretty much my schedule for quite some time. The subways and bridges were shut down indefinitely. There was no way I was going home any time soon. I, along with my co-workers, plunged into work. I ended up staying in the city for the next two weeks. Borrowing clothes, yes even underwear, and an apartment from a co-worker, who turned out to be one of my dearest friends, and working around the clock. The only food we had time to get was whatever the channel was providing from some deli.

That summer, it was hot. There was no wind, and a white, chalky haze from the World Trade Centers hovered over Manhattan for more than a month. It just hung there, stagnant. I can't explain the smell even though I remember it so well. The city was the best and worst place to be during that time. ATMs ran out of money. Stores ran out of food. People saluted and waved to the firefighters who drove by with their huge flags waving from the backs of their fire engines. Firefighters drove by and passed out bottled water to people on the streets. Businesses were shut down. New York City was in a collective silence. People were cautious. And at that point ready for anything. Riding the subways or the bus was a scary, but bonding experience. Everyone noticed everything. An unattended backpack. A suspicious face. Suspicious activity. There was no local crime, or at least it felt like it. That feeling of togetherness was overwhelming. The feeling that anything could happen was terrifying.

The friend I was staying with lived a couple blocks from the Empire State Building. There were always threats against the building, which turned out to be hoaxes, but we didn't know that at the time. That skyscraper stared right at us like a giant face through her bedroom window and there was no sleeping. Just in case.

For a while, we ditched our "regular" jobs in emergency mode. Tapes and tapes of video were being pumped in from every network. Every network shared everything. There was news conference after news conference. There were two live cameras on Ground Zero at all times, watching the "bucket brigade", as they called it; firefighters one by one passing bucket after bucket of rubble down the line. When they came across someone who was buried under there, we knew. The firefighters would either break out into chaos trying to free them, or salute, and a few minutes later we'd see them solemnly roll away a flag-draped gurney. Each time, every producer would stop and watch. Many cried.

I only went down to the site a couple of times. I couldn't really bear to. I saw it enough from my desk and heard enough from reporters and photographers who were there. But when I did go, the one thing I remember most about what it looked like was the papers everywhere. There's an old church behind Ground Zero that held services for the workers and was turned into a kind of shelter for them. The entire grounds of the church was covered in papers from the towers. Papers literally everywhere you walked, all covered in a chalky ash. All along the fences there were missing people posters, put there by family members desperately waiting to hear any word of their loved ones. There were impromptu memorials of flowers, candles, and notes in bunches along the fences around Ground Zero. People would pray, all day, all night, and sing and talk, at a park north of Ground Zero, at Union Square, which became a sort of giant memorial and gathering place.

At work, the only time we left the building was to go sleep for a couple hours, but no one really slept. We were all zombies just going through the motions of this first-ever experience for every one of us. Somehow, we all got it done. Through our own personal fear and loss, we wrote, we worked to bring as much of what we were seeing to the world as we could. I never saw more professionalism in my life.

A month later, things were finally starting to quiet. The air was starting to smell a little less, the cloud was starting to lift although there was still smoke coming from the wreckage, and there was a chill in the air. People started to live life a little more normally. Before that point, going out for a beer seemed sacrilegious and besides, there was just no time. But I remember the first time we all got a chance to hang out together outside work and we got hammered. Which was terrible because what happens when a bunch of people who have a bunch of pent-up exhaustion, fear and sadness get drunk? Yes, drunk crying. The whole lot of us.

For months and months, no one could really talk about anything else. And conversation would always turn to "Where were you?"

I can't even begin to imagine what it was like for families, relatives, rescuers, and victims or what it is still like. I can't even begin to imagine it. It was so difficult for me that I saw a therapist for two years afterward. And every year, I cry on the anniversary. I will never forget that 9/11 was on a Tuesday. Today is Tuesday and that is weird to me. I suspect I will talk to my dear friend with whom I shared that time with. We don't talk very much now living on opposite coasts, but we always talk on this day. I was going through my clothes cleaning out the nursery closet a couple weeks ago and found a pair of her pants that I had borrowed when I stayed at her house during the weeks following 9/11 and I finally parted with them. There is so much more to tell about New York City during that time but I don't even know where to begin. All I know is that it was the most terrifying, unifying time I have every experienced. I have never seen so much love come from so much hate. I would never want to be in any other place on that day.

