Thursday, November 22, 2012

A Tale of Thanksgiving Past

Every small town has one... that weird bum who you see everywhere you go. Oh, what's that? Every town does NOT have that? I just grew up in the weirdest town ever, that had SEVERAL locally famous bums that everyone still knows by name to this day? Oh. Ok then.

There was that one lady who was always wearing the reflective crossing guard vest, the guys who lived in shacks in the woods (the bum huts. obviously.) and the one I know best, Tommy D. You could see Tommy D coming a mile away. He had a very distinct strut, a purple tank top and a Hulk Hogan stache, which perfectly complemented his mullet. He could be found most of the time hanging out in front of Quik Chek, because he'd been banned from most of the stores and restaurants in town. The rest of the time, he could be found at our house. Yeaaaahhhhhhh.

See, my mom is like a weirdo magnet. She feels bad for people, which is funny to me considering she's far from the world's most sensitive person. She stuffs large bills into the town food bank's change can while everyone else is tossing in their pocket change. She befriends people that nobody else wants to deal with. It's endearing and aggravating at the same time. If you're selling it, she's buying it. My mom's awesome.

Sometimes the result of her charity is that you end up having Thanksgiving dinner with the town's most annoying bum. And let me tell you, turkey and stuffing just tastes better when it's served alongside prison tales and some extra salty language. You're probably gonna have to take my word on that, because I guaratee you'll never end up in this situation.

This guy used to randomly show up all the time. We'd see him strutting up the street, stopping across from our house. Sometimes you had enough time to hide before he got up the driveway. But when you and your extended family are sitting down to a giant Thanksgiving spread, there's not a whole lot you can do to pretend you're not home. We watched him bob up the driveway. He knocked his familiar obnoxious knock, and next thing I know I'm eating my Thanksgiving dinner next to the guy that every single person in my class made fun of for as long as I can remember. Crazy Tommy D. And he didn't disappoint. He dropped N-bombs in front of my grandparents. He ate with his fingers and chewed with his mouth open. He had food all over his face. It was glorious.

This guy would just not leave us alone, and it was becaue my mom was the only person in town who would talk to him. He dropped by all the time. I never suspected he would show up on Thanksgiving, but I guess with Tommy D, there's no surprise too big. He's a renegade. Eventually, my dad figured out a way to get rid of him once and for all. He loaned him $20. Never saw the guy again.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Top five Disney vacation tips for lazy procrastinators

You know those personality tests like Myers-Briggs that have four different types? I usually test so far into the quandrant that I fall under that it's uncanny. There's no middle ground for me, it's very extreme. The point is, I'm late for everything, I hate making appointments for things because it means I can't just decide to do something on a whim and show up, and pretty much my whole life is based on last-minute, split second decision making. So the fact that I'm perpetually late for everything ever is really just a birth defect. Or something. I like it this way, but I've found over the years that my style sometimes stresses people out.Lucky for Mr. F, he's not much of a planner either, or else going on vacation with me would have driven him insane.

Are you like me? Are you planning (or... NOT planning. Let's be real here) on taking a trip to Disney World any time in the future? Well then, hop on the tip train, cause I'm about to give you some pearls.

5. Do your research
HAHAHAHAHA! Do your research. Right. Okay, we've already established that we're not the planning types. So research is out of the question. Here's the only thing you need to know. You think you can just show up to the parks and float around all day, but you can't. You will be forced to pay attention to some things, like eating food, because if you don't eat food, you will die. And if you don't make reservations for the restaurants in Disney World, you will not eat food. I mean you will find stuff to eat, but who wants to eat hot dogs for a week? Even non-fancy buffet restaurants require calling ahead. So here's what you do - download the Disney Mobile Magic app. It does everything for you. You just open up the dining tab, and it tells you where to eat. You don't have to pay attention, you just pick which restaurants have availability and you show up. And that's what we like, right? Feeeeeed me, Disney app!

4. Do not book your trip during Half Marathon Weekend
I'm gonna go ahead and out myself here as someone who just does not understand runners. I'll just say it... I think you're all batshit. Completely insane. First of all, running sucks. A lot. Second of all, it's FREE to run, and yet people are out there paying all this money to run ridiculous distances and sometimes have people throw stuff at them and electrocute them while they're doing it. No comprendo. They also tend to wake up at horrible disgusting hours to do all this. So if you like getting woken up at 4 am to the smooth sounds of the world's worst DJ (Ghetto Electric Slide, Chicken Dance, Gangam Style, Original Electric Slide ALL IN A ROW, PEOPLE) then by all means, book your trip during Disney Half Marathon Weekend. Otherwise, don't.

3. Make your decisions early in the day
Being wishy-washy ended up costing us a lot of money on our trip. Too much money, especially when you consider that the difference between asking a simple question at 9 am and asking that same question at 9pm is sometimes in the ballpark of $250. I get you, fellow planning failure. I know you don't want to buy a six day pass because then you're stuck having to go to these Disney parks for six days and seriously how much time do you need in these parks anyway? I understand your mentality. But the answer is, a lot. You need a lot of time in these parks. There's a ton to do, even if you're only with an almost two year old who can't go on all the rides. You can buy yourself a however-many-day pass. Go ahead and only buy a two day pass if you want. Feel free to not commit, like I did. BUT, if you do decide you want to go to the parks for more days, for the love of sweet Baby Jesus, tell them in the morning. I repeat... do NOT wait until you're walking out of the park at night to ask about adding on to your pass. You can add on to your already purchased passes. If you wait until your purchased passes are up, you will have to buy all new passes, thus forfeitting any kind of multiple pass discount. Stupid, right? Doesn't it seem like some kind of weird, arbitrary rule designed to screw people over? Well, it's normal. Are you just not familiar with Walt Disney at all?

2. Book your Disney vacation during the slowest times of the year
This is really important. It's almost my number one tip. You NEED to go during off peak weeks. If you don't, you will be forced to make more plans for yourself. I didn't even need to pay attention to what Fast Pass was, because I didn't have to wait in any lines at all. Fast Pass is a great thing, but it involves more strategy and paying attention and I am on vacation, damnit! I just want things to happen without me having to think about them. I got off a ride, I got right back on the same ride. It was fantastic. If for whatever reason you can't get to Disney during the slowest times, then I'm sorry, I have no advice for you. Your vacation is going to be terrible and you will spend the whole time standing on line with a bunch of smelly mouth breathers or trading your first born for a Fast Pass to Space Mountain.

1. Do not take vacation advice from me
I'm not kidding about some of this stuff, but if you use this as any kind of definitive vacation guide whatsoever, I feel sad for your trip. Remember, you're taking advice from someone who bought quail eggs to prepare for an impending natural disaster.

Friday, November 9, 2012

The F family jumps the shark

Well, we've done it. We're on our way to Disneyworld! Expect lots of weird stories when we get back.

My suitcase is broken, so that's a good start right? Good thing my handyman was available...

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Hurricane Sandy from the viewpoint of a mildly affected person

Well. I had a super awesome follow up to my homemade costume tribute planned, but it will have to wait as I've been without power for about 48 hours now. As you probably heard, here in the northeast were just battered by a crazy hurricane/tropical storm/superstorm a few nights ago. Here's how it went down for me:

8pm Sunday: Monday morning work cancelled, crack open the booze.

8:05pm Sunday-1am Monday: watch as much tv as possible to absorb maximum technology before imminent loss of power. Do not talk to husband in attempt to save conversation for when we have no other choice but to talk to each other.

Monday morning: satellite... out. Internet... out. Power is flickering intermittently. This is serious, people! 3G service is NOT GOOD! Must conserve horrible iPhone battery. Entertain child with.... books.

Monday 4:30pm: getting dark, storm is projected to hit within the next two hours or so. Winds are picking up, rain is coming down. Mr. F decides it's finally time to start hurricane preparations, heads out into the storm to gather firewood and cover up our deck furniture. I decide to start thinking about cooking dinner before the power goes out. Clearly we are the type of couple who always plans ahead for things.

Monday 5pm: finally get around to dinner. Power goes out, this time for good. Manually light the stove and try to take food out of fridge as quickly as possible to keep cold air in.

Monday 5:05pm: laugh at our prestorm preparation purchase of quail eggs. Buy, come on... Have you SEEN quail eggs? They're adorable!

Monday 5:07pm: manually light stove, fry up meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. Fried meatloaf is awesome. Decide I will heat up my meatloaf in a frying pan from now on.

Monday 5:20pm: eating a romantic dinner by candlelight, Kid A is not amused by the darkness.

Monday 5:45pm: start to wash dishes. Wonder whether the power being out affects the hot water supply. Wash dishes in cold water, in the dark. Contemplate throwing out dishes.

Monday 6:15pm: starting to get darker, Mr. F gets some wood to start the fire. Kid A is terrified.

Monday 6:20pm: fire is started, Kid A thinks the house is burning down, keeps trying to blow out the fire.

Monday 6:25pm-8pm: try to keep Kid A busy, refresh horribly slow 3G Facebook. Starting to hear some bad news from the south. Wind is incredible.

Monday 8:20pm: Mr. F makes executive decision that we all need to sleep in the middle of the house on the first floor. Kid not cool with decision, but we stand our ground.

Monday 8:30pm: the moment I've been dreading. Phone battery is almost completely drained of battery life.

Monday 8:31pm: so bored. It has been forever since I looked at the Internet in any form. Starting to get restless.

Monday 8:35pm: look out window to enjoy the lovely firework show of transformers blowing out all over town.

Monday 8:45pm: turn my attention to our 75ft pine tree that's a hazard during any storm. Watch as it blows sideways with a gust if wind and bounce back up. Watch it blow sideways and bounce back up again.

Monday 8:50pm: receive text from neighbor letting us know their oak tree crashed on their other neighbor's car and house.

Monday 8:51pm: watch as another gust of wind blows our tree sideways again. While we're waiting for it to bounce back up, it topples over. It's completely black outside, so we don't know at first if it hit our neighbor's house. All we can see is the shadow of its giant roots that are now sticking up in the air.

Monday 8:55pm: a knock at the door. It's our neighbor telling us the tree fell on both their cars. How did he get onto our front steps so soon?? He was OUTSIDE when it happened!

Monday 9:00pm: shit just got real. I've burned all my fall scented candles and must resort to spring flower scents. Just doesn't feel right.

Monday 9:30pm: remember about the spelunking headlight my dad gave me the day before. Mr. F ain't down with it.

Monday 9:33pm: set up candles and a book on the floor all Neverending Story style. Can't see book. Try again with the spelunking headlight. Turn off spelunking headlight after Mr. F repeatedly voices his extreme annoyance.

Monday 9:45pm: can't take it anymore. This house smells like the middle of May, Mr. F's phone still has battery life left somehow and I can't make a peep since Kid's sleeping right next to us. Go to the garage to sit in car and charge cell phone. The garage door is getting slammed with wind and I can hear the rest of the trees on our property creak and threaten to give out. Yet I stay and bravely surf the Internet.

I took a light tone above, because if you've been following along, you'll know that I believe you have to just laugh sometimes, even when things get bad. If you're breathing, you're ok. You can laugh a little bit. There is way more productivity in keeping a positive attitude about things.

My beloved home state has a pretty dismal reputation in the eyes of the rest of the country. Everyone sees the bar fights on Jersey Shore, they see the wealthy slobs on Real Housewives of NJ. They call us "the armpit of America." I can speak for most NJ natives when I say: we love it. We love it because we know it's not the truth. And because we know that, it's kept our little secret. If the rest of the world had any idea what it was really like here, we'd be even more crowded than we already are.

What you won't see on any of the reality shows is my entire neighborhood out, chainsaws and tools ready, the morning after the storm, helping each other break out of the wreckage of trees that crushed our cars and houses. You won't see the memories of our childhoods that are now a twisted ball of metal at the bottom of the ocean. I predict that you WILL see resiliency, you'll see neighbors and communities banding together to clean it all up and get back to business. Especially at the shore. We'll rebuild, and soon enough, you'll be back to seeing bar fights and slobs all over TV again, as if it never happened.

Here's the tree that I mentioned above:

My neighbors' poor cars under the tree:

All of my awesome neighborhood cleaning up the crazy mess. It was really great:

Now, for the not so good. Up in northern NJ, yes, we saw some damage. But definitely nothing close to what happened to our southern counterparts. I have a lot of family and friends down the shore. Some of them evacuated, some did not and are currently trying to get out. A lot of my childhood was spent there, and now a lot of Kid's childhood is spent there. My parents have a summer house not far from the picture below. We don't know what happened to it yet, but we're hoping for the best. We've seen the pictures that keep getting increasingly worse and more heartbreaking, and from what I've heard from first hand accounts, things are not looking good down there at all. Houses, boats and debris have washed all over the place in some areas, and there are residents still there!

Here's Funtown Pier - based on the aerial shots that were on tv, this and the other amusement pier, Casino Pier, are both completely collapsed into the water. It's heartbreaking. 

This is where Mantoloking bridge used to be. It looks like the ocean and bay have met and formed a new inlet. Hopefully water will recede, but it doesn't look like it's going to any time soon. Even if it does, this is absolute devastation. Some of the houses in this picture do not belong where they are. They've been swept off their foundations and replaced by the storm surge. 

The damage is just unbelievable. Hard to look at. There's nothing to do but wait now. Wait for the water to recede so we can start to pick up the pieces and come back even better than before.We're down, but we're not out. Please consider doing whatever you can to help! My heart goes out to everyone who got hit in any way.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Ode to the Homemade Halloween Costume: part one

If you know me, you know I have a thing for homemade, often obscure Halloween costumes. If you don't know me, today's your lucky day because you just learned a new thing. I rarely venture into a Halloween store. I prefer to scour the racks at goodwill stores looking for the perfect clothes and accessories and what I can't find, I make out of crap I find around my house. It's not just fun for me, it's in my blood.