Big baby and a lovely S Shape

I feel almost ridiculous walking into the gym as big as I already feel like I am. I have officially taken on an "S" shape (where my belly is as far out as my bum). But it feels good when I go so I will trudge on. I feel like it helps my swelling and my weight stay down. What doesn't want to seem to stay down, however, is my awful heartburn. At last appointment, the doctor noticed (as I had) that the baby seems to be a little big. He is crowding all my junk already! Sitting and kicking and rolling all over my stomach, which is creating this horrible heartburn and nausea, the nausea oh so reminiscent of the first trimester. I love him nonetheless, but he's very bony and poky and doesn't seem to want to have a nap. Poops was more floppy and he was on schedule. Up at 6am, again most noticeably right in the middle of the newscast I was producing at the time at 6pm, and a couple big spurts in between. I have heard that terrible heartburn means the baby will have a lot of hair and I've also heard it's not an old wives tale. Which would be really neat to see because Aidan was bald up until just before his first birthday, when all he really had grown was a mullet while maintaining his bald top. Something about the acid stimulating the hair follicles.

So thankfully we got our crib! Yay! Toys R' Us had a shipment between the time I had bought the other one and today and they had three in stock. Of course we dissected the box and made sure that it was intact before we brought it home and it was perfect. Husband is working on it right now. Oh the joy!!

Now, I just can't wait to see Brittany Spears open up the VMAs in Las Vegas!

Don't you just hate it when..

you find the perfect "something" and it turns out it's the only one left at the store, and you bring it home and you open the box to begin putting it together and you find it BROKEN!

Argh. That's what happened this morning when we opened up the box to the new baby's crib. I have been searching for the perfect little white crib for weeks now and we finally found one, on sale, at where of all places but Toys R' Us. It was the last one in stock. It has a side that pulls down, it turns into a toddler bed, it's real wood and it's white. All of my criteria. (I have found that most white cribs with a pull-down side turn into daybeds. Not "toddler" beds. Go figure. And yes, I need the pull-down thingy because I am super short.)

Anyway, we open up the nice big box and I'm all dreamy-eyed and excited because we're about to see it all put together, when I spot a huge half-foot-long split and gouge in the wood.

Wah. Wah. Debbie Downer.
So I am about to embark on calling every Toys R' Us in the country to return this one. Sniff.

Oh and ps. On the Dyson

Yes, Ciara, Yes! Ciara asked me if the Dyson is worth the splurge and I have to say a resounding YES!!! But even better than that, ours was $399 and we bought it Friday. Come to find out that on Sunday, Target began running a special on all Dysons, that if you bought any model, they'd throw in a $100 gift card for you. SO, I waddled on in with my receipt and my pouty face to see if they would still give me that gift card because we bought the vaccuum on Friday and they said yes! Yay! So if you wanna splurge, go to Target and get that $100 gift card while you're at it! Whoopee!

Hello, Third Trimester, My Lovely Friend

Yay! Third trimester! We've made it! That means 12 weeks left till due date and 9 weeks left till plain-old full term, man is time flying! We had a very productive weekend. Hubby had his "pregnancy support team" shirt on when he tackled our (ok, my) very large list of to-do's on his four-day weekend and he did it with such grace. We cleaned out the guest room to ready it for its paint transformation and while he painted, I finished putting together the office, cleaned out and organized the closets and all of the baby clothes. Meantime, I tested our new DYSON vaccuum cleaner and (yes, I have reached a time in my life when I am excited about a vaccuum cleaner!).

Husband also put together Poops' table and chairs that he got for his birthday and I am so sorry we haven't put it together sooner, he is in love over these things!

I call this masterpiece: "Baby in Still Life: Meeting Adjourned"

Pregnant Weirdo

I had a dream last night that I was helping Paris Hilton clean out her refrigerator in her backyard. Her mom poked her head out the door and told her she was going to make some Ramen Noodles for her, and she said, "OK! As long as their not the kind manufactured by FOX News!"

Then the loudspeaker came on (in her backyard) and asked for volunteers to work at the hospital, but any volunteers needed to have a "small hip."

????

UMM.

Oh and yes, the dream continued as I was in the top 5 of American Idol but I was going to purposely tank my performance by singing "Love Shack" because I didn't want to win.

Love... In the Blogosphere

I woke up to some serious blog love this morning, what a nice surprise! Stine from A Mother's Home has given me this cute little award and I'm udderly flattered! Thanks, sweetie!! And right back atcha! The best part is, I get to share the love with some of my favorites! So here they are! Mwa!