This week's post is dedicated to my incredibly creative parents, who came up with awesome costumes for me and my brother year after year. And one day I hope Kid A can look back and love his costumes as much as I loved mine.

Two years old. I was Smurfette. We went to a parade where I did not win any prizes in the costume contest despite obviously being the cutest kid there and having the coolest freakin costume. This was the first of many disappointing costume contests for me.

Local peeps - who remembers the original mall floor??
 After Smurfette was the return of the bunny costume.

Next up was the Blue Fairy from Pinocchio. I know, right? Who would think of that? Check out my wings! According to legend, this costume was the result of a last minute all nighter, which just further confirmed for me, as I sat hunched over my sewing machine at 1:30 AM, that no matter what, you turn into your parents. It just happens.

The Blue Fairy, if you're not familiar

 The year I was in kindergarten marked a stretch of years that I started to pick my own costumes. You can tell by the many years in a row that I dressed up as this black cat. I clearly remember my mom being so disappointed when I told her I wanted to be a cat... AGAIN.

Can you remember what that gross fake blood tasted like? Remember holding your breath and squeezing your eyes shut while you got sprayed down with that weird fishy-smelling colored hairspray? Suffering through watching Linus making a fool of himself ONCE AGAIN waiting for that douchey Great Pumpkin so you could get to the real deal - the ghost pirates from Garfield Halloween? I can. That's Halloween to me. Blah blah candy, blah blah pumpkins. I could take or leave them. In second grade, I wanted to be a vampire, so that's what I got. My brother had the better costume this year by a landslide though.
This one goes to my brother as Roger Rabbit

Somehow after the cat costume run, my mom convinced me to let her take the reigns again. That's how I ended up as a Working Mother. Complete with baby in a sling and a pan full of bacon. (please don't make me explain. I hope you get it.) At the time, I haaaaaated this costume. The rest of the girls in my class were punk rockers or cheerleaders that year. Of course, now I can look back and recognize the genius here.
How many of you actually grew up to be a  princess?

In fourth grade, I was a gypsy. This was a cool costume, but I shamelessly copied my friend's costume that year so I can't really take any credit.
what you can't see: those little wrist cymbals

Fifth grade was a good one. I was a French girl. I loved this costume so much. I got to wear red lipstick and look pretty. Not exactly a punk rocker or cheerleader, but still. Red lipstick. Totally whorey. That's what Halloween is all about, amirite?
Ooh la la!

Sixth grade. My first school Halloween dance. I'm sure my 12 year old self was trying to scheme some way to get away with working fishnet stockings into my getup and being a slutty fill-in-the-blank, but instead I dressed up as a dead prom queen. Zero boys danced with me that night, but who cares because it was a cool costume.
...and when they got to the house, the back seat was EMPTY!

Ah. Seventh grade. One of the most painful of all the grades. Too cool to dress up, too young to let it go, still want free candy. You're never too old for free candy. My solution to that was this lame... pirate costume? I think? Not one of my best costume years. Or one of my best years on general.
not my best work

Eighth grade marked the year I was officially too cool for Halloween costumes. I do remember going out trick or treating, but I think I just dressed as a thug poser, AKA myself. Think Dangerous Minds. Brown lip liner, big hoop earrings, solid as a rock bangs. Cool costume, bro.

Stay tuned for part two, in which I make up for all those years of being too cool for Halloween!

Friday, October 19, 2012

Great American Hero

I love animals. Eh, not all animals. I can pretty confidently say that if I could ever get close enough to a deer I will punch it right in the face. But then, I'm also pretty sure I couldn't take a deer in a fight. I guess that's why people hunt deer with guns instead of chasing after them in the woods and wrestling them. Deer suck though. I don't even like venison but I will eat it any time it's offered to me just out of spite. And with every single chew, I think about all the beautiful flowers and plants that just never had a chance in my yard, and the fact that I can't let my poor child run around in the yard because the entire thing is a minefield of stupid deer turd piles. But pretty much all other animals are cool. I heard seals are dicks, but a seal has never been a dick to me personally, so I'm cool with seals.

Even if you're not an "animal person," I think one thing we can all agree on is that dead animals are sad, and that, generally speaking, we don't want to be responsible for the death of an animal. Except hunters, and even though I talked about hunters in every paragraph so far, this is not about hunters. I promise.

The other day, I was leaving Barnes and Noble after faithfully picking up my copy of Weird NJ (super fan! i have every issue!) when this woman started crossing the parking lot towards me, waving her arms and yelling, "Ma'am! ma'am!" I immediately tensed up, because:

1.For some reason my first thought was that she was going to try to sell me something, and I am so awkward and such a sucker that I already bought whatever it was in my mind before she even approached me.

2. I am not ma'am.

3. Why was she waving at me? She looked scared, and I didn't know if I felt like getting sucked into whatever crazy drama she had going on. I don't know CPR and I'm really no good in emergency situations. Why the hell did this lady pick me!?

By the time I made the decision to run in the opposite direction, she had already reached me, and she asked me for help. She was trying to back her SUV out of her parking spot, but there was a bird sitting by her car tire. I walked over to her car with her, and sure enough, there she was. A little tiny bird, squished up against the tire. I named her Marjorie. I still don't know why this chick picked me to save Marjorie, but what was I supposed to do? I didn't have a choice at that point. I went to my car to see if I could macguyver something into a bird saving device.

What I ended up with was the handle of a sand bucket. Whatever... YOU try making a bird saving device out of receipts, diapers and a pile of dirty gym socks! It was the best I could do.

So there I was, lying face down in the B&N parking lot in the middle of the day in my business casual attire, stretching my arm as far as I could so I could pole Marjorie with the end of the bucket handle. Bird diseases. I don't want one. At first Marj didn't move, which scared me. I figured she definitely had bird rabies and if I kept poking her she's come peck my eyes out. Then, all of a sudden, she chirped and hopped up and down, causing me and my new friend (I forget her name) to scream bloody murder and run all over the parking lot. That must have been quite a scene.

My poking made Marjorie hop towards the middle of the car, giving my new friend enough room to back out of the spot without flattening the little bird, and me enough time to get the hell out of there and eat a damn sandwich. I was so hungry! The lady took fooooreeeeeeveerrrrrr to back up, and when she did, there was cute little Marj!

tweet tweet! thanks for saving my life (maybe?)

Sadly, I didn't have all day to sit around in a parking lot and take care of a bird, so after all that I have no idea what became of little Marjorie. For all I know, the next person to pull into that parking spot could have made her into a bird pancake. But I did my good deed for the day, and when I got back to work, I got the first parking spot AND I found my missing favorite pen! THANKS MARJORIE! So the moral of the story is this: if you're having a crappy day, go outside and find an animal to rescue.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

My strange addiction?

Last week's post was about a serious, emotional, very real thing I'm dealing with right now. So where do you go from there? I don't think a fart story is an appropriate follow up to a post like that. It has taken me over a week to come up with a funny, entertaining follow up to that. Instead, this is what you get.

I'd like to talk about another serious, very real thing I'm dealing with. Addiction.

I'm not talking about drug addiction, or sex addiction, or even cigarettes, although I'm familiar with fighting that battle. I'm talking about drinks. Wait, no. That didn't come out right. I'm not an alcoholic. I'm talking about juice. No... not that. I'm not on steroids. I'm talking about soft drinks. Expensive designer soft drinks.

What? You think that's not a real problem? Ask my husband what he thinks about it. Have you ever been in a Whole Foods?

meat, anyone?
Let me start out by explaining that I am a marketer's dream. I once drove to the grocery store at 11:00 at night in a blizzard after seeing a commercial for Creme Savers Pudding. (It's just as gross as you think it is.) I don't even really like pudding, so I have no idea why I did it. I will buy something because it has a cool package. I will buy something because some celebrity is endorsing it.

I'm actually pretty cheap when it comes to most things. I don't really buy expensive clothes. I buy myself a new purse maybe once a year from the dollar store when my old one is falling apart enough that it starts to embarrass me. I think spending more than $30 on a pair of shoes is crazy.Why, then, do I see no problem with paying $5 for a bottle of plain, unsweetened iced tea? I don't have the answer.

A few months ago, I was checking out at the grocery store, when I noticed one of the drinks in my cart rang up as $11. ELEVEN AMERICAN DOLLARS! For juice. An outrage, right? Well, I had the cashier void it off right away, because what kind of idiot would pay $11 for a little bottle of juice?

I left the store, but it was still bugging me. Why was the juice $11? I pushed it out of my mind, but the next day, there it was again. What was in the juice that justified that price tag? Was it magic juice? Maybe there was gold in it. But I would never know, because $11 is just too much money to spend on a drink that doesn't have any booze in it. Isn't it?

Weeks passed, I moved on to other things, and the crazy juice eventually stopped haunting me. Until the next time I found myself standing in the grocery store staring at it. And this time? I caved. I bought $11 juice simply because the price tag was $11. No other reason. Maybe the shape bottle had a little bit to do with it  but it was mostly a nagging need to judge for myself if the juice was actually worth the price tag. But don't you feel like your drink tastes a little better when it comes out of a square bottle? No? Just me? Ok.

So there I was, sitting in my car with my magical beverage, deciding whether I should crack it open right away, or save it for a time that I could really sit and think about what I was drinking and calculate how much each sip cost. I couldn't wait anymore, so I opened it. I calculated the first sip at $0.87.

It was kinda disgusting. I should tell you now that it was white cashew vanilla cinnamon agave. Does that even sound appetizing to you? Also, wouldn't a logical person maybe figure that you could buy all these ingredients and somehow squeeze them into a juice for like 1/16 of the price? We're not talking about a logical person right now though.

ooooooh, it's local!
It was a weird experience. I still can't believe I bought the dumb juice. And now that I know it wasn't that great, I totally learned my lesson and will not allow myself to be tricked by crafty juices ever again. Especially not last week, when I was at the store and the apple carrot beet lemon ginger juice was sitting there all healthy and fresh, just begging me to take it home and drink it.

Okay fine. I paid $11 for juice not once, but TWICE in my life. And I think I might do it again! I might have a problem.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

So You Have a Molar Pregnancy...

It has been just about five weeks since my life got flipped, turned upside down. I wrote about what I went through and what I was feeling just days after my surgery, after being diagnosed with a molar pregnancy. But I didn't really go into much detail, because I didn't really have much detail to go into. Once I had some time to recover from the shock and the surgery, I finally let myself do a little research. I still don't really feel any better about what happened to me, but at least I know a little more about it (kind of.) Molar pregnancies are rare, and as such, there's not a whole lot of information out there. I haven't asked, but I've been wondering how many my doctor has actually treated before. Anyway, I'm writing this now in the event that someone else in my shoes is looking for some information, or some support. If you are that person, hi. I'm sorry you're going through this, and you're not alone. If you're someone who knows someone going through this, you are a nice person for wanting to help. Good job! If you're just checking up on me to see how I'm doing, thanks. You rule.

So, what is a molar pregnancy? or, What happened to you, Kate?
Well, I'm not a doctor, so this is not going to be a bunch of doctor-y garbage. I'm gonna lay it right out for you like they do in 6th grade sex ed. Or 4th grade, or whatever age they teach kids to have sex these days. You did not have a miscarriage, you will not have a baby, you do not have cancer. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to surgery.

Aside from nature's big "fuck you," a molar pregnancy is basically a misfire. Terrible luck of the draw. It's nothing you or your husband/partner/baby daddy did, it's nothing that's wrong with your genetic makeup. It just happens. I know, sucks, right? Every woman makes a dud egg once in a while. They can't all be awesome. In the unlucky event that your dud egg happens to get fertilized, you get a molar pregnancy. That means that at that magic moment when the egg and sperm meet, a baby does not happen. A "growth" happens. Sometimes a baby happens too, which is referred to as a "partial molar pregnancy," and that baby will have zero chance of survival. [Side note: if you're trying to think if the right thing to say to your grieving friend, please do not say "Well, there was never a baby anyway." or "Everything happens for a reason." Just trust me on this one.][Side-side note: if you have said this to me in any form, please do not feel bad about it. It's hard to know what to say in these situations. Shit, I don't even know what to say to myself sometimes.]

So now that you (kinda) know what a molar pregnancy is, I should mention that every single one of them is different. That and the fact that they're rare adds up to equal not a lot of protocol for treatment. It's not the kind of thing where your doctor can just give you medicine and cure you. It's a lot of waiting, a lot of uncertainly, and not a lot of answers. But, there are a few things that I would guess are common to every molar pregnancy, based on my experience.

You will be sad
Duh. But it needs to be said anyway. On top of coming to terms with this medical shitstorm, you are also dealing with a loss. Sure, as some may point out as I did above, maybe it wasn't a "real baby." But it was for you. You peed on a stick, you saw the line. You picked out paint colors in your mind and maybe some names. That was one of the worst things for me in the beginning. I felt so betrayed and violated by this stupid mole. Oh yeah, that's what it's called. A mole. That makes it somehow even more gross. 

You will be scared
Dr. Google is not your friend in this case. You'll read things in your quest for molar pregnancy knowledge that aren't very good. They start with a C and rhyme with "dancer." And if you haven't yet, you will now that I've mentioned it. It's ok, it's normal. Here, I'll even help you out. Let's get it out of the way:
There. Now that you read a little bit, you know that although the risk is there, it's rare. There's no point in worrying about something that hasn't happened and might not, right? Right? Right.

You will learn to be patient
Like I said, answers are slim here. You're not getting any straight answers any time soon. The deal with a molar pregnancy is that, even after you get the D&C surgery, your body will still have the pregnancy hormone - hCG - in it. Your goal is to get to zero (or under 3.) Sadly, it takes a while for that to happen. This is where the "everyone is different" comes in. I'm going to be blunt and honest about this one. Some people's go down fairly quickly, some people take a long time.Some people's hCG levels do not go down on their own, or go down and then start to go up again, and then another 'C' word comes in. Chemo. It doesn't mean you have cancer. It just means you have to take a drug with kind of a shitty track record to get the hCG out of your body.