AnnaMary (I'm in Annaland withdrawl!)

Sparky Duck

Our Story

Don't Call Me Mummy

and of course, Robin !!

It doesn't seem like two years ago.

Sitting at my desk watching the images from Hurricane Katrina flowing endlessly into the newsroom. Completely horrified that this was happening, right here in our country, right before our collective eyes. Absolute chaos. We thought it might happen, but we didn't really think it would. Did we? But when I woke up earlier that morning and turned on the television before my shift hoping that the news was good and that the levees held strong, I saw Brian Williams standing in a puddle of water in the middle of the French Quarter. They hadn't. And the worst was yet to come. Come, it did.

That week, FOX News' Shepard Smith was standing on a bridge where people were wandering around aimlessly trying to find help, shelter, food, water, anything. He was there, a reporter, literally begging the government to respond. Where were they? Where was anyone? There were thousands of people trying to escape the rising water, to the Superdome riddled with filth and crime, people dying outside. Unprepared hospitals. People, children, being plucked from rooftops. Children lost without their families. Homes and lives destroyed. The images were so horrifying that that's the only word I can think of to describe it, even now.

Each tv on each producer's desk has a screen that can watch several satellites worth of video at once of video coming in from all sorts of sources, local Louisiana tv stations, CNN, and FOX networks. No, I wasn't there. But we didn't air everything that came in, and you can believe that what we saw was awful. It's our job to just "turn off" when we're in the middle of a story, and for the most part, we did. We had to. But sometimes you just can't. I saw a producer secretly crying at her desk.

I want to remember everything we saw that day, that week, the weeks that followed, because I don't want to forget the people who died when a system broke down. We were not prepared. No one was prepared. Mistakes were made. People died. And millions of people who lived through it have that terrible story to add to their life experiences.

I believe that when faced with a hurricane, it is each person's responsibility to be prepared themselves. Have a hurricane supply kit ready. Batteries, water, non-perishables, medication, cash, an emergency point person to report to if you are separated from your families, a full tank of gas, clothing, everything you need to survive. Have a plan. Know where your pets are going. Board up. Don't ride out the storm if you aren't prepared to survive it. Leave before the mad rush of people, so you don't get stuck in the traffic jams. Know your travel routes. There are things we must do that we cannot rely on others to do for us in times of emergencies. We must do our part. But even the most prepared people are faced with losing everything. The storms do not discriminate. Our government must do their part, too. When people are dying right in front of our faces, there must be no red tape. It takes a village. For months, even a year afterward, FEMA trailers sat empty while people were still lost and still homeless. This was a true American catastrophe.

A couple weeks after the storm, I had convinced my station to do a walk for Katrina victims. It was called "Hands Across the Gulf." A couple hundred people along with their pets turned out and we donated all the money we raised to the Red Cross, the Humane Society, and United Animal Nations. It was only a few thousand dollars, but it was the best I could do because I had to do something. We had to do something. We're used to bearing the brunt of the hurricanes here in Florida, and now our neighbors across the gulf were feeling it full-force.

I know that even two years later, people's lives are still shattered. So if you have a moment, please keep them in your thoughts on this day, this anniversary, or say a prayer for the people still living this terrible nightmare. And don't forget to prepare. There are still more than two months left of the hurricane season and we know what can happen.

Fodder

Today was one of those news days that made me want to be back in the newsroom again. From Michael Vick to Alberto Gonzales, a local electrical plant explosion, Nick Hogan's car accident here in Clearwater, it was one of those days where the newsroom would have been buzzing. I must remember to always preface statements like these with the fact that bad news does not make me happy, it is just one of those facts that when news is breaking all over the place, people in the newsroom are literally running around like mad trying to figure out the facts, trying to turn around video, trying to get people to different places, phones are ringing off the hook, the bulletins are flying across the wire on the computers, video is flooding in from all the different networks, press conferences are happening, and the adrenaline rush of all of that is always somewhat stimulating. I miss that part.

So what did I do? I was leveled with a migraine for most of the day and thankfully Poops took a long afternoon nap so I snoozed with Serendipity on in the background. Life sure is different.

Well our long "to-do" list is widdling down finally. Hence the reason for my computer absence. My parents have been over and we've arranged our new "library" in our office. It's always been a dream of mine to have a library, which in my house really is just one wall of shelves that we put up, but man is it fabulous! A place to put all our books! All of them! I have a row for "chick-lit", adventures (Harry Potters, Lord of the Rings, Michael Crichtons, John Grishams), cryptology (yes, husband has enough of these to support an entire "section" of them), sports, travel, how-to's, college textbooks, journalism-type stuff, and a sorely lacking "classics" section which I am obsessed with building. Oh, yes, and the purpose of the library/slash/office space is to have a place to put all the crap that is in the future nursery. Really there is a reason for the madness. Eventually we'll start on the nursery. Hopefully before he is born.

Has anyone watched that show "The Pickup Artist" on VH1? I'm dying here. It's a bunch of geeks in a reality show trying to score with the help of some guy code-named "Mystery" who I can't help but call "Chris Angel Mindfreak". Tonight, the geeks are kissing peaches for practice. It's about to come on and I am torn between this ridiculous train wreck and the fact that I will feel dirty and embarrassed watching these tools make fools of themselves. I may have to flip it on and watch it through my fingers for a second before I can't take it anymore and have to change the channel. One week to go till the 3rd trimester begins! I am mentally taking the pregnancy now in increments. When I was at 22 weeks and sparkles began, I thought, ok, let's get to 28 weeks. When that's up, I'll think, ok now to 30 (just to be in the 30's), but now that I'm 27 weeks, I'm thinking only 10 weeks till full-term!

Heads or Tails #2: Luck

This week's Heads or Tails theme is "Luck". And you call it luck, skill, whatever you will, but my longest ride with Lady Luck was in, yes, of all places, Vegas. Our trip didn't start out lucky, however, because our plane was overpacked, we were bumped off the flight and because of it we missed a whole day and a half of our three-day trip through Salt Lake City to see my friends on our way to Vegas. But once we got on the strip, things changed. I didn't do well in Roulette. Or slots. It was when we went off the strip with a friend of my husband's (by the way he was my fiance back then) to a casino with $5 Black Jack. We planted ourselves in our seats from 7pm until about 2 or 3 (????), slogging down vodka and cranberries. I am not sure how much the boys walked away with, but I know I beat them both. I won about 500 bucks! (This is a record for me -- luck is not usually on my side when it comes to winning things).

We were there for New Year's, by the way, and Anna Nicole Smith was the MC at our hotel's nightclub and I had a pink fuzzy hat and boa.

(By the way, head on over to Skittles' Place to join in with us every Tuesday!)

I so wanted to do a tt today

And I would've had a great one. 13 things on my to-do list! But I would rather do a Thursday Thirteen when I have time to visit everyone, and besides, who are we kidding? There's way more than 13 things to be done! However, I am spent. I haven't had any energy whatsoever to do any nesting (unlike last time when I nested so much I tore my cartilage in my knee cleaning the closet. Oh, and it was around this time in my pregnancy too and wasn't it a pretty picture seeing a preggo writhing around and crawling toward the phone (which took 30 minutes) to call for help. Anyway that required surgery. So much fun.) So I had to ask, why on earth am I being robbed of my second trimester second wind that we are all promised? (Maybe someone up above doesn't want me to tear any more cartilage.) But I am told that the butt shots make people tired and that's the biggest complaint and I believe it. But I feel like a loser! I want to nest. I have the desire to nest. But alas, I am not. So now I'm calling in the reinforcements. I have a mental deadline here in my head that goes like this: there are three weeks left before the third trimester. Anything can happen in the third trimester, but what will definitely happen is that whatever energy I do have will be zapped. I've already started to do the pregnant waddle. So wouldn't it be nice to get everything finished in the next couple weeks so I can rest, and God forbid if something happens I'm ready? (Yes, my hospital bag is already halfway packed and will be done before the weekend is over, but this time I want to be prepared for anything that comes our way. This is me, not taking any chances!) Anyway, the reinforcements are here: my good old mumsy and pop. I love them! They're here today and tomorrow and we're plugging away at all the things I need repaired and removed, so I can clean out that second bedroom. I am so thankful for their help. It didn't seem too bad until we started it all, and now I am officially overwhelmed. Things always look worse before they look better, I know. But that's where I am and that's what I'm doing. If you have any motivation vibes, feel free to send them my way!