You will get very familiar with needles
Unfortunately, very true and there's no getting around it. It's how they measure said hCG levels. Luckily for me, I have no problems with needles, but every week when I go for my blood draw (yep. every week) I think of the people going through this who do and my heart goes out to them. Lately I have come to appreciate the fine art of blood collection. There's one chick at my doctor's office who, when she draws blood, I swear I cannot even feel the needle going in or out. Or maybe my veins are just getting tougher at this point. Either way, you know you're in too deep when you're high-fiving the phlebotomist on a job well done. It's the little things...

Everyone you know will somehow be pregnant
Everyone. You get on an elevator, BAM! It's filled with pregnant women. Walk into the cafeteria at work? A bunch of pregnants. Log onto facebook? Your whole wall is filled with people announcing their pregnancies. Every day. Everywhere. All up in your face, creating life and shit, while you're standing there wondering what you could have possibly done to deserve this. Well stop feeling sorry for yourself, jerk! Your time will come. Sorry I called you a jerk.

You have to take things one day at a time
This could probably be a subheading under being patient. Anyway, as I mentioned, you have to go every week to get your blood tested to measure your hCG levels. My personal experience has been good so far. I don't know where I started, probably in the 20,000s somewhere, but by my first weekly blood draw I was at 222, then the next week at 56, and last week I was at 13. But (there's always a but) I know that could change so I'm not doing any victory laps just yet.

You will take a long time to heal
Weekly blood draws = weekly ripping the scab off your emotional scar. Oh, you spent all week in an ok mood, not really thinking about what you're dealing with? Guess what? It's Thursday! Time to visit the doctor once again and sit in the exam room getting blood drawn while you listen to other people's fetal monitors in the other rooms.

You will put your plans on hold
If you're like me, your molar pregnancy started out as a dream to add to your family. Not so fast, now you have to wait. I was first told I'd have to wait six months to try again. After doing the math and painfully coming to terms with that news, I was cruelly informed that I would have to wait a year. "Sorry. I must have misspoken." Thanks, doc. After reading on my own, I learned that it's a year from when your hCG hits zero. So I'm not even at that one year starting line yet. Awesome.

But wait! It's not all bad! (Okay, it's mostly bad) There are not many ups on this journey, a lot of downs, but here's one thing I do know...

You will be ok
You will, no matter what road you take to get there. So will I. This will be a memory one day. Hopefully one that you don't reflect on too often. In the meantime, there is actually some support out there. This site is a good resource, and it led me to a group on Facebook full of the most supportive women I have ever come across, all in different stages of this journey.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

SOS! Select our Specs!

My biggest weaknesses are public speaking, being on time for anything, and picking out a pair of glasses that don't look horrible on me. I get all kinds of comments on the rare occasion that I wear my glasses. Things like, "No offense, but you look better without glasses." Nine out of ten times when a child sees me with glasses on I get a comment. And not a good one. That's how you really know you're just not rockin your glasses correctly.

Part of the problem, for me at least, is the process of shopping for glasses. I consider myself to be at least somewhat stylish. I have a pretty good grasp of what looks good on me clothing wise. But until recently, glasses and fashion were mutually exclusive. You went to the eye doctor (the doctor. Not the mall. Unless you were at lens crafters or something, in which case you were likely near a mall in some capacity) you got your exam, you were ushered into the wall o' glasses where you had a couple minutes to choose a pair of glasses. None of which were cool. True story: last time I got new glasses I spent almost an hour trying on different pairs, and the receptionist chick informed me that I had been trying on children's glasses the whole time. That's what I'm working with here. I'm just not good at this.

So I need your help! I stumbled upon an incredible site, Warby Parker that 1) ONLY has cool glasses, 2) lets you pick your favorites and borrow them for a week. The benefits are many - you get to test drive these frames. You can wear them around and see what people think. You can test drive them to see how comfortable they are. You can make sure you're not scaring children with how stupid you look in your glasses. And, you get to elicit opinions from all you friends, which I am about to do. You win, they win, everybody wins. It's genius, really.

Enough talking. Pick out my new glasses! Sorry about the lighting. My sincerest apologies for making you work in such terrible conditions.Please, (PLEASE!) vote for the glasses you think I should get. Leave it in the comments, leave it on my Facebook, call me and tell me... whatever. I just need your help.

Option F: give it up, Kate. Stop forcing it and stick to your contacts.

My mom says I look like Droopy Dog (the old Looney Tunes dog) in Option D. Upon Googling, I saw that Droopy Dog doesn't even wear glasses. I can always count on her to make me feel good about myself!

Thanks for all your help, guys! I owe you one!

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Who reads this shit anyway?

I try not to talk about Kid A constantly because there was a time in my life not too long ago when I was not a parent, and therefore not really interested in hearing about some baby's every move. That being said, this kid does things on a daily basis that make me laugh almost to the point of tears. One thing I should add here is that this is a story about farts. Mr. F is not a fan, and I would argue that I might be farting's biggest fan. I don't think a day will come where I don't think farts are funny. We make a great couple. I guess This proves the old "opposites attract" theory. And thus ends our science discussion for the day.

Let's get down to the real business. I'll warn you again. If you think farts are gross, and you don't want to read about me farting, take a hike and come back next time.

I was washing dishes after a particularly messy dinner. Kid A was not in his usually great mood, and was bothering me, trying to get me to pick him up. So I was standing at the sink and he was trying to wedge himself between me and the cabinets, banging his head into my crotch and trying to push me away from the sink. His little struggle was so adorable that I just let him push me back a little bit.

I should also explain that he's been speaking a little bit of French lately. I have no idea where he got it from. He puts a "le" in front of things. As in "le fork." he's so worldly!

So there we are, me standing there trying to finish up the dishes, him head butting me in the legs, and then it happened. I farted. The head butting stopped and he walked around behind me. He poked me in the butt with his fat little finger. As he was poking, he looked up at me and said, "le poop?" "le POOP?"

Yeah. My kid thought I shit my pants. I don't think I ever laughed so hard.

Monday, September 17, 2012

If You Can't Draw a Crowd...

I might as well have given birth to Ben Folds, because in my eyes he can do no wrong. I love every piece of music he has ever put out, unconditionally. And if Ben Folds is my would-be child (I know, shit's getting weird... stick with me here) then Ben Folds Five is my refrigerator full of my kid's artwork. I love every piece equally and beyond measure.

The album's second track, Michael Praytor, opens up with that unmistakable BF5 harmony that took me right back to my high school days in the same way that certain smells have the ability to transport you back in time. I found myself cranking up the volume and singing [screaming] along even though I had yet to know the words. This is classic Ben Folds Five, people. It reminded me why I fell in love with them in the first place.

If Michael Praytor reminded me why I fell in love, Draw a Crowd reminded me why I stay in love. I loved this song in three notes. In the past week, I've listened to this song no less than 50 times, maybe or maybe not in a row. In fact, my new favorite song lyric in the whole world is now, "If you can't draw a crowd, draw dicks on the wall." In the past, Mr. F has remarked that Ben Folds/Five songs are about nothing. That comment stuck with me. Draw a Crowd might seem silly at first listen, but at its core, it's obviously not about dick graffiti. It's just an awesome way of saying, "Appreciate what you're good at." And Ben, if you're listening [you're not but let's pretend], you've always been my Stevie Wonder.

This is when it all came together for me. Hearing this album for the first time was like hanging out with an old friend. Not like a Michael Praytor, who if you listen to the song (and you should), you'll find out is one of those people who you just keep randomly running into that you don't really care about seeing, but for some reason you keep crossing paths at various stages of life. Also not at all like that one chick who was completely nuts in high school, but you somehow forgot about how nuts she was and you decided to hang out with her anyway after getting in touch with her on Facebook and then finding out all over again how incredibly insane she is and wondering how it could be possible that you could forget that much crazy. And also considering joining the witness protection program because she now knows your address. Not like that completely autobiographical story at all. It's more like running into an old friend who you haven't seen for whatever reason, and actually DOING LUNCH instead of just saying you will, and actually meaning it when you say you're so happy you got in touch and agreeing to hang out more.

And then this happened:

Stick a fork in me. I'm done. I'm not sure it's possible that I could love this band any more than I do right now.

Monday, September 10, 2012

How was your weekend? Yo Gabba Edition

After taking a little hiatus and getting my brain and feelings back in check, I'm back. And I'm ready to make this blog awesome. But for now it will just be awesome for me. I know nobody cares about what I did over the weekend, but this is my blog and I do what I want.

This weekend a friend of mine got us tickets to a Yo Gabba Gabba concert at Sesame Place. I have found in my one and a half short years of parenthood that  people either really really love it or they can't stand it. I really really REALLY love it. I think DJ Lance Rock is a musical genius. Kid A could take it or leave it, but since his mom loves it, he has to take it. Confession time: sometimes after I drop him off on my way to work I keep the YGG Pandora station on. Shut up.

We got a late start to the day, but we're all ok with that. It fit in perfectly with Kid's naptime. We started off the adventure with a visit to Elmo's World, where we saw Mr. Noodle's nephew, Mr. Noodle. I thought it was really cute, Kid A didn't seem too impressed. Especially for a kid who's obsessed with Elmo. I was surprised at his non-reaction, but I think maybe a gigantic Elmo is just a lot to take in.

After that, Mr. F took him on a ride that he was really too small to enjoy. We walked around a bit and saw the sights, and then had a seat on a shady bench to have a snack. Kid's favorite -

I knew he would have a better time in the water park. He loves swimming. So we headed over to that section of the park and hopped on the lazy river. Mr. F reminded me repeatedly that I was going to be floating around in a pool of other people's fluids, and that my reply of, "So what, there's so much chlorine in there" was invalid. But I still don't care. I'm ok with floating around in other people's pee I guess.

Me and my child in a sea of pee
After splashing around for a bit, we dried off and got changed and had some gross dinner. It was actually better than I expected food would be at Sesame Place, but still not good at all. We didn't go there for fine dining though. We ate as much as we could before getting grossed out and then Kid A was lucky enough to meet some of his favorites! If you recall from a couple weekends ago, his track record with meeting characters is not so hot. But this time it wasn't so bad!

He was actually really excited to see Bert and Ernie. And he didn't freak out at all when we got close! While I find it hilarious that he freaks out, I was happy he was pretty calm this time. I guess really big B & E make more sense to him than giant Elmo. Not pictured: meeting Cookie Monster and very mildly freaking out. He was ok at first, but then he got a good look at Cookie up close. Cookie tried to high five him, and he swatted the poor guy's hand away.

The day was winding down and the line for the YGG show stretch all the way to the back of the park. It was ok though because we got a decent view. I'm not gonna lie to you guys, I almost peed my pants when DJ Lance came out. I thought it would be some kind of imposter, but it was really him! And I was so excited! Everyone was laughing at me and my friend as we belted out the songs and danced around while our kids clearly could not have cared less about the whole thing.

It's time to DANCE!
Sorry for the crappy picture quality. I will forever be one of those jerks who thinks my iPhone makes me some kind of artsy photographer. Anyway, to end the night we caught the parade down Sesame Street. At this point in the day, Kid A was pretty warmed up to the idea of things so he was really excited.

He spotted Big Bird!
I'll leave you with that visual and a promise to start taking better quality pictures in the not too distant future. I don't normally compare my parenting to others, but for some reason I kept noticing all these moms with really high tech cameras around their necks and I felt like a failure for a minute. But then I just decided to be honest with myself. I am a horrible photographer and no $1500 piece of equipment is going to change that, so I might as well keep taking my shitty pictures with something that lets me also text my friends. And also... instagram.

Friday, August 31, 2012

"I'm so sorry"

I have no idea how to properly respond to this sentiment, as I learned quickly over the past couple of days. Do you say 'I know?' 'thank you?' Do you give a weird nod? Look away? I happened to use all of the above and more probably inappropriate responses. Luckily, I haven't had much experience in this p until this point in my life.

Wednesday I went in for my dating ultrasound. I was pretty excited to see the little dot on the screen and hear that crazy heartbeat. I knew something might not be right when I leaned up to get a peek at the screen and the tech immediately turned it away and told me to lie back down, that she would show me the screen eventually. After a while, she recommended the endovaginal ultrasound. For those unfamiliar, as I was, it's that dildo camera that they use "to get a better look," as the tech put it. I asked her if she could see anything. "That's not for me to say."

Strike two.

After she violated me with that stupid wand, she left the room and said the doctor (not my doctor) would be back to talk to me. She came back to the room and told me I needed to go to my doctor's office immediately. I asked her if something was wrong. "Just go there, now."

I walked out to my car trying to stay positive. It must be a mistake. I bet this lady doesn't know what the hell she's doing. What do you mean she couldn't see anything? She poked around in there for a half hour. Couldn't see anything? Bullshit. So I called my doctor's office and told them what happened. The woman on the other end of the phone agreed with me that it all seemed weird and that she hadn't received anything from the ultrasound place. She said she'd call me back.

When she did, her tone was different. Just like the ultrasound lady, she told me to come to the office in a monotone voice. I asked her if we could do this over the phone. I was stupidly concerned with a meeting I had to go to at work. She said, "I suggest you blow off your meeting. And call someone at your job and tell them you won't be in for the rest of the day."

Strike three.

So where does that leave me? Still in the parking lot, not knowing if there's a baby in my body, if it's alive, how long I have left to live... Basically the definition of being left hanging. I drove off to my doctor's office, where I had to again sit in a waiting room wondering what the fuck was going on.