The Jeep's Last Ride

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." - Semisonic, "Closing Time".Today is the beginning of a new Tuesday meme invented by Skittles, who we all know from the wonderful "Skittles' Place." It's called "Heads or Tails" and the first theme for the first installment is "Beginnings". Which is fitting, because today is the first day, a beginning if you will, of a new life, a "me" without my Jeep. Now you may say, "So what? A car is a car!" And that may be so. But really, it's not the car. It's the experience. It's the period of life that is over for me, while a new one is beginning. The Jeep wasn't just a dream car for me, it was a symbol.

Four years ago, I was at a crossroads in my life. I was working at Fox News in New York where I had been for 5 years. I loved the company, I loved my co-workers, I loved my friends, but I no longer liked my job. I am known for the two-year itch; if I don't change jobs, I must add or change responsibilities somehow (hopefully through a promotion) sometime around the two year mark. That had happened for me pretty easily up until that point, but now there was no where else for me to go. So I started sending out resumes. Evan and I were dating long distance, so I thought my options were open. I could find another job or even head back to Florida for grad school. But when Evan and I spoke, it was clear that we weren't ready to take it to the next level yet, so moving back to Florida didn't seem like a good idea. I got a call back from the Associated Press, for where else, but across the country in their Salt Lake City bureau. In Utah. The job was perfect. And when I went for the interview and stepped off the plane with the mountain ranges all around me and the sparkling lights of the little city sitting in the middle of it, I fell in love. When I got back to New York, I must have known what my decision was, but I cried all night because I knew I would have to say goodbye to New York City, and when you move up there to "make it" and then decide to move, there is a little piece of you that thinks maybe you're a failure for having to leave. But I packed up my studio apartment on 49th street, said goodbye to my neighborhood, my job, my co-workers, my friends, my favorite bars, my corner deli, my favorite restaurants, and I boarded a plane with my cat and headed out west.

And I bought a Jeep. A yummy, green, 4-wheel-drive Jeep Wrangler. I spent hours and hours just driving around Utah with my music blaring, having no idea where I was going. Just to explore. It was gorgeous out there. The Jeep got me safely down a frozen mountain after covering an avalanche story until midnight. Took me camping in the red rock canyons of Moab with my new friends.

Took me to Ogden where I ran my first 5k with Evan. Took me and my cousins to see the Great Salt Lake, which is that beautiful mirror you see behind us.

At the end of that very eventful year, where I learned all there was to know (at the time) about myself and my ability to start over in a completely new place, Evan proposed. And that Jeep took me, my cat, and all my stuff all the way across the country again, back to Florida. We were ready.

I hadn't a clue when I got into my lease where I'd be in 4 years from then. I am shocked when I look back and see that I have moved, gotten married, had a couple jobs, bought a house and had a kid. So when I turned in my Jeep, I had a few tears. Not because I am unhappy now. Quite the opposite. That Jeep has been there with me when I discovered myself. When I cried listening to "Here Without You" by Three Doors Down while missing Evan. When I just went and sat in the back of my Jeep, taking pictures of my feet, pondering life while looking out across a reservoir with the snowcaps behind it.

And now the Jeep, and the symbol of my identity, has been replaced with a big, blue shiny minivan, a symbol of my new identity. A beginning of my new phase of life. Where will I be when this one's paid off in a few years? I don't know. All I know is this: I have no regrets.

Vacation Pics

I finally found the camera cord so I could upload our vacation pics (it was hiding behind a couch cushion-the spider probably took it.) So here are the highlights, albeit two weeks later. :)
The first one is the view from our room. It was raining, of course. Good for sod at home, bad for beach vacation. But I got to read a lot of Harry Potter while stuck indoors while not getting skin cancer from too much sun (I get terrible burns). Anyway, why wouldn't it rain for at least half of the beach vacation? It's Murphy's Law.

Here's Poops' little girlfriend who stayed down at the other end of the balcony from us, she was the cutie with the wagon. They kept giving each other kisses when they first met and holding hands walking up and down the balcony. Too cute. This one though, he looks like, "What the heck is happening??"

I have a million kooplazillion pictures of Poops with his new little wagon but I chose the blurry one. The blurry makes me laugh. It is blurry because because he is literally zooming around the place at warp speed dragging this thing around and I couldn't get a non-blurry one until he was at a complete stop, which wasn't very often.
I love this picture of him at the beach. This is also the photo where I thought, "Wow! What a cute picture that is!" Followed by a panicked "Crap! He is much closer to the water than my little lens shows!" Followed by a pregnant, non-flattering, bathing-suit sprint. And you know how I feel about those.