After what felt like a week, I was called into an exam room. One of the doctors came in and explained to me that I had what was called a molar pregnancy. Quick background, something goes wrong at conception, and the fertilized egg never turns into a baby. It turns into a cluster of cells that keeps multiplying at an alarming rate, that could turn into cancer. A "mole." I had a "mole" in my body that could potentially turn into cancer, which is pretty fucking disturbing if you ask me. Add that to trying to process the fact that I would not actually become a mother again in about seven months. And then add in the fact that the doctor immediately started to schedule me for surgery. The granola bar I dug out of the bottom of my purse in the waiting room bought me another day for that one though.

So that's what happened to me yesterday. I had surgery. Like, real surgery. It went fine, and I'm not in any pain today. Yesterday I felt lucky. A lot of people have to go through this, and they don't have the world's most awesome little boy waiting at home for them afterwards. It's kind of impossible to be sad around my kid. A lot more people still have to deal with awful diseases. As I sat in the recovery room, I thought about that and about how lucky I was to be able to just get up and walk out.

Today I don't feel so lucky. I feel angry, which I guess is a normal stage of grief. I'm pissed that this happened to me. I even kind of went through a bit of denial this morning as I was waking up. I had the fleeting though that maybe there was also a real baby in there, and they missed it wen they did the D&C. I know how ridiculous that is. And I also know it's probably very normal to think things like that.

Now I have to get tested every month for a year to make sure they got all of the mole cells out and that it doesn't come back. This whole thing has been interesting to say the least. Not good, at all. And after all that, I still don't know how to react when someone tells me they're sorry.

Monday, August 27, 2012

How was your weekend?

I'm just trying to squeeze out every last bit of summer at this point. I know we have plenty of nice weather left, but this week marks the last of summer Fridays for me at work (*tear) so I have to take advantage! This past Friday I decided to take Kid A to the Land of Make Believe. I didn't get many pictures because it was just the two of us and he was hell bent on me carrying him around the whole time. I made the excellent decision not to bring his stroller in thinking he would want to run all over the place. But no. He wanted a ride everywhere.

For those unfamiliar, the Land of Make Believe is an amusement park that has been largely unchanged since I used to visit there as a child, and as I found out, even since my parents used to visit when they were kids. The difference now is that there's a water park that's pretty legit as far as small amusement parks go. But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about this treasure of a place that looks, feels and SMELLS the same as it does in my memories from 25 years ago. The smell I'm talking about is that musty, dank mothball smell. It stinks and I love it.

There's a hay ride, a train ride, a few carnival-like rides, a barn where you crawl through a chimney, climb a flight of stairs to the non-air conditioned attic and visit poor sweaty Santa who gives you a gift, a haunted house which brings back fond memories of me peeing my 6 year old pants. There's Old MacDonald's farm, with a sheep, a goat, a cow and some bunnies. There's the candy cane forest and Colonel Corn, the talking scarecrow.

But creepiest of all, there is the legend of Jenny Jump Mountain. At the far edge of the property lies a decrepit old house at the bottom of a mountain with a few pieces of old furniture inside that you can barely see through the dirty windows. It was Jenny's house. The loudspeakers from the 1950s that are attached to the house tell the story of Jenny, a young girl who lived in the house with her father. According to legend, Jenny was up the mountain picking berries when a group of Indians starting chasing her. Her father yelled to her, "Jump, Jenny, Jump!" And she did. And she died. And that's part of the amusement park. I dare you to find that shit at Disneyworld.

Here we are about a year ago with the Colonel. In the background is Jenny's house.

Saturday was pretty uneventful in terms of telling a story. Mr. F had his fantasy football draft and I took Kid A to a graduation party.

Sunday morning started out fabulous with some fresh peach pancakes. Just one more thing I'm trying to capitalize on before they go out of season.

Pannies were followed up by a trip to Space Farms, another blast from the past. I don't have many clear memories of this place as a kid, except that I know I milked a cow there. It's a lot bigger than I remember, and it reinforces my general dislike of zoos. I feel horrible for those poor animals trapped in tiny cages like that. I toyed with the notion of breaking them all out, but the notion of a tiger ripping me to shreds quickly followed.

Now that you're all depressed about the animals, let's look at them!
Kid A, normally petrified of these animals, kinda dug this deer

We stayed til last call, which is something I haven't done in years. It was exhilarating. Some dudes came up on a golf cart and kicked us out at five, so we didn't get to see much of the museum stuff. Apparently this Space guy was somewhat of a collector. I think there's a show for people like him. I would have liked to see the collections of old toys and tools and whatnot, but unfortunately we ran out of time.

So that's what we did this weekend! Mr. F and I each dragged Kid A to the beloved places of our youth. Because really, isn't that what being a parent is all about?

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Whip it out Wednesday

I named this series 'Whip it out 'Wednesday' because I fully intend on, well... whipping it out. I have nothing to show at this point. I can still button my pants, so I'm hanging on to that for as long as I can. And I'm savoring every second of sleeping on my stomach. 

Seven weeks pregnant

Date: 8/22

Weight: +1... Hooray for bloat!

My baby is the size of a: blueberry! Yum!

What I’m craving: I haven't really been hungry for anything. Its like I have the opposite of cravings, but for everything. I try to eat lots of snacks though. 

How I’m feeling: I've been feeling really anxious, but I'm also having some pretty stressful stuff go down at work these days. I just feel extra "unravelly" if that makes sense and if you're into made up words. I'm sure at least a little of it has to do with hormones. 

Symptoms: Yesterday and the day before, I had a tiny bit of spotting. Like hardly noticeable, but there. I guess I'm not really worried. I didn't have this at all last time, but I know every pregnancy is different so I'm not gonna sweat it. I have my first doctor appointment next week so I'll bring it up then. 

Preg Dreams: I had a dream a few nights ago about an old friend who I haven't talked to in a very long time. There's a reason we haven't spoken though so even though I really wanted to call her or at least text, I decided not to. Probably a good idea. 

Thoughts/feelings about the baby: I still don't really feel connected yet. It's so early. I keep Seeing things that freak me out though. On my way home from work I drove past these two boys fighting in their driveway. The mom, in her work clothes and stockings with no shoes on, was jumping in the middle breaking it up. She looked so stressed. And that made me stressed. 

Anything big happen this week? Not really. We told a couple of our friends over the weekend and they were really excited. I don't know why, but I hate telling people I'm pregnant. I get very weird about it. I can't explain it. I should be all bubbly and excited, and even though that is how I feel about being pregnant, I feel awkward sharing the news. Awkward's kinda my thing, if you haven't figured it out already. 

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Weekend in Review

I live for the weekend. While I was writing this last night, I  remembered it was only Monday and I felt like punching myself in the face. I've been trying to do lots of stuff with Kid A every weekend, since I feel like we really don't get to spend any quality time together during the week. This weekend was packed with fun stuff!

Saturday we put in some lake time with friends, including Kid's BFF.

These guys are like peas and carrots

KVB teaches Kid A to hail a cab
Then Sunday, we ventured into the city to spend the day with mommy's BFF, KVB. I was nervous about bringing him to the city, only because I wasn't sure how we would get around. I had visions of me sliding down the subway steps on my ass with a folded stroller tumbling down on top of me.
I got this

Apparently it's ok to ride in cabs without a car seat, so thank god for that. And luckily, Kid A adapted to city life pretty quickly. He was hailing cabs for us five minutes into the trip!

We stopped for lunch at Shake Shack, and I might have peed my pants a little bit when I saw the custard flavor of the day was heirloom tomato. I love weird ice cream flavors so much, and this did not disappoint. I will find out how to make this or die trying.

This is what ice cream looks like in heaven

Then, because 18 month old Kid wouldn't stop begging, we went to Eataly. I guess he's always wanted to check this place out because he's heard so much awesome stuff about it. He was all, "Ma! Pleeeeeeease can we go here so I can buy some truffles and some $20 honey or something? Pleeeeeease!" Who am I to say no to that, right? Let's just say it's a good thing this place is nowhere near where I live, because if it was, it's a pretty safe bet that most of my income would be going towards the food here.

For being a good sport, we followed up Eataly with a stop at the Central Park Zoo. What a great place! Kid's excitement was immediately fueled by a spotting of his two favorite monsters at the gates.

C is for Crappy Costume!
 And then... Meltdown!
I don't know what happened here. I guess he got star struck.

Inside the zoo we saw the cutest polar bear, went to the petting zoo, and were lucky enough to catch the sea lion show on the way out. And that was when I decided that I need both a polar bear and a sea lion for pets. They could live in my bathroom, right?

Kid A, not so sure about the goats...
On the way back to KVB's place, after a couple of trips up and down the block in the right, then wrong, then right direction, we stopped in FAO Schwarz. I was only planning on checking out the windows, but I just had to take Kid in. How could I not? I saw a $1200 life-size stuffed pony, and now my life is complete. We hit up the famous giant piano, which can be yours for just $250,000!

I know what you're thinking, and yes, we did play Heart and Soul together...

Picture this, but way more awesome and with less baby corn and no Zoltar
After that we were all pretty much shot. I attempted to get some dinner into Kid, but he wasn't having it. He passed out as soon as I got him strapped into his car seat for the long ride home. We had a great weekend!

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Whip it out Wednesday

If you’re not me you can skip this section. With my last pregnancy I didn’t really keep track of anything that was going on. At the time I didn’t think I would want to remember, but it’s now all just a blur of fat, hormones and yeast infections to me. This time is gonna be different!!

Six weeks pregnant

Date: 8/15

Weight: 151 pounds

My baby is the size of a: sweet pea

What I’m craving: nothing. I didn’t crave anything last time either. 

How I’m feeling: I can't stand this question, but everyone asks it. Physically, I feel great so far. I worked out yesterday and even though I cheated a little bit on the cardio because I forget how high you’re supposed to let your heart rate get, I had plenty of energy and I wasn’t tired at all afterwards. Emotionally, I’d say I’m doing ok too. I can’t tell if my bitchiness is normal or pregnancy-related. I guess you could say I’ve been a little moody. Mr. F would definitely say that. 

Symptoms: Just yesterday, my boobs started to get a little hurty. That’s all though besides a twinge of forgetfulness.

Preg Dreams: God, is there anything more boring than hearing about someone else’s dreams? That’s why I advised you skip this section if you’re not me. I decided to record my pregnancy dreams though, just in case Spielberg is reading this looking for ideas. You know those dreams where you’re running and not getting anywhere? Last night I dreamed that I was shaving my armpits and the hair wasn’t going away. So frustrating! Seriously… Steven Spielberg, if you’re interested in developing this as a screenplay, contact my people.

Thoughts/feelings about the baby: Well, I keep forgetting I’m pregnant at this point in the game. I haven’t really done any deep thinking about baby #2 yet. It’s too early in the game to start letting panic set in. However, we were at a family part this weekend and had not yet told anybody I was pregnant. I was sitting at the table with Kid A and another little girl, about four years old, and she turned to me and said, “You know, having two babies is really hard.” Not really sure what to think about that. Did she know something? How the hell did she know? What if she’s right???

Anything big happen this week? We told our families the news. You know the deal.

That Awkward Moment When...

“Just tell them. What’s the worst thing that could happen?” This is the thought I consistently have when it comes to sharing big news with my parents. It’s usually accompanied by anxiety, sweaty hands, and bargaining. “What if I just don’t tell them? No… I have to. They’re going to find out anyway.” I suppose this might stem from my trouble-making teenage years. Or I could just be Pavlov’s dog. Let’s examine my head:

When my husband, Mr. Fantastic (Mr. F) and I got engaged, I excitedly called my parents to tell them the good news. They love my husband, and they seemed happy for us. Five minutes after we hung up, my phone rang again. It was my mom… “Are you puh-REGNANT?” Then, a couple minutes after that, the phone rang again. My dad. “Wellll, a lot of people I know are going through divorces right now… Do you know how high the divorce rate is these days?” Then my mother took the phone from him. “So what about going to grad school? Are you going to go get your master’s degree or WHAT? I think you should go to law school.”

Bye, mom.

When I got pregnant with Kid A, Mr. F and I were both out of work. I was a giant ball of anxiety. I was putting off telling my parents the news, because I was just not in the mood to be put in the hot seat about how I was planning to get a job in my condition. So I just didn’t tell them for a while. I did tell a bunch of my friends, though, because if there’s one thing that’s absolutely true about me, it’s that I can’t keep my own secrets. I knew I’d have to break the news sooner or later, because you just can’t hide 40 pound weight gain forever. I decided I’d tell them during 4th of July weekend since everyone would be together.

There I was, going about my business one nice, calm, sunny afternoon in late June, when my phone rang. There it was again, as if I had gotten into a time machine an shot five years into the past… “Are you puh-REGNANT?” Apparently, one of my friends told her mother about my pregnancy, and she ran into my dad at Costco and congratulated him on becoming a grandfather. My parents took it really well. If you consider “taking it well” to mean “screaming at me and telling me to call them when the baby was born.” Ah, the perks of small town living. Where everybody knows your name.

So that’s why, when a second line showed up on the pee stick this time, I was excited but a little hesitant because I knew I was facing a potentially disastrous social situation. We decided to tell our families early this time, because, you know… sucking at secrets and stuff… so we told them this past weekend. In a twist nobody saw coming, my mother was really happy and excited. “I’m so happy for you! I’m so happy for ME!!!” She went to tell my dad, and he said, “Yeah. I knew it. You’ve been looking a little [hand motions for ‘fat’] lately. I had a feeling.” Oh yeah. There it is! I knew I could count on you, parents.

That was followed up by Mr. F announcing at a family gathering later that day, “Yeah, you know, she peed on a stick… and then she didn’t get her thing…” This was accompanied by a squatting motion to represent me peeing on a stick, I guess, and also continued pointing to the crotchal region.

So that, my friends, is why I do not like sharing good news with my family. And also why I came up with the name for this blog. Welcome to awkward land, everyone! Population: me. I’m glad you’re here even if it’s only to point and stare